Chapter 6

2 AM. Perfect hunting time.

I slipped out of bed, leaving Lyndon snoring peacefully beside me. The irony wasn't lost on me - he was sleeping so soundly while I planted the devices that would destroy him.

The basement was a maze of shadows and blue surveillance lights. In the days since discovering their conspiracy, I'd been frantically researching military-grade recording equipment, using Lyndon's own credit cards to purchase them.

Beautiful symmetry.

"These will capture every whisper," I murmured to the sleek black devices Nathan had helped me install. "You think this house is your safe space? Think again."

The device beeped softly. "Recording system activated. 24-hour monitoring engaged. Signal strength optimal."

I moved through our house like a ghost, placing Nathan's military-grade recorders in strategic locations. Behind Lyndon's studio bookshelf. Under the living room coffee table where Harper always sat. One in the kitchen, disguised as a decorative spice container.

From tonight on, every word in this house becomes evidence. I activated the phone app. Harper, Lyndon - welcome to your confession booth.

By 10 AM, I was monitoring through the app as Marcus entered Lyndon's private studio. The soundproofing they'd installed to keep secrets was about to become their courtroom.

"Mr. Parker, we might have a problem," Marcus said, settling into his chair with visible anxiety.

"What kind of problem?" Lyndon's voice was sharp.

"The kind that involves federal investigators asking questions about insurance payouts from house fires in Ohio."

My heart stopped. They were talking about my parents.

"That was four years ago," Lyndon replied dismissively. "Ancient history."

"Not to the FBI. They're connecting dots - the fire, the insurance company, the shell corporation that received the payout. And guess who that corporation made donations to?"

"Harper's children's charity," Lyndon finished grimly.

"Exactly. Someone's been digging, boss. Deep digging."

There was a long pause. When Lyndon spoke again, his voice was ice-cold.

"Then we need to eliminate the source of the digging before it becomes a real problem."

"You mean...?"

"I mean Jasmine has outlived her usefulness. Harper's been patient, but patience has limits."

My hands shook as I gripped the phone. They were discussing my murder like a business transaction.

"What's the timeline?" Marcus asked.

"Soon. Harper thinks a tragic accident would be most convincing - poor woman, never recovered from her trauma. Maybe a car crash, maybe a fall from our balcony. Something that looks like suicide but can't be proven."

I had to cover my mouth to keep from screaming.

The doorbell chimed at 3 PM, interrupting my horror. Through the security camera, I saw Harper stepping out of her red Maserati, looking like she owned the world.

Come into my web, spider.

"Harper!" I called out, opening the door with manufactured enthusiasm. "What a lovely surprise!"

"Darling Jasmine," Harper purred, air-kissing me with practiced insincerity. "I felt terrible about yesterday's unpleasantness. I brought peace offerings."

She held up a bottle of Dom Pérignon and a box from my favorite bakery.

"That's so thoughtful," I replied, leading her toward the living room where my most sensitive recorder waited. "Come in, let's catch up properly."

Harper's eyes swept over our lavish interior with calculating familiarity. "This place never gets old... though it's such a waste on someone who doesn't appreciate luxury." Her tone was acid wrapped in silk.

We settled on the leather sofa - the same one where I'd caught them fucking years ago.

"You know, Jasmine, I've been thinking about our conversation yesterday," Harper began, examining her blood-red manicure. "About how some people are just naturally suited for certain lives."

I kept my expression neutral. "What do you mean?"

"I mean look at me - two beautiful children, unlimited resources, social connections that matter. And look at you..." She gestured dismissively. "Rattling around in this empty house, no purpose, no future."

"I have Lyndon," I said quietly.

Harper's laugh was sharp as broken glass. "Oh honey, you have a man who's been obsessed with me for fifteen years. Did you really think he married you for love?"

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. That's what makes you so perfectly pathetic." Harper leaned back, savoring her cruelty. "Do you want to know how this really works? Lyndon worships me. Always has, since Juilliard. He'd burn down the world if I asked him to."

I played confused, letting her reveal everything.

"When I decided I wanted Ryan Blackstone's life, Lyndon didn't even hesitate. 'Whatever you need, Harper. How can I help destroy the obstacle?'" Her impression of Lyndon's lovesick voice was viciously accurate.

"Obstacle?"

"You, sweetie. And that annoying little boy who was in my way."

My blood turned to ice, but I forced myself to look bewildered rather than murderous.

"Jake's death wasn't an accident," Harper continued, practically purring with satisfaction. "I planned every detail. Did you know an eight-year-old can only hold their breath for about forty-five seconds? I timed it perfectly."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I held that little brat underwater until he stopped struggling, then jumped in afterward to play the hero." Her smile was pure evil. "Oscar-worthy performance, don't you think?"

The front door slammed, and Lyndon's voice echoed through the foyer. "I'm home!"

He appeared in the living room, his expression tightening when he saw Harper on our couch.

"Harper? What are you doing here?" His voice carried warning and desperate hope in equal measure.

"Visiting your sweet wife," Harper said with mock innocence. "We're having such an interesting conversation about the past."

"The past should stay buried," Lyndon said quickly, shooting Harper a sharp look.

"Should it?" Harper's voice turned dangerous. "Even when federal investigators start asking uncomfortable questions?"

Lyndon paled. "What investigators?"

"The kind that trace insurance money from house fires in Ohio, darling. The kind that wonder why grieving parents died so conveniently after their daughter became a liability."

I forced myself to look confused. "What house fire? What parents?"

"Your parents, sweetie," Harper said with false sympathy. "Poor things, dying in that terrible electrical fire just when things were getting complicated."

"That wasn't electrical," Lyndon said quietly. "That was me, cleaning up loose ends for you."

The room went silent except for the soft hum of my hidden recorders capturing every damning word.

"Cleaning up?" I whispered, my genuine confusion finally showing.

"Your parents were asking too many questions," Harper explained casually. "Hiring investigators, threatening to sue the Blackstones. They had to be stopped."

"So I arranged it," Lyndon finished. "Made it look like an accident. For you, Harper. Always for you."

Harper's expression softened as she looked at him. "My sweet, devoted Lyndon. You'd kill for me, wouldn't you?"

"I have killed for you," he replied simply. "Jake, her parents, anyone who threatens your happiness."

I stared at them both, my fake confusion giving way to calculated horror. "You... you murdered my parents?"

"We eliminated obstacles," Harper corrected. "Just like we're about to eliminate you."

"Harper," Lyndon warned.

"What? She's already figured it out. Look at her face." Harper turned to me with predatory satisfaction. "Did you really think you'd live happily ever after with my leftovers?"

She stood up, smoothing down her designer dress. "Lyndon, it's time. I'm tired of pretending this broken little girl matters."

"What about timing? Suspicion?"

"A tragic suicide," Harper said thoughtfully. "Poor Jasmine, never recovered from her trauma. Maybe she leaves a note confessing to Jake's death - clears my name completely while she's at it."

I watched them plan my murder with the same casual tone they'd use to discuss dinner reservations.

"When?" Lyndon asked.

"Tonight. I'll help you stage it - make it look convincing. Then we can finally be together openly."

After Harper left, I sat in our bedroom organizing audio files. Hours of confession, casual discussion of multiple murders like they were planning a vacation.

"Child murder, arson, conspiracy..." I muttered, creating folders on my laptop. "You sick fucks documented everything."

I stared at my phone, Nathan's number ready to dial. But I didn't call him yet.

You thought you were so clever? I closed the laptop.

But this is just the appetizer.