Chapter 1: The Wake-Up Call
Josie's POV
I fumbled at my throat, my fingers pressing into my skin as I searched for the hole Sarah's knife had made, but my nails slid against smooth skin rather than wet, sticky flesh. I was burning up inside as I breathed in a deep breath of air, and for a moment, I was lying there, gazing at the white crown molding of a ceiling I hadn't seen in years.
The last thing I was aware of was Julian's icy expression as he looked on while I died in that alley, and yet here I am, wrapped in high-thread count silk sheets as the scent of luxury lavender candles fills the room. I slowly sat up, my senses spinning, and my eyes landed on a black lace dress draped over the wardrobe door, like a mute specter waiting for me to wear it.
It was the same dress I wore to Julian's memorial three years ago, which means the universe has unceremoniously thrown me right back into the middle of the biggest lie I ever told.
The door creaked open, and I saw Lily shuffle into the room, her beloved battered bear trailing behind her across the floor. Her eyes were so swollen and red, she could hardly keep them open, and seeing her like that made another fresh surge of rage well up inside me because I thought of how I'd turned her loose to grieve for a father who never deserved even one of her tears.
I didn't wait for her to start sobbing; I just opened my arms and let her climb into my lap, her little heart beating against my chest.
"Mommy, Nana says Daddy is with the stars now, but I want him to come back for my birthday," she whispered into my neck, her voice blocked by my hair. I pulled away just enough to see her, swiping the moisture from her cheeks with my thumbs, and told her we were not going to think about the stars today. I told her from that moment on, everything was going to be different, and that she didn't need to be scared because I was never going to let anyone hurt us again, not the man we were meant to be burying today.
I got up and began my then-familiar routine, but I moved differently than the mourning wife I'd been the first time. I yanked that black dress over my head and zipped it up with a sharp tug, noting how the lace felt coarse against my skin. I didn't use a veil because I wanted everyone to know just how dry my eyes were. When I got into the kitchen, Martha was already attired in her best mourning weeds, holding a crystal glass of sherry, as she tore into the maid about the silver trays not being polished to her satisfaction.
"'You're finally up, though I thought you were going to be a little more... upset, Josephine,' Martha said, her gaze moving down my face to my shoes with a look that was nothing but pure condemnation. She put her glass down with a bang and informed me that the car was waiting and that I should really think about putting on some powder to conceal the fact that I looked like I was going to a gala, not a funeral. I grabbed a piece of toast off the counter and took a bite, telling her not to worry about how I looked, and maybe she should be concerned about her own smudged eyeliner rather than my lack of tears.
The church was full of people who only came to see if the Hart family was going to fall apart, and I could feel their stares prick me like needles as I made my way down the aisle with Lily's hand tightly wrapped around mine. I never looked at the flowers or at the pictures of Julian smiling—I just looked at the front row and the solid, empty casket sitting there like a bad joke.
As I sat down, I felt a shadow fall upon me, and, rising, I saw Alexander in the aisle; so imposing was his presence that they seemed to recoil into their pews the moment he entered. He was Julian's uncle, the man everyone whispered about in boardrooms. And he was currently looking at me with an intensity that made the hair on my arms stand up. He didn't offer a polite nod or a fake word of sympathy; he just stood there with his hands in his pockets, his dark eyes scanning my face as if he could see the three years of future knowledge I was hiding behind my calm expression.
"You're holding your head very high today, Josephine," Alexander said, his voice a low, gravelly sound that cut through the murmurs of the crowd. He sat down in the pew directly across from me, never breaking eye contact, and he leaned in slightly as if we were the only two people in the building. I told him that my neck would hurt if I kept it bowed, and I saw a flash of something that looked like genuine respect cross his face before he turned his gaze toward the casket. We sat there in a heavy silence while the organ music started to swell, and I realized that while everyone else was focused on the dead man who wasn't there, Alexander was the only one truly watching the woman who was.
Chapter 2: Then ruthless Uncle
Josie's POV
I stayed at the casket as the funeral director was attempting to guide the guests toward the reception room, but I wasn't going to move from the side of the box where Julian was presumably resting in peace.
He was in there, I knew, because I could see the small, steady rise of his chest under the crisp white silk shirt, and the son of a bitch was so committed to his performance that he didn't even flinch when a fly settled on his nose. Martha came over and made a feeble attempt to sling her arm around my shoulders, her breath reeking of the gin she'd been smuggling in the car, and she murmured that it was time to let the professionals take care of the burial.
'No, Martha, I have to see him one more time because I never really said goodbye to him in the hospital,' I said, my voice catching so high and shakily that the funeral director peered down worriedly at his feet.
I grabbed the edge of the mahogany lid and banged it open before they could stop me, and I looked down at Julian's "corpse" as my blood ran colder than ice. I reached into my sleeve, pulled out the small glass of wine I had taken from the kitchen earlier this morning, and leaned over him as if I was going to give a final kiss on his forehead. Instead, I poured the wine directly onto his face, and I saw him flinch. "I know you can hear me, and I must commend your acting skills," I said, and his fingers moved, his arm twisting just enough to feel the resistance of his muscle, and I saw a thin line of red bloom through the fabric.
Julian's jaw clamped shut so hard I thought his teeth might break, but he stayed motionless, so I figured I'd raise the stakes while Martha was busy sobbing into her handkerchief.
I grabbed the towel I had placed in boiling water, which I'd asked the housekeeper to bring, and I did not stop for a moment; I poured the water onto the towel and saw the steam rise in voluminous clouds.
"Oh, my poor Julian, you were always so cold, let me warm you up one last time!" I cried, then I placed the towel on him. "Why did you leave me? I screamed, and with every yell, I brought the towel up another fist to his ribs, hearing the faint ugh of air leaving his lungs, and that brought me satisfaction for the moment as the funeral director finally realized that something was very wrong. He and two other men grabbed my arms and pulled me back, but I managed to give the side of the coffin one final hard kick, rattling it against its stand.
I allowed them to usher me to the back of the room, where the bar was located, pretending that my knees had turned to jelly, and I spotted Alexander holding a drink in his hand, observing the whole scene with not horror, but utter, dark amusement.
He never dashed to his nephew's side or to see if the body was destroyed; he merely paused until I was close enough to take in the scent of fine tobacco emanating from his coat.
"That was quite a send-off, Josephine; I don't think I've ever seen anyone express their grief by using a hot towel," Alexander said, his voice deep and steady as I took a glass of water from him. I took a sip, looked him straight in the eye, and told him I wanted to thank him for the very generous funeral arrangements and for making sure Julian had a "comfortable" send-off.
He never looked away, and for a second, something flickered in his eyes, and I realized he knew what I was doing, and that he'd been watching silently, waiting for me to stop being Julian's little puppet.
"The arrangements were the least I could do for family, but you look like you need to sit down before you go and set the curtains on fire," he said, holding my elbow a moment as he led me to a seat in the corner beyond the guests' gaze.
We sat for a little while, and I saw the staff at the funeral home frantically trying to wipe those wine stains from Julian's face before they closed the lid for good, and a sense of satisfaction welled up in me stronger than any narcotic could provide.
"He told me you were a threat to this family, Alexander, but I think he was just scared that I'd find out you're the only one in this place with any brains," I said, and Alexander actually laughed, a low sound that rattled in his chest. He said that Julian was right about him being dangerous, but that I was the last person he ever wanted to hurt, and then he rose and said he had to attend to some business relating to the "death" benefits.
When at last the house was still, and the "body" was taken out to the graveyard, I went into Julian's secluded office and began ransacking the place, searching for anything he may have overlooked in his hurry to die.
There was a little, locked drawer beneath the desk, and I didn't even look for a key; I just used a heavy paperweight to break the wood until it softened. Inside was a bulky envelope with a return address from a bank in Switzerland, and when I withdrew the statements, I saw a transfer of ten million dollars that had been authorized just two days ago.
The money hadn't come from Julian's personal savings, though, and as I looked at the signature on the bottom of the wire transfer, I saw the stamp of the Hart Family Trust. My husband hadn't just faked his death to be with his mistress; he had been paid by his own mother and the family board to disappear and leave me with nothing but a mountain of debt and a grieving daughter. I sat on the floor in the dark, clutching the papers until they wrinkled in my grip, and I realized that I wasn't just fighting Julian anymore, I was fighting the whole damn family.
I looked out the window and saw Alexander's car still parked at the end of the driveway, his headlights cutting through the fog, and I knew right then that I was going to take his offer of a "business proposition." If the Harts wanted to pay Julian to leave, then I was going to use Alexander to make sure they paid me even more to stay and burn their legacy to the ground.