Page 14 of Make You Mine

Chelsea

I was always meant to be in this house.

A soft little hum escapes me as I glide from room to room and admire every detail. My fingertips graze the smooth porcelain vase on the mantel. It’s lovely in a way, though she’s put it in the wrong spot. It obviously belongs by the bay window. That’s where the morning sun pours in just right.

I’d fill it with fresh flowers each morning. The clematis would bloom brighter for me. They would thrive under my tender care.

I’d grow herbs too. Mints and peppers. Maybe a bit of thyme.

Every dinner would be something fresh and homemade, straight from the garden. A crisp little salad on the table, the dressing from scratch, serving size for four.

Declan and the kids.

And me.

My eyes drift across the living room walls, soaking in the rich teal shade she’s chosen. Maroon would be so much warmer. More refined. More… me.

Emmett’s in his playpen, gurgling to himself as he taps at that garish caterpillar toy.

The one that flashes in rainbow colors like a ruddy slot machine.

Willow’s at the kitchen table finishing the last bit of her homework, some workbook she’ll breeze through without blinking.

She’s a sharp little thing, almost too clever for her age. I noticed it straight away.

I told her once she’s done, we’ll kick off our movie marathon.

A girls’ night in. Just the two of us. Willow and her new mummy.

I slip out of the lounge and start up the stairs, calling over my shoulder for her to holler if she needs anything.

The air changes the moment I reach the top landing. It always does. This house… it hums around me.

Like it knows . Like it remembers I was meant to be here all along.

They’re out, the perfect little couple. Candlelit dinner, hands all over each other. It guts me to picture it, but I insisted they go. Encouraged it, even while smiling through my teeth.

Because sometimes the best way to destroy something is to let it flourish first.

Build it up nice and high so it won’t see the fall coming.

I slip into their bedroom, my pulse already quickening. The wardrobe creaks open beneath my hand. Her clothes hang like they’re taunting me. I reach for a short little ruby-red number and hold it to my body, turning to the mirror with a tilt of my chin.

Just as I thought. It suits me far better. Can she even squeeze into this anymore?

She’s soft and fluffy after childbirth.

If he saw me in this dress, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off. He wouldn’t even glance in her direction. He’d tear this dress off me with his teeth, bend me over the bed and fuck me the way he’s always wanted to.

Heat flares across my skin at the thought. I breathe deep, trying to will it away, but it only makes it worse. Makes it more vivid.

All I’d need is one proper chance. One moment alone.

And for her to be dealt with.

I stuff the dress back in and reach for one of his ties. Navy blue and silk. It still smells like him, notes of sandalwood and cedar stitched into the threads.

I drag the fabric beneath my nose and inhale, a tremble running down my spine. I could press it between my thighs right now and come undone with nothing more than my imagination.

I fold the tie neatly and slip it into my back pocket.

Just a keepsake, for now.

I drift through their bedroom, humming to myself as I take in the bits and pieces of their life. Trinkets and baubles she no doubt thinks make her look sophisticated—delicate earrings, a jumble of bracelets, the collection in her jewelry box that she probably imagines makes her feel elegant.

And then his things.

His watches, all lined up so precisely. I trace my finger over one of the bands, imagining how it might feel if he pressed that very wrist against the small of my back. The idea sends a ripple right through me.

I open the drawer on her side of the bed and smile. The journal rests exactly where I knew it would. I flick through it, snorting at the scribbled story ideas and plot outlines. It’s doubtful if she’s got it in her to finish anything again.

It’s not the first time I’ve been in this room. And it won’t be the last. They’ve simply never been clever enough to notice.

Back in the beginning—one of my first days on the job—I fiddled with the fuse box and cut the power. Knocked the whole house out for hours. They thought it was a standard outage or a faulty breaker. They woke up late for work and school and spent the next week sniping at each other.

It was a gamble that paid off, causing instant tensions between them for days to come. Declan is already stressed from the high-pressure role he’s taken on at Halberd and so is Amerie now that she’s under deadline with her agent.

All I ever have to do is plant the seed and nudge them here and there. Make a suggestive comment about how often Declan misses dinner or get Willow to whinge about the birthday party at the park until Amerie gives in.

Slip a stranger a few quid to pop by the party and lure the girl away for five minutes. Just long enough for panic to set in and to turn them against each other.

And, of course, swap out her cupcake for one with three times the amount of sugar. It sent her into a proper spin.

Some would say it’s cruel what I’m doing, but I would argue that it’s necessary to claim what’s mine.

I move into the ensuite and run my hands along the marble vanity, the same place I helped do her makeup earlier. Velvet Sin catches my attention in its frosted bottle.

Amerie had said Declan loves it. That it activates the feral part of the male brain.

I spray it on my wrists and inhale, the scent curling around me, so heady and warm. If he smelled this on me, he couldn’t control himself.

He’d have to have me then and there. He couldn’t keep his hands off me?—

“What are you doing?” Willow squeaks out of nowhere.

I nearly drop the bloody perfume bottle. A sharp little yelp escapes me as I fumble to get it back in place, heart thudding like a warning bell in my chest. My face burns hot, flushed with the sudden panic of being caught red-handed.

“Willow, darling,” I say, turning with what I hope passes for a warm, maternal smile. My voice comes out sickly sweet. “Didn’t I say to call for me if you needed something? I didn’t hear you.”

“I finished my homework,” she says simply.

But the way she’s looking at me—those wide, clever eyes tracking my every move—makes my stomach coil. She saw me in her mummy’s bathroom, fiddling with things I shouldn’t be. She saw me spritzing her perfume like I fancied myself the lady of the house.

The little madam’s more astute than most five-year-olds. That much was clear from the moment I met her.

Still, I don’t let it show. I smile softer, tilt my head, and reach for the bottle again. If I can’t erase what she saw, I’ll twist it into something more palatable.

“Between me and you, Willow… can you keep a secret?” I lower my voice conspiratorially. “It’s a bit embarrassing, actually.”

Her eyes grow round with curiosity, exactly as I knew they would. She leans forward like she’s about to hear a bedtime story with a wicked twist. “What is it?”

“Your mum’s so beautiful, isn’t she? So elegant and graceful. I suppose I just… wanted to be like her. I saw her earlier getting ready and thought maybe, just for a second, I could try a spritz of her perfume. Silly of me, really.”

Her forehead scrunches like she’s turning it over in that clever little brain of hers. “Like when I tried on her lipstick?”

“Exactly like that,” I say, beaming. “You understand.”

She lights up, all pride and innocence. She’s the spitting image of Amerie in this moment, save for the copper tint to her curls that’s clearly Declan’s. The perfect little blend of them both.

“My mommy’s really pretty,” she says matter-of-factly.

“She is. Would you like a spritz too?”

She practically bounces on the spot. I raise the bottle but pause, letting my voice go hush-hush. “But remember, sweetheart… this is just between us, alright? I don’t think your mummy would be pleased if she thought we were using up her nice perfume.”

Willow nods eagerly, holding out her wrist. I give her two dainty sprays and then tuck the bottle back where it belongs.

“Right then,” I say, herding her gently out of the room before she starts asking more questions. “Let’s get on with our movie night.”

We curl up in front of the telly for hours, bathed in flickering light as the night draws on.

Willow insists on starting with that new Lilo & Stitch film she hasn’t shut up about all week—the one with the little blue menace who looks more like a koala bear than an alien.

Still, I don’t mind. It’s sweet, really, watching her giggle at the chaos, her fingers sticky with chocolate buttons and crumbs all over the throw pillows.

Willow’s quite the little chatterbox. She goes on about school while curled beside me under the blanket, babbling about her lessons. Maths being her favorite. She prattles on about the two new friends she’s made, and how her teacher, Ms. Barber, can be moody sometimes.

“Only two friends?” I say. “A sweet girl like you? You ought to have a hundred, at least.”

Her nose wrinkles with a frown. “Some of the boys are mean, Chels. One told me I’ve got cooties. I said nuh-uh, but he said I do.”

My hand stills on the popcorn bowl. “Did he? That’s not very kind. Did you tell your teacher?”

“Yeah… but she said it was only a joke. That Henry always says that.”

“Well,” I murmur, eyes narrowing just a fraction, “that doesn’t sound very funny to me. Maybe we’ll have to get that sorted.”

We return to the movie we’re watching with me making a mental note to look into her classmate Henry.

They’re gone for ages. Out there somewhere, the two of them. Dining by candlelight, sipping wine, maybe feeding each other bites of dessert. The very thought sours in my stomach like spoiled milk. That should be me.

It will be me.