Chapter 3
I couldn't sit still. Couldn't eat breakfast. Ten AM and I was still in yesterday's clothes, picking up the same diamond earring for the third time.
"Mrs. Parker, I move the bed now to clean behind?" Maria appeared with her supplies, waiting for permission like always.
"Go ahead." I waved her on, barely looking up from my scattered jewelry.
The sound of furniture scraping made me glance over. Maria was on her knees, reaching deep into the gap behind the nightstand.
"Ay," she muttered, then straightened up holding something small. "Señora, I found this stuck very deep. Should I throw away?"
My stomach dropped. A torn condom wrapper dangled between her fingers – cheap drugstore brand that definitely wasn't ours.
"What the fuck," I breathed, snatching it from her hands.
Maria's eyes widened at my language, but she stayed quiet.
I stared at the package, my brain struggling to process. "This isn't... we don't use this brand."
"Very hidden place, señora," Maria said carefully. "And the date is not old."
The expiration date stared back at me. Recent. Very fucking recent.
"Just dispose of it," I managed. "And Maria? Let's keep this between us."
She nodded quickly and gathered her things. "I clean downstairs now."
After she left, I sat on our bed staring at the spot where she'd found that wrapper. My mind raced with horrible possibilities, but deep down, I already knew.
I grabbed my phone and downloaded the home security app. Lyndon's voice echoed in my head: "Top-of-the-line system, baby. I never want you to feel vulnerable when I'm not here."
Vulnerable. That's rich.
My fingers trembled as I navigated to historical footage. If someone had been in our bedroom, if there was proof...
I scrolled back through the calendar. March 2020. Three months before Jake died.
"Loading historical footage from March 8th, 2020..."
Thumbnail images filled the screen. Empty rooms, normal household stuff, and then - my heart stopped.
2:47 PM. Master bedroom camera. Two figures on the bed.
"No fucking way," I whispered, but my shaking finger was already tapping the image.
The video expanded to full screen, and my world tilted sideways.
Harper walked into frame wearing a cream Hermès dress, hair perfect and makeup flawless - like she was headed to a red carpet instead of a secret hookup.
Then Lyndon appeared, and I nearly threw the phone across the room.
"God, I've missed you," Harper's voice came through crystal clear. "Ever since Juilliard, you're the only man who's ever really understood me."
Juilliard. They'd been together in college. My husband had been obsessed with this woman for over a decade.
"I'd do anything for you, Harper. You know that." Lyndon's voice was desperate, pathetic. "When you called and said you needed Ryan Blackstone's life, I started planning immediately."
"My sweet, devoted Lyndon." She traced her finger down his chest. "Other men want to possess me. You want to serve me. That's why you're so special."
They kissed then, hungry and passionate, on what was supposed to be my marriage bed.
"The engagement party is perfect timing," Harper continued, unbuttoning her dress. "Ryan's son trusts me completely. After tomorrow, that little obstacle will be gone, and the grieving widower will need someone to comfort him."
"What about Jasmine?" Lyndon asked, his hands already on her waist.
Harper laughed - actually fucking laughed. "That talentless nobody from Iowa? She'll be so broken by the scandal, she'll probably kill herself. Problem solved."
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then you'll save her, won't you? Play the hero, marry her, keep her under control. I can't have loose ends."
Lyndon nodded eagerly. "Whatever you need. I've loved you for fifteen years, Harper. I'd burn down the world for you."
"I know you would." Her smile was pure manipulation. "That's what makes you so useful."
I dropped the phone, bile rising in my throat. Fifteen years. He'd been her devoted slave for fifteen fucking years.
I stumbled backward, hitting the reading chair. Every piece of furniture, every carefully chosen detail - it had all been contaminated from day one.
My 70-million-dollar dream house. Their playground. Her reward system for her faithful dog.
"Useful," I whispered, remembering her word. Not loved. Not cherished. Useful.
I scrolled through more footage. Different dates, same disgusting pattern. Harper visiting whenever she needed emotional support, sexual release, or planning assistance. Lyndon eager and grateful for any scrap of attention.
In one video from last month: "Ryan's getting suspicious about the insurance money from that fire," Harper said casually, like she was discussing the weather. "We might need to silence some loose ends."
"Whatever you need," Lyndon replied immediately. "I still have contacts in Ohio."
My parents' house. The "electrical fire" that killed them.
These sick fucks had been using our bedroom to plan murders.
My phone buzzed. Lyndon's ringtone.
"Hey beautiful," his voice was warm, concerned. "You sound upset. Everything okay?"
I looked around our bedroom - the scene of their crimes, their passion, their planning.
"Just missing you," I lied smoothly. "When will you be home?"
"Soon, baby. Harper's in town for some business meetings. I might grab dinner with her to discuss a potential collaboration."
Harper's in town. Of course she fucking is.
"That sounds wonderful," I said. "Tell her I said hi."
"I will. Love you."
"Love you too."
I hung up and immediately called Nathan in London.
"Jasmine? It's 3 AM here, what's—"
"I need your help," I cut him off. "How quickly can you get to Los Angeles?"
"What happened?"
"I just found out my husband's been in love with another woman for fifteen years. Oh, and they murdered my parents."
Silence.
"Book the first flight," Nathan said finally. "I'll be there tomorrow."
I walked to the window, looking out over the city lights. Somewhere out there, Harper was having dinner with my husband, probably planning their next move.
"Useful," I said to my reflection. "Let's see how useful I can be."
Tomorrow, the real game would begin.