Lethal Honeymoon

Hope Emerson—now Mrs. Thorne—rested her head against the broad chest of her new husband. The scent of his expensive cologne, clean and sharp like gin and winter, filled her senses. Underneath the tailored fabric, his heartbeat thudded in a steady, reassuring rhythm against her ear.

"Tired, Mrs. Thorne?" Caleb’s voice was a low, velvet rumble that vibrated against her cheek.

She shook her head, a self-conscious smile playing on her lips. Her fingers tightened on his lapel. "Never."

The elevator chimed, a soft, pleasant note. The doors slid open to reveal the private entryway of their penthouse apartment.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Thorne," Caleb said, his voice laced with affection as he stepped onto the polished marble floor.

He set her down onto a plush wool rug, holding her close for a moment before letting go. Hope looked around, taking in the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering panorama of the Manhattan skyline. The apartment was a symphony of dark woods, brushed steel, and soft lighting. Immaculate.

Caleb stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. His breath brushed her ear.

"Do you like it?" he murmured. "I designed every detail thinking of you."

"It’s... overwhelming," she whispered, leaning back into his warmth. "You're too good to me, Caleb."

"Nonsense." He turned her around, his ice-blue eyes warm and tender. He kissed her—a sweet, gentle pressure—then tapped the end of her nose. "First, a mandatory house ritual. A celebratory toast, just for us."

"Caleb, I really don't drink much..."

"It’s a low-proof blend, darling. Just enough to help you relax." His tone was smooth and gentle. "Trust me."

He walked toward the sleek bar in the living area. Hope swallowed back her hesitation. Hope knew he had a strange quirk: before they became intimate, he always had to drink some alcohol with her.

He returned with two cocktail glasses filled with a pale, cloudy pink liquid, garnished with a single orchid petal.

"To our forever," he said, handing one to her.

Hope took the glass. She clinked her glass against his and drank the sweet, slightly bitter cocktail.

Caleb watched her affectionately. He raised his own glass to his lips as the alcohol quickly hit Hope's system.

The reaction was immediate. A heavy wave of dizziness slammed into her brain. The city lights blurred into streaks.

"Caleb..." Her voice came out slurred. Her knees gave way.

He caught her effortlessly before she hit the floor, his arms strong and steady, holding her close.

"You're just exhausted, my love," his voice sounded softly in her ear. "Let me take care of you."

Her eyes fluttered shut. In the hazy void before complete darkness, she faintly registered the muffled click of the door and confused footsteps, but the alcohol swallowed her whole before she could think.

Sunlight hit her face, waking her.

Hope sat up slowly. Her body felt strangely heavy and sore, a deep exhaustion weighing down her limbs. Yet, looking down at her wedding dress with the top buttons unfastened, a wave of shy warmth rushed to her cheeks.

Though she couldn't remember the details of last night because of her terrible alcohol tolerance, the physical exhaustion made her believe they had finally shared their wedding night. She smiled softly, touched by his gentle care, secretly looking forward to their next intimate moment when she would be awake.

The bedroom door opened. Caleb walked in carrying a silver breakfast tray, looking immaculate in a crisp white shirt. His eyes melted with pure concern.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said softly, setting the tray down. "You were completely exhausted last night, fell asleep almost immediately."

Hope accepted the glass of orange juice he offered, her cheeks flushed with a shy smile. "I'm so sorry, Caleb... My alcohol tolerance is terrible. I don't remember a thing."

Caleb chuckled, kissing her forehead softly. "That's okay, darling. We have a lifetime to make memories. Drink your juice and rest up."

His touch was soothing, filling her heart with sweetness.

When he went to his office to take a call, Hope got up to shower. As she unzipped the dress in the marble bathroom, a mild itch made her look down at her arm.

Right over the soft skin of her inner elbow was a tiny red dot.

She didn't think much of it, gently scratching it and telling herself it was probably just a mosquito bite from yesterday.

She pulled on a robe, intending to check on Caleb, when the sharp buzz of the apartment intercom echoed through the room.

Hope went to the entrance and answered the wall monitor. On the screen was a middle-aged woman with a sour, furious expression.

Hope pressed the button. "Hello?"

"Are you the new residents?" the woman snapped. "I'm Mrs. Peterson from downstairs. I need to file a formal complaint right now."

Hope blinked, confused. "A complaint? About what?"

"About the noise!" Mrs. Peterson growled. "Last night, well past midnight, it sounded like someone was dragging heavy metal chairs or equipment back and forth across the floor! It went on for an hour!"

Midnight?Past midnight, she had been sound asleep in Caleb's arms.