Page 10 of The Bad Husband

Instead, I spend the next hour trying to get a glimpse of him and his men as they have drinks by the pool and unsettle the otherwise quiet afternoon with their careless, loud voices.

LILA

Come dinner time, I realize I’m not hungry, but I decide to head downstairs anyway so I can familiarize myself with the space, meet the other staff members, and see what we have for dinner.

Or I should say, what I have for dinner.

Damon West and his men––his employees most likely––are long gone when I step into the kitchen.

There’s food on the kitchen island, and it’s still warm.

Blackened shrimp, collard greens, warm biscuits, and pecan pie.

My favorite type of dinner.

I grab a biscuit, store everything else in containers, put them in the refrigerator, and head upstairs.

Minutes later, I’m asleep, and the next time I’m awake, the house looks like nothing I can remember.

A soft breeze rolls over my cheeks like a tickle. As if someone is gently dragging a feather across my skin.

Groaning, I swat away the imaginary feather and open my eyes, my lips dry.

“Shit,” I mutter as if I just swallowed a bug.

I run the back of my hand over my mouth, push up onto an elbow, and look around the room, dazed, trying to figure out my new life.

The place looks like a sky full of stars as the lit pool water moves slowly, the motion reflected onto the ceiling.

The breeze rolls in through the open doors. I don’t remember leaving them open.

To be fair, I’m a little confused. I fell asleep so quickly that I didn’t even change my clothes. I’m still wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

It's too late to swap that out for my pajamas.

My stomach growls, and I remember all that delicious food stored in the refrigerator.

And then another thought pops into my head.

I might be home alone.

There’s no one in the house.

That thought sets me in motion faster than fire.

I climb out of bed and walk to the terrace.

A sweet aroma of flowers drifts through the air as strings of colorful lights flicker around the pool.

The estate is peppered with lights and cameras; one can only hope, right?

How else can they ensure the space is secure?

Based on my initial observations, this doesn’t look like the place of two people madly in love.

The estate is beautiful and well taken care of, but no one seems to want to live here.

“Oh… Spooky,” I say, rubbing my arms as a swirl of goosebumps swirls across my skin.