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I scour through the coffee bar in search of the cursed tea Miles used as a disguise to drug me. It’s been about three weeks since I discovered his vile, little secret. After the last bout of nightmares, and a suggestion by a very protective Brooke, I purchased a drug kit at the local drug store. Surprise, surprise. I popped hot for GHB, which after a little research, I realized was liquid ecstasy.

Oh, and the way he slipped me the drug without realizing? In my nighttime, ginger tea. Yeah. Yeaahhhhh.

Turns out he had a stash of meds hiding in an empty licorice tea box. The one drink he knew I would never touch. And by mixing the drug that’s already bitter with an herbal tea like ginger, it’s basically undetectable.

Since I make most of the food in our home, being the loving wife I’m fucking expected to be, process of elimination revealed the only option was the tea.

Well, jokes on him, because I know how to hide gross tasting edibles, too.

I’ve been biding my time these past few weeks.

Do I know that he’s still fucking with me? Yes.

There are days I wake up to new bruises that randomly appear. Other days when my body feels like it’s been ran through a woodchipper. My skin is so swollen and sensitive it hurts to move. When I press him about it, he spouts whatever lies he can think of.

Maybe I’m anemic.

Maybe I was clumsy.

Maybe it’s a result of working out more.

Anything he can say to throw me off his trail.

Too bad, so sad. I know his little secret now.

But I knew there was nothing I could do about it until I got my shit together. After I had my melt down, scrubbing my body in the shower with a loofah until my skin was raw to the touch, I reached out to Brooke to help me plan my escape. She was eager and waiting for me to ask for her help. Honestly, maybe even a little too excited. I never knew she had a macabre side. I love her even more for it.

With deliberate planning and anonymous shopping, I was able to collect all the items I needed for my revenge. I sent Princess to spend the night at Auntie Brooke’s house for a sleepover. Better to have the little fur ball out of the way to avoid any unnecessary casualties. Now all I need to do is set the stage for Miles’ demise.

That’s what tonight is for.

The table is set with a romantic dinner. Candles strewn about the house to set the mood. A steaming kettle of hot toddy resting at the center of the table. It’s our date night. Of course, I’m going to be the best wife ever and make it memorable, even at home.

Lounging in the love seat, I sip my own mug of hot toddy as I wait for Miles to get home. I’m dressed head to toe in a black, lace slip dress and matching patent, black heels. My hair is pulled back into a messy bun held together by two hair picks that resemble knives.

I’m mid-sip when I hear the tumblers from the lock on the front door. A smile presses against the warm ceramic. Placing my cup at the table, I make my way to Miles. He’s shaking off the rain from the day, oblivious to the approaching threat.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” I purr, taking his jacket to hang next to him. I’m careful to slide my newly manicured hand across his chest, gently dragging my nails over the soft fabric. A chill runs through him and he grabs my hand before I can pull away.

He brings my hand to his lips, kissing the soft part of my hand.

“And what,” he says in between kisses, “might this occasion be for?”

I lean in, allowing my body to sink into his. My heat seeps into his chilled skin, causing goosebumps to raise across his neck. Breathing in his scent, I kiss my way from the base of his neck, nipping occasionally as I reach his chin. Meeting his lips, I hover, letting our breath mingle. Two people lost in lust for each other.

“Tonight,” I whisper, dropping my voice an octave, more seductive, husky. “I’m giving you a fancy dinner before you have dessert.”

I place my lips to his, giving him just a taste of what he thinks is to come.

Taking his hand, I guide Miles towards the table.

“And what is for dessert?”

Pointing at his seat, Miles sits obediently, his wandering eyes never leaving my body. Using that to my advantage, I pointedly sway my hips as I walk towards my chair. The near silent inhale of breath from Miles causes me to shiver.

I never knew seduction at this level could be so erotic.

I take my place at the other side of the table. Unfolding my napkin, I place it delicately in my lap and fold my hands on the table.

I make eye contact with Miles, unflinching under his stare.

“Me.”

Miles licks his lips, his tongue languid as he watches me across the table. Heat burns behind his eyes and his skin begins to flush. Watching his body react, I notice the heightened rise and fall of his shoulders. The man is struggling to keep it together.

Exactly as expected.

“Cheers, my love,” I say, tipping my mug in his direction.

He picks up his own mug, brows furrowing.

“What did you make?”

I gesture towards the table. “Oh, some soup and a kettle of hot toddy since it’s been so dreadfully cold lately. All new recipes I found at the store. I tried it while I was cooking and I knew you’d love it. Even used your favorite bourbon.”

Miles shrugs and takes a giant sip. He hums in appreciation, tipping his head back and closing his eyes to savor the flavor. Sweet honey mixed with the richness of bourbon, paired with the bitter tang of lemon juice and a dash of cinnamon. It’s the perfect drink—especially if you want to hide something nefarious inside.

I spy him from the rim of my mug, hiding my smirk. Mentally, I start counting down. Only fifteen more minutes and I’ll be free.

Free from the abuse.

Free from the lies.

Free to serve justice.

With the looming necessity to maintain normalcy, I begin serving dinner; each piece of the meal distributed first on my plate, and then Miles’. Prolonging the time between the first fateful sip and his unknown demise. I deliberately brush past Miles with a hip or the swipe of my ass against his arm. He’s such a good boy, letting me plate his meal while keeping his hands to himself. If only he learned those manners sooner, maybe we wouldn’t be in this predicament.

What a shame.

I return to my throne, a growing feeling of pride surging through me.

“We should pray, no?”

Miles quirks a look at me, but doesn’t object.

“Blessed be this food today. Gods, protect the broken from wickedness and serve your justice to the sinful. Amen.”

Miles peers over his steepled hands, his forehead creased near the center. Yet, he doesn’t say anything about the nontraditional prayer. A few minutes pass between us. An eerie quiet while we challenge the other to speak first.

Holding my head high, I decide to take a power move and set the tone for what’s to come. I raise my hand, prompting Miles to start eating. I spoon my soup slowly, never taking my eyes off of him.

“Do you want to know a new fact I learned today?”

Miles grunts, not taking his attention away from his food, his gluttony taking over primal instincts.

I take another spoonful of soup, savoring the way the heated food warms my soul from the inside out.

“It’s surprisingly easy to hide medication in tea. Apparently, that’s the old way they’d administer tinctures, before we had modern medicine and all that,” I say, keeping the tone of my voice even and steady.

Miles pauses mid-bite. His eyes dart to me with a burning anger. He drops the spoon into his bowl, soup splashing up and over the sides onto the table. Droplets of red marring the perfectly white covering. Eyeing the kettle, Miles tries reaching for it, but his arms are heavy, barely moving above the surface of the table.

His panic is delicious, eyes wide as he puts together all the small pieces of the puzzle I laid out for him.

“What did you…” he slurs. His eyelids become heavy. One eye blinking, the other in a fight to keep open.

Dabbing the corners of my mouth, careful not to smudge my red lipstick, I rise from my seat. Stalking towards Miles, I allow the years of betrayal and disrespect flow through me. Anger bubbles to the surface like a rabid feline. Nails play over the tablecloth, red daggers ready to draw blood.

He tries to stand before I reach him, but it’s useless. I tap him with a single finger, and he slumps back into the chair, barely coherent.

I yank the chair, lurking him backwards to allow space for me. Kneeling between his legs, I tap my nails up and down his thighs. His breathing slows as the drug takes hold. His gaze is hollow when I stare up at him, saliva beginning to form at the corners of his mouth from the lack of bodily control.

Through hooded eyes, I smile up at him. A deadly siren ready to feast.

“I’m doing exactly what you deserve.”