Betrayed, Then Claimed by Fate

Chapter4 Get Out of My House

Chapter4 Get Out of My House

Lynn's POV

"Just clearing out some stuff I don't need anymore." I fold another blouse into the suitcase, movements deliberately casual even though adrenaline screams through my veins.

Charles steps closer, pale eyes scanning the bedroom with growing suspicion. The wedding dress still hangs in the closet like a ghost. Jewelry scattered across the dresser in careful chaos. "This looks like more than spring cleaning, babe."

I shrug, reaching for designer heels—the ones I bought for romantic dinners that never f*****g happened. "Richardson offered me a case. Three weeks in Los Angeles. Big merger deal."

Relief floods his face, followed by something that looks like excitement. His sandy hair catches the light as he nods eagerly. "Three weeks? That's a long time to be away."

'Not long enough to plan my murder, apparently.'

"Could lead to a partnership opportunity." I zip the suitcase with more force than necessary. "The kind of career move that sets us up for life."

"Us." Charles's practiced smile spreads across his face—that same charming expression that fooled me for years. He's attractive in that safe, corporate way. Clean-shaven. Well-groomed. Unremarkable. Everything I thought I wanted. "I like the sound of that."

'I bet you do, you bastard.'

He settles on the edge of our bed—my bed—reaching for my hand with those soft fingers that have never done an honest day's work. "Can I stay tonight? I missed you last night."

The audacity makes bile rise in my throat. Twenty-four hours ago, he was buried between my sister's legs, planning my death. Now he wants to sleep in my bed, probably dreaming of Amy while he f***s me.

"Actually, I need to finish packing." I pull my hand free, turning back to the dresser. "Early flight tomorrow. You should go home, get some rest."

"Come on, Lynn." His voice takes on that wheedling, boyish tone he uses when he wants something. "When's the next time we'll have a night together? The wedding's still happening in one month, right?"

I meet his eyes in the mirror, forcing my expression neutral. "Of course. Nothing's changed."

Relief transforms his features—he's so transparent, so pathetically easy to read. "Good. For a second there, I thought—" He stands, moving behind me, hands settling on my shoulders with false intimacy. "I love you, you know that?"

The same words he whispered to Amy in my car.

"I know."

Charles leans down to kiss the top of my head, breath warm against my hair. "I'll miss you while you're gone."

'No, you won't. You'll be too busy celebrating.'

"I'll call you every day," I lie smoothly.

"You better." He squeezes my shoulders before stepping back. "Oh, and Lynn? About my credit card—can you reactivate it before you leave? I have some wedding expenses coming up."

My stomach lurches. The f*****g audacity.

"Wedding expenses?" I keep my voice light even though disgust crawls up my throat.

"Yeah, you know. Tuxedo alterations, bachelor party stuff, last-minute details." His tone is casual, like he's asking me to pick up milk. "Just makes it easier if I can handle things without bothering you while you're working."

'Bachelor party. So he can spend more of my money celebrating with Amy.'

Rage burns hot in my chest, but I force a smile. "I'll think about it. Let me see how work goes first."

Charles's expression darkens. "Lynn, it's just a credit card. We're getting married in a month—"

"I said I'll think about it." My voice comes out sharper than intended.

His jaw clenches. "Fine. Whatever." He heads for the door, movements stiff with irritation. "I should let you finish packing. Big day tomorrow."

I watch him walk away, every step taking him closer to his freedom. To Amy. To weeks of thinking he's gotten away with everything.

"Charles?"

He turns, hope flickering across his unremarkable features.

"Lock the door on your way out."

The front door clicks shut. I count to ten before moving to the window. Charles walks to his car with a spring in his step I haven't seen in months, pulling out his phone before he even reaches the curb.

I crack the window, my newly sharpened hearing picking up every treacherous word.

"Baby, it's me." His voice is honey-sweet, nothing like the flat tone he uses with me. "You're not going to believe this. She's going away for three weeks. Los Angeles."

Pause as Amy responds—her voice too distant even for my enhanced senses.

"No, no, she bought it completely. Thinks it's some big career opportunity." Charles's laugh is low and satisfied, the sound of a predator who believes he's already won. "The next two weeks are ours, sweetheart. No more sneaking around those cheap hotel rooms."

My fingernails dig crescents into the wooden windowsill.

"I wanted to cancel that stupid family dinner tonight, but she would have gotten suspicious." His voice drops to that intimate register reserved for lovers. "Tomorrow night, your place? I'll bring that wine you like."

While I've been packing, planning my escape, he's been arranging his next betrayal.

"Love you too, baby. See you tomorrow."

He ends the call and gets in his car, still smiling that satisfied smile.

I close the window and lean against the wall, letting the rage wash through me in hot, cleansing waves. 'Three weeks, you bastard. Make them count.'