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Today was the last day of one of the four months my husband had allowed me to kill him.
Have I attempted to murder him in this one month? No.
After my previous attempt at sending my dear husband to his grave? It turns out it’s not as simple as slitting his throat in his sleep. For me to succeed, I have to think like him and go through his complex mental maze. Only by doing so can I ensure his untimely end. It’s all about playing his game but with my own set of rules.
That’s why I’ve been playing it cool, letting him think he’s in control. The last month has been a lesson in patience. He’s always watching, waiting for me to trip up. Every little thing I do wrong, every time I don’t kiss his ass, he drags me to his office for a ‘discussion’. It’s just a fancy term for giving my ass good, hard spanks with those steely hands of his.
I silently take his punishments, all the while plotting his downfall. I let him think he’s won, that he’s breaking me down. But every bruise, every sting of pain, it’s simply fuel for the fire. And when the moment comes, oh, how sweetly I’ll make him dance to my tune.
I shook my head, the dark waves of my hair brushing against the freshly applied makeup, as I slipped into the towering black heels. They added an illusion of height, but I knew better than to think they’d make me feel less dwarfed by my husband.
I checked the time on the antique, gold-plated watch that Hana gifted me a few weeks ago. It was almost time to head out to my husband’s cousin Jeon Jungkook’s party. It seemed that his new enterprise was a huge success, and the entire Bratva family was excited to celebrate. However, I have little interest in the celebrations.
With a barely noticeable sigh, I approached the mirror and examined my reflection. The white dress I’d chosen for the occasion clung to my body like a second skin, the stark colour highlighting my sharp, angular features and the intricate tattoo that danced along the left side of my neck. My eyes narrowed as I traced my bottom lip with the tip of my finger, darkening the colour of crimson lipstick, the shade of blood and danger.
I took my purse which was worth a million and slid my lipstick, a weapon of seduction, it clicked against the phone, and my gun. With a final glance at the reflection, I stepped out of the room.
Liam was patiently waiting for me in the corridor. “Hello, Gospozha,” he murmured as I approached him, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson at the sight of me. “If you are ready, Gospozha, shall we proceed?” His voice was a murmur as if the very walls had ears.
I stepped closer to him, my heels clicking against the floor. “Tell me, Liam,” I purred, my eyes scanning the corridor with a predatory gaze, “How am I looking?” I asked, a playful smirk curling the corner of my mouth.
“As ever, Gospozha, you are breathtaking,” he replied, his voice a tremulous whisper, as he took my purse from my hand.
I raised an eyebrow, my smirk deepening. “Are you telling the truth?” I pressed, enjoying teasing him, but his honesty was something I could always rely on, even if it was tinged with fear.
