Dead Before He Said 'I Love You'

Evelyn's POV

The mafia boss chose me as his decoy—a body double for the woman he loves.

Eight years. Three bullets, one car crash, one explosion. The doctor said ten more minutes and I would've died on that operating table when they took my kidney. I gave him a son. He let me play "the boss's wife" in public.

Until he cleared every obstacle for her and decided to marry her.

Her wedding photos replaced mine in the master bedroom. He has her initials tattooed on his arm. When I questioned him, he had his men slap me at a charity gala, forced me to admit "I'm just a stand-in." When I touched her, he took away my custody, declared she was "the true lady of this house."

The punishments got worse. When he threatened to cancel my mother's insurance, I finally learned to shut up.

He pulls me close, whispers in my ear: "She gave up everything for me. Not like you—you were born to take bullets for me."

"Deal with it. She's not replacing you. This is her house now."

Even my son took her side.

"Stop being dramatic! Natalie actually loves us! You're nothing!"

But their pure, innocent Natalie? She unplugged my mother's ventilator while I was locked in the basement. Let his enemies slip poison into my drink during the last job.

When Grayson found me, all he said was: "She's pregnant and emotional. Go rearrange the flowers at the wedding venue."

I wipe the black blood from my lips. Look at him quietly.

"I'm dying."

"This again?"

He pours himself whiskey. Doesn't even look at me.

I try to stand. My legs feel like they might give out. The basement was freezing. Two days down there. The poison spread through my whole body. My organs burn.

"She says you pushed her down the stairs." He finally turns around. Eyes cold. "She's carrying my child. You pushed her?"

"I didn't. She—"

"Still lying?"

He comes toward me. I back up instinctively. My back hits the wall. Nowhere left to go.

He grabs my right hand. That's when I see the pen in his grip. Eight years ago, I played piano at an upscale club. He stood in the back, watched the whole set. Afterward, he handed me a business card and a gift box. The pen was inside.

"From now on, you only play for me." That's what he said.

I thought it was romantic. Looking back, it was just him marking his property.

The pen tip presses into my palm. No warning. He drives it straight through.

I let out a short scream. He covers my mouth with his other hand. "What if she hears you?"

The tip twists in my flesh. Something breaks. A tendon, maybe. A nerve. Pain shoots up my arm like electricity.

He finally lets go. The pen stays lodged in my palm. Blood runs down my wrist.

"You better pray she and the baby are fine." He pulls out his phone. "Or your mom's insurance? One call and it's gone."

My voice shakes. "Too late... She's already dead..."

His finger freezes on the screen.

I laugh through tears. "Three days ago. Your perfect Natalie unplugged the ventilator. Mom didn't live long enough for you to cancel anything."

"Bullshit!" He slaps me across the face.

My head slams against the wall. My ears ring. When my vision clears, he's already on the phone.

"Cancel all medical coverage for the old woman. Yes. Do it now."

I hear myself laughing. My whole body shakes.

The irony. My mother's already dead. And he still needs to kill her again to be satisfied.

"Dad, what are you doing?"

Lucas's voice comes from the doorway. He stands there in his school uniform, backpack on his shoulders.

He glances at me, then looks away fast. Like looking longer would disgust him.

"Nothing." Grayson puts away his phone. His tone softens instantly. "Go upstairs. Natalie wants to see you."

"Wait." Lucas doesn't move. Instead he walks closer, stares at me. "Mom, did you make Dad angry again?"

Before I can answer, he keeps going. "Natalie's crying because of you. She says you accused her of killing grandma. That you pushed her."

"I didn't push her—"

"Enough!" He cuts me off. "You think I'm still three years old? Natalie's so kind. How could she do something like that?"

I remember when he was three. The gang wars were at their worst. I hid him in rundown motels, used my body to shield him from bullets that came through the door. Back then he'd cling to me crying, saying "Mommy, I'm scared."

Now he's grown. Learned to stand somewhere safe and blame the person who used to protect him.

"I don't want you as my mom anymore." He pulls a stack of papers from his backpack. Throws them on the floor. "Dad's lawyer prepared these. I'm moving in with Natalie."

The papers scatter. The top one reads "Petition for Transfer of Custody."

He pauses, then adds: "Don't come to the wedding. Natalie says seeing you makes her nervous. Bad for the baby."

Then he leaves. No hesitation. Doesn't look back.

I stare at the papers on the floor. His messy signature sprawled across them. He's seven years old. Can barely write properly. But he already knows how to abandon his mother.

Black blood rises in my throat. I can't keep it down. I vomit all over those documents.

The blood turns "Transfer of Custody" into an illegible blur.

"Disgusting."

Natalie's voice drifts down from the stairs.

She comes down in a silk robe, one hand on the railing, the other resting on her swollen belly. Lucas follows close behind her.

She stops three steps away. Wrinkles her nose. "You got the floor all dirty."

Then she looks at Grayson. Her eyes instantly well up.

"I'm sorry." Her voice comes out soft and gentle. "This is all my fault. I wasn't careful enough. That's why she hates me so much..."

"If leaving would make her happy, I can go. I'll raise the baby myself. I won't burden you..."

"Stop that." Grayson immediately moves to support her. "You're not going anywhere."

He pulls a cigar from his pocket. Lights it with his lighter. The flame lights up his face.

He walks over to me. Rips open my shirt at the shoulder.

The burning cigar presses into my skin.