My Stepsister Stole My Husband. He Was My Killer. novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: People Have Accidents

Shane waits in her apartment and asks her to make Brynn co-trustee of her mother's shares; when she refuses he grips her wrist and warns her about accidents, and she records it. Brynn invites her to give the toast at the summer house.

I did not call the police.

I knew what the police would say.

A fiancé with a key, a locket he could call a keepsake, and a woman who had just made a scene at her father's dinner.

I thumbed my phone to record, put it in my coat pocket, and went up.

The apartment door was unlocked.

The light was on over the stove.

Shane sat on my couch with his jacket off and his feet on the coffee table, scrolling his phone.

He looked up and smiled.

"There she is."

"Get out."

"Come on, Lena. Sit down. I made tea."

He had.

There were two mugs on the table and the kettle was still warm.

He had been in my kitchen long enough to find the good cups.

"Where's Brynn?" I said.

"With your father, being forgiven." He rolled his eyes. "She's twenty-five going on twelve. It was a stunt. I'll deal with her."

"You kissed her back."

"For about a second. I was in shock. Wouldn't you be?"

He said it so easily.

I kept my face still and my hand in my pocket.

"You opened my safe," I said.

"The locket's right there." He pointed at the table. "I wanted to make sure it was safe with everything going on. You leave things lying around."

My safe had a lock and a code.

I had changed the code that morning.

I didn't say so.

"What do you want, Shane?"

"To fix this."

He stood and came around the table with his hands open.

"Your father's upset. The board is upset. Brynn's upset. Do you know what fixes all of it in one move?"

I waited.

"You sign Brynn onto your mother's trust as co-trustee. Just on paper. It shows the family is together. Marshall relaxes, Brynn stops acting out, and I move back in here by the weekend."

"You want me to give my stepsister control of my mother's shares."

"I want you to be a Caldwell about it." He smiled. "Graceful."

I almost laughed.

My mother's thirty percent was the only thing in that house that was mine.

In the last life, I had signed a paper like that in the first month of my marriage.

It was the paper that made my death worth money.

"No," I said.

He kept the smile.

"Think about it tonight."

"I don't need tonight. No."

"Lena."

"Get out of my apartment and leave the key on the table."

His hand shot out and closed on my wrist.

He didn't squeeze hard at first.

He turned my arm up so the light fell on it, and then he began to press.

"Listen to me, babe."

His voice was gentle.

It was always gentle.

"You've been strange all day. Walking out, taking off the ring, saying no to everyone. Something's changed in you. I don't mind. But you're not as strong as you think."

"Let go."

"You live alone. Four floors up. These old stairwells are murder." He pressed harder. "People with money have accidents all the time. I'd hate for you to have one."

My wrist burned.

Under my coat, my phone was taking down every word.

I looked him in the face and thought about the terrace.

Then I did what I had never once done in the last life.

I stamped my heel down on his instep, hard, and twisted my arm out of his hand.

He swore.

It was the first time I had ever heard him lose his smooth voice.

"Get out," I said. "Now. Or I scream the building down."

For a moment I saw his real face.

It was blank and flat, with nothing behind it.

Then the smile slid back into place.

"You always were dramatic," he said.

He took his jacket from the couch.

He put the key on the table beside the locket.

At the door he turned.

"Sleep well, Lena."

He closed it softly behind him.

I locked it and put the chain on and shoved the couch against it.

Then I sat down on the floor.

I took out the phone and stopped the recording.

It had caught the whole visit.

I played the last part once, and heard my own breathing and his gentle voice.

People with money have accidents all the time.

It was not a confession.

It was a start.

I saved the file in three places.

My wrist had four red marks on it.

I took a picture of each one with the time stamp on.

Then I found Malcolm's card in my coat, because he had asked me to, and I typed: I'm inside.

His reply came before I put the phone down.

Good.

Nothing else.

I was about to put the phone away when it buzzed again.

The family group chat.

Brynn had written: Engagement party at the summer house this Saturday!!! Dad says yes. Everyone's invited. @Lena you'll give the toast, won't you? It would mean so much.

Under it, in a row, came Dad's thumbs-up, and Shane's heart.

The summer house.

The terrace.

The east rail.

She wanted me back on that cliff.

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