Chapter 2
Claire
I needed Austin gone. Now.
"Ugh." I pressed Macy's hand to her forehead, letting out what I hoped sounded like a genuine groan. "I feel terrible. Dizzy as hell."
Austin was already half-dressed. He barely glanced at me. "Probably just dehydration. You were pretty wild last night."
"Maybe you should stay home today," I said weakly, testing the waters.
"Can't. Board meeting at nine. Johnson's been gunning for my position, and I can't give him any ammunition." He checked his watch. "Take some aspirin. You'll be fine."
Perfect. Same old workaholic Austin, married to his ambition above all else.
I watched him grab his briefcase and head for the door. "Keys are on the kitchen counter if you need anything," he called over his shoulder. "Don't wait up—I'll be late."
The front door slammed shut.
I was alone.
Time to find the evidence that would bury this bastard.
I practically sprinted to Austin's study, Macy's bare feet slapping against the hardwood floors.
My insurance policies had to be here somewhere. Austin was obsessively organized about finances.
I yanked open the top desk drawer.
Then my hand froze mid-pull.
Not my hand. Macy's hand. But I wasn't controlling it anymore.
'You're fucking insane!' Macy's voice exploded inside my skull. 'If Austin catches you, he'll kill my mom!'
My—her—hand jerked backward, slamming the drawer shut.
"What the hell?" I tried to open it again, but Macy's fingers wouldn't cooperate. It was like fighting myself for control of a joystick.
'Stop it!' Macy's consciousness wrestled with mine. 'You don't understand what he's capable of!'
"He already killed me!" I shot back, finally managing to grip the drawer handle. "You think he's going to honor his promises to you?"
'He has to! My mother—'
"Is probably already dead, you naive bitch!"
That stopped her cold. For a moment, I felt her terror and desperation wash over me like a tide.
I took advantage of the pause to yank the drawer open again. File folders, bank statements, a collection of expensive pens.
Nothing.
'Please,' Macy's voice was smaller now, almost childlike. 'You don't know what you're doing.'
"I know exactly what I'm doing." I moved to the second drawer. "I can temporarily overlook the fact that you fucked my husband and helped murder me. He's a piece of shit anyway. But you cannot interfere with me right now."
Macy's consciousness seemed to hesitate. 'You... you're not going to hurt me?'
"Not if you cooperate."
Before she could respond, I heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening.
Shit.
"Macy?" Austin's voice carried from the foyer. "Where are you?"
I quickly closed the drawer and tried to look casual, but my elbow knocked over a picture frame on his desk. Glass scattered across the floor—our wedding photo.
Footsteps approached the study.
"What are you doing in here?" Austin appeared in the doorway, his eyes suspicious and cold.
Think fast.
I reached into Macy's robe pocket and felt something small and smooth. A necklace. Pearl pendant on a silver chain.
"Looking for this." I held up the jewelry, trying to sound sheepish. "The necklace you gave me. I thought I dropped it in here yesterday when I was dusting."
Austin's expression softened immediately. He stepped into the room and picked up the necklace, his fingers brushing mine.
I forced myself not to recoil.
"Found it, I see." His voice was gentle now, the voice he'd used during our courtship.
"Sorry about the mess with the picture frame." I said quickly.
He glanced at the shattered wedding photo, and for a moment, something dark flickered across his face. Satisfaction, maybe. Or relief.
"Just be more careful around my desk," he said, fastening the necklace around my neck. His fingers lingered at my nape. "Especially the blue folder in the bottom drawer. That's all of Claire's estate paperwork—insurance policies, will, everything. Can't afford to have anything go missing before probate closes."
Holy shit. He'd just told me exactly where to find the evidence.
"Of course," I nodded, playing the obedient mistress. "I won't touch anything important."
"Good girl." He kissed my forehead like I was a pet. "Forgot my presentation notes. I'll be gone in five minutes."
The moment his car disappeared again, I was back at the desk.
Bottom drawer. Blue folder.
My life insurance policy sat right on top. Two million dollars, just like Austin had said. Beneficiary: Austin Williams.
But underneath that was something even more damning. A second policy I'd never seen before. Taken out six months ago, when they'd started planning my murder.
Five million dollars. Signed with a forged version of my signature.
'Jesus Christ,' Macy's voice whispered in my head. 'Five million?'
"Greedy bastards," I muttered, photographing everything with Macy's phone.
'Claire.' Macy's consciousness felt different now. Less panicked, more resigned. 'There's something else you need to see.'
"What?"
'My closet. The shoebox behind my boots.'
I followed her mental directions to the bedroom closet. Behind a pair of black leather boots was a Nike shoebox that felt heavier than it should.
Inside: a USB drive with "E.C." carved into the plastic casing.
"What's on this?"
'Videos,' Macy's voice was barely a whisper. 'Of me and Austin. He made me record everything. Said it was for insurance.'
"Insurance against what?"
'Against me changing my mind. Or trying to leave.' Her mental voice cracked. 'Claire, you have to understand—he has my mother in a private psychiatric facility. Says if I help him, he'll pay for the best doctors. If I don't...'
The pieces started clicking together. "How long has your mom been sick?"
'Three years. Schizophrenia. I couldn't afford her medication, let alone proper care. When Austin offered to help, I thought he was being kind.'
Three years. Right when Macy had entered my life, playing the struggling art student with family problems.
Every bit of it had been a setup.
"What if he's lying?" I asked. "What if he's not actually treating her at all?"
Silence.
'I... I've been afraid of that. But I don't have any other choice.'
"Yes, you do." I closed the shoebox and headed back to the bedroom. "We help each other."
'You really think we can trust each other? After everything?'
"I think we're both fucked if we don't."
I grabbed Macy's phone and opened her contacts. Lucas wasn't there, but I knew his number by heart.
My fingers hesitated over the screen. Lucas had been my friend since college, but Austin was charming and manipulative.
What if he'd gotten to Lucas too?
No. Lucas had always seen through Austin's bullshit. He was the only one who'd warned me about marrying too quickly.
I added his number and sent a message: [I have evidence that Austin murdered Claire. Need to meet tonight. Your studio?]
The response came within seconds: [Holy shit, Macy. Yes. 8 PM. Be careful!]
My heart started racing.
'You're really going to trust him?' Macy asked. 'What if this is a trap?'
"Lucas is the only person who can help us."
I typed back: [I will bring everything—the insurance fraud, the videos, all of it.]
[I'll be ready.] Lucas replied.
Then I deleted the message thread.
'What if you're wrong about him?' Macy's voice was small and scared.
"Then we're both dead anyway." I looked at my reflection in the mirror—Macy's face staring back at me with my determination behind her eyes. "But I'd rather die fighting than live as Austin's victim."
For the first time since I'd been trapped in this body, I felt like I might actually have a chance.