Chapter 2
Dusk settled over the Henderson house in suburban Millfield.
Emily stood before the white colonial-style home, sunset casting a long shadow behind her. Once, this house had been her nightmare.
Now, it would become Jake Henderson's tomb.
Deep breath. Once. Twice. Three times.
Each breath was preparation for the performance about to begin. She was no longer the trembling victim who walked through that door. This time, she was the hunter.
"Emily, dear!" Neighbor Mrs. Patterson was watering her roses, waving cheerfully when she spotted her. "How did court go today?"
Emily forced a sweet smile, voice dripping like syrup: "Thank you, Mrs. Patterson. We just need some time to work through a few small issues."
Emily touched the evidence list Sarah had given her in her pocket. These kind neighbors never knew about the violence behind these walls.
They only saw Jake's handsome silhouette in his police uniform each morning, heard his passionate speeches about "protecting families" at community gatherings.
Emily pushed open the front door. Sports news echoed from the living room TV. Jake sat on that signature black leather sofa, drinking beer, looking like a conqueror.
Showtime.
"Jake!" Emily's voice trembled as she rushed toward the sofa, throwing herself into his arms. Tears instantly flowed—each drop a carefully calculated prop.
"I was wrong! I was so wrong!" She sobbed breathlessly. "I shouldn't have listened to Sarah about divorce. I know you're under so much pressure at work. I shouldn't have treated you like this..."
Jake was stunned by this sudden "repentance." He set down his beer, somewhat stiffly stroking her hair.
"Baby... you..."
"Please forgive my stupidity!" Emily clung to him tightly.
A triumphant smile spread across Jake's face. He knew Emily would come to her senses.
"Baby, I knew you'd come back to me." He began lecturing her condescendingly. "Where could you go without me? Who would want a woman with all your problems?"
Emily gritted her teeth, suppressing her inner rage while continuing the performance: "I just want our family. I just want you to forgive me..."
"That's my good wife." Jake nodded with satisfaction, like praising an obedient pet.
Emily thought, "Bastard, enjoy your final moments."
Jake stood up, walking toward the wall-mounted surveillance monitors with pride.
"Look, baby, I installed a complete surveillance system to protect you." He pointed at the split-screen displays. "Living room, kitchen, bedroom, front door—I can see every corner."
Emily was internally shocked by the extent of surveillance, but her face showed "protective" gratitude.
"You really care about me..." She deliberately adopted a little-girl expression. "But the bedroom too?"
"Of course, safety first." Jake said matter-of-factly. "You don't mind, do you? We're married—nothing to hide. Plus this way I can see you're safe at home even when I'm at the station. No worrying."
This wasn't protection. This was imprisonment.
Emily nodded understandingly while mentally cataloging the surveillance system's weaknesses. Every camera angle, every possible blind spot was silently recorded.
"I'll prepare dinner." Emily said submissively, walking toward the kitchen.
In the kitchen, she deliberately stumbled in front of the camera, creating the illusion of being "shoved." Then she secretly wiped tears at the surveillance camera, crafting an image of being bullied.
"Sorry... I didn't mean to break the plate..." she whispered toward the camera, voice filled with fear.
"Be careful!" Jake shouted from the living room. "Why are you so clumsy today?"
"I'm just... still upset about today..." Emily continued her act.
Meanwhile, she began observing Jake's behavioral patterns. As a science teacher, observation and documentation were her instincts. Every detail, every habit could become a fatal weakness.
11 PM. Deep night. Only Jake's light snoring filled the bedroom.
Emily pretended to sleep while mentally reorganizing years of victim experiences. This time, she would analyze Jake's behavioral patterns scientifically.
"Wednesday night shifts, always drinks whiskey after. Violence probability: 90%."
"Extremely sensitive to challenges to his law enforcement authority. Immediate retaliation."
"Rainy days, always complains about the study safe getting damp."
Jake mumbled drunkenly: "Damn humidity... safe's stuck again..."
Emily's eyes glittered in the darkness. "Safe, rainy days, stuck. Important information."
She continued recording Jake's every weakness, every exploitable flaw. From a subconsciously submissive victim, she was becoming a precision strategist.
2 AM. Emily quietly got up for the bathroom.
The only place without surveillance. She tore off a piece of toilet paper, writing a brief message with her eyeliner.
[Come tomorrow night. Say you're reporting domestic violence. Force him to grab his gun.]
Suddenly, footsteps outside the door.
"Emily?" Jake knocked. "What are you doing in there?"
Emily quickly stuffed the note into her bra, pretending to adjust her clothes.
She replied, "Just... women's issues. Coming out now."
"Don't lock the door. You know I don't like that." Jake's voice carried a warning.
"Okay." Emily responded obediently.
Back in bed, Emily lay beside Jake, listening to his snoring. Her eyes sparkled in the darkness like a nocturnal predator.
She gently touched the scars from her previous life on her neck—only she could feel them—whispering: "Mom, this time I won't accept my fate. This time, I'll make him pay."
Rain began falling outside, droplets drumming against the windows in rhythm.
Emily listened to the rain, lips curving slightly upward.
Exactly the rain her plan required.
The safe would jam from humidity. Jake would become irritable, make mistakes. Every detail was following her script.
She was no longer that trembling victim.
She was Emily Carter, the reborn awakener, director of the perfect performance.
In this game, she was the true protagonist.
The rain grew heavier, as if playing a prelude to the coming revenge. Emily closed her eyes in the darkness, heart filled with unprecedented power.
It was time.