Mated To My Dead Husband's Twin

Elise locked her bedroom door. She dragged a heavy armchair in front of it. She went to the bathroom and soaked a washcloth in cold water. She pressed it to her cheek. The throbbing was a steady drumbeat in her head. Elise pulled out the burner phone she had hidden in her shoe-a precaution from her single days. She dialed her lawyer, Sarah. Sarah was a college friend, the only person she trusted. "I need to file for a restraining order," Elise said. "And an annulment." Sarah's voice was tight. "Elise, the Barretts own the judges in that district. A restraining order will be denied before the ink is dry." "Then I need to leave the state," Elise said. "I'm packing." "Do you have money?" Sarah asked. "No. They froze everything." Elise hung up. She grabbed a duffel bag. Essentials only. Passport. ID. There was a knock on the door. Three quick taps. The secret knock. Elise moved the chair and opened the door. It was Nina. Nina saw Elise's face. She gasped. "Oh my god, Elise." "I need to get out," Elise said. "I can smuggle you out in the laundry van," Nina whispered. "Too risky. If they catch you, they'll fire you. I need to walk out the front door." "But you need cash," Nina said. Elise looked at the wall safe behind the painting of the ship. Jarret kept emergency cash there. "I don't have the code," Elise said. "He changed it last month." Elise walked over to it. She moved the painting. She tried Jarret's birthday. Error. She tried their wedding date. Error. She even tried Joyce's birthday, her fingers trembling with frustration. Error. Elise paused. She thought about the text message Cristine received. The heart emoji. The possessiveness. A sick, desperate idea took root. She wouldn't. She couldn't. But what other choice did she have? Her fingers hovered over the keypad. She typed in Cristine's birthday. Beep. Click. The green light flashed. The door swung open. Elise felt like she was going to vomit. He used his mistress's birthday. It was the ultimate insult. Inside, there were stacks of hundred-dollar bills. But beneath them, Elise saw something else: a small, black USB drive with no label. She grabbed the cash and the drive, shoving them deep into her bag. Elise went downstairs, her suitcase rolling on the marble. Joyce was in the foyer. She was talking to a group of people in suits-her PR team. Joyce stopped talking when she saw Elise. "Where do you think you're going?" she asked. "To my parents," Elise lied. "I need space." "You leave this house, you leave the family protection," Joyce said. Her voice was low, threatening. "Your protection leaves a bruise," Elise said, pointing to her cheek. The PR people shifted uncomfortably. They looked at their shoes. Joyce signaled to the two large men standing by the door. Private security. "Escort Mrs. Barrett back to her room," Joyce said loudly. "She is hysterical with grief. She doesn't know what she's doing." The guards stepped in front of Elise. They were walls of muscle. "I am not hysterical," Elise said. "I am leaving." One guard placed a hand on Elise's suitcase. "Please, ma'am. Don't make a scene." Elise looked at the PR people. They were writing in their notebooks. Widow hysterical. She realized she wasn't a guest. She was a prisoner. Elise let go of the suitcase. She turned and walked back up the stairs. She didn't run. She wouldn't give them that satisfaction. But inside, she was screaming.