Chapter 9
Margaret Thompson
I sat perfectly poised on the Italian leather sofa, pretending to be absorbed in the latest issue of Vogue while my eyes tracked Robert's every movement as he paced furiously across our living room. The crystal tumbler in his hand was already empty for the third time this afternoon, and the expensive bourbon was doing its work—his cheeks flushed with an angry red glow, his eyes burning with dangerous intensity.
The sound of shattering glass made both Emily and me flinch instinctively. The housekeepers had learned years ago to make themselves scarce when Robert was drinking. They'd seen too many of his outbursts, and some had even glimpsed the "accidental" bruises he'd left on me over the years. Not that I hadn't deserved some of them—manipulating a man like Robert requires occasional miscalculations.
"Those goddamn lawyers," Robert spat, wiping bourbon from his hand onto his pants. "Telling me those assets are irrevocable! That money should be under my management!"
I set down my magazine, arranging my features into the perfect mask of wifely concern. "Darling, what did the lawyers say?" My voice was honey-sweet while my mind calculated coldly. If professional attorneys couldn't find a solution, we'd need a more... creative approach.
"Amelia has a fucking husband now!" Robert kicked at the glass shards, sending them scattering across the marble floor. "That little bitch found herself a fake husband and secured her mother's portion of the estate!"
I let my mouth form a perfect 'O' of surprise, while inside I felt a thrill of opportunity. For years, I'd been waiting for this—waiting for Amelia to make a mistake, to expose a vulnerability I could exploit to finally push her out of this family for good. As her stepmother, I’ve always played the caring role in public, but in truth, I’ve loathed her presence, a constant reminder of Robert’s first wife, and I’ve longed to erase her from our lives completely.
"How could anyone get married so quickly?" Robert continued to rage, his voice growing hoarser. "She thinks this pathetic charade will fool me?"
Emily, ever the dutiful daughter, immediately jumped in: "Dad, she's always been selfish. What happens if Grandpa William passes away? Will we lose his estate too?"
I watched Robert's face contort with fury, remembering how easy it had been to approach him all those years ago. How simple it was to make him believe I loved him. Men are so predictably manipulable when you understand their weaknesses.
"Your father, William, has his own considerations..." I ventured carefully, measuring each word. "But he should have at least left you something..."
I rose gracefully, my movements fluid and practiced as I poured Robert another bourbon. I've spent years perfecting the art of appearing submissive while getting exactly what I want. It's not love that taught me this skill—it's survival.
"What if we challenge the validity of the marriage?" I suggested softly, my mind racing through possibilities. "There must be something irregular about it."
"You're buying her bullshit too?" Robert sneered, gulping down half the fresh drink. "The marriage isn't real! Even if there's paperwork, she probably hired some actor to play along."
I nodded agreement, but my thoughts were already elsewhere. If Amelia's marriage was fake, then her new "husband" was her greatest weakness. Everyone has a price. Everyone has fears. The key is finding the right pressure point.
"Amelia doesn't have the guts to actually get married," Robert continued, slumping into his chair. "She's just using this excuse to keep me from taking control of the money."
I knew that to make him completely obedient, I still needed one final catalyst. I turned and walked into the bedroom, changing into his favorite outfit, the deep purple silk negligee. The woman in the mirror was still beautiful, but her eyes held none of the innocence they once had, replaced by years of calculated coldness.
I handed Robert a fresh bourbon, watching his expression carefully. Years of marriage had taught me to read his every microexpression, to know when to speak and when to remain silent. Every gesture, every word, has been a performance to maintain my position as the dutiful wife.
"I have an idea..." I lowered my voice to ensure no one could hear our conversation from the hallway. "I know people who could arrange... accidents. Something to leave her desperate and with nowhere to turn..."
Robert's eyes lit up immediately, like a hunter spotting prey. I knew I'd hit the mark—violence and control had always been his preferred solutions.
"It would have to be the perfect accident," he immediately specified, his voice vibrating with dangerous excitement. "Nothing that could be traced back to us. If she gets hurt or finds herself in trouble, she'll come running back begging for my help."
I nodded in agreement while inwardly smiling coldly. Robert thought I was strategizing for him, but I had my own agenda. For years I'd been waiting for the opportunity to eliminate Amelia completely. The girl was too much like her mother—too perceptive, too principled.
"Leave it to me," I murmured, sitting on the arm of his chair and running my fingers through his thinning hair. "I've always taken care of problems for you, haven't I?"
His hand found my thigh, fingers digging in possessively. "That's why I keep you around."
I smiled, allowing him to pull me closer. Men like Robert never understand that they're not the ones in control. They never see the puppet strings until it's far too late.
"First thing tomorrow, I'll make a call," I promised, already formulating the perfect plan.
Emily appeared in the doorway, her expression eager. "Is there anything I can do to help, Mom?"
I smiled at my daughter—so much like me, already learning the art of manipulation. "Not yet, sweetheart. But soon, I promise."
Robert's fingers tightened on my waist. "The inheritance, the company, everything will be ours. As it should be."
I leaned down to kiss him, tasting bourbon and bitterness. "Of course it will, darling. I always make sure you get exactly what you deserve."
And one day, Robert would learn just what that meant.