Chapter 9
Ethan reviewed the bathroom footage at his office the next morning, his face carved from stone.
He picked up the phone and called Daniel. "Get the police involved. Tonight."
"Are you sure? We could build a stronger—"
"She's planning to kill me, Daniel. I need her arrested before she gets the chance."
He paused. "And I need Lily somewhere safe. Today."
Within hours, Mrs. Park took Lily to Daniel's wife's house—a sprawling home in a gated community, filled with warm light and Daniel's three children.
Lily clung to Mrs. Park but didn't cry. She'd learned not to cry.
I followed my daughter there, torn between watching over her and seeing this through to the end.
I chose to follow Ethan. Because for once—for the first time in our entire relationship—he was fighting for me.
That evening, Ethan came home early. Mila was in the kitchen, a glass of wine in her hand—a particular bottle she'd pulled from the back of the cabinet.
"Hey! I opened that red you like." She poured him a glass, sliding it across the counter. Her smile was luminous.
Ethan looked at the glass. Then at Mila.
"You first," he said.
Mila's smile flickered. "What?"
"You always pour mine first but never drink with me. Come on—let's toast."
"I shouldn't, with my medication—"
"One sip won't hurt." His eyes were unblinking.
The standoff lasted three seconds. Then Mila laughed—too bright, too sharp—and lifted her own glass. "Fine. To us."
She brought the glass to her lips but didn't drink. Her eyes watched his over the rim.
Ethan didn't touch his glass either. He just stared at her.
"What's in it, Mila?"
The kitchen went silent. Even the hum of the refrigerator seemed to stop.
"What?" Her voice was pitch-perfect—confused, slightly hurt. "It's the Bordeaux, babe. You love it—"
"What did you put in my glass?"
"Ethan, you're being crazy—"
He grabbed her glass from the counter—her untouched glass—and switched it with his. "Then drink mine."
Mila's face finally cracked. It was subtle—a tightening around her eyes, a slight pull at the corner of her mouth—but I saw it. And so did Ethan.
"I'm not playing this game." She set the glass down. "You've been acting insane for days—"
"The way you acted when you pushed Nora off that terrace?"
The words dropped like a bomb.
Mila went completely still. Her eyes—those calculating, predator eyes—locked onto his. The mask didn't just slip; it shattered entirely.
"Who told you that?" Her voice was different now. Low. Cold.
"You did." Ethan pulled out his phone and played the bathroom recording—her voice, clear as crystal, discussing "the backup plan" with her mother.
Mila listened. Her expression didn't change. If anything, she seemed... relieved. Like maintaining the act had been the exhausting part.
"Okay," she said simply.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I pushed her." Mila leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "She was standing between me and what I wanted. What I needed."
"You killed her for her heart."
"I killed her for everything." Mila's voice was steady, almost proud. "The heart was the practical part. But getting her out of the way? That was personal. She had you—my Ethan—for five years. Five years I spent dying in hospitals while she played house with the man I loved since we were sixteen."
"You never loved me," Ethan said, his voice hollow. "You loved the idea of winning."
Mila smiled—that same smile she'd worn while watching me fall. "What's the difference?"
The front door burst open. Three police officers entered, weapons drawn, followed by two detectives.
"Mila Chen, you're under arrest for the murder of Nora Eastlake."
Mila didn't resist. She didn't scream or cry or beg. She held out her wrists and looked directly at Ethan as the handcuffs clicked shut.
"You know what's funny?" she said, her voice carrying over the chaos. "Your wife tried to warn you. For months. She begged you to listen. And you chose me every single time."
She leaned closer as they led her past him, her whisper like a blade.
"I didn't kill her alone, Ethan. You helped."
They pulled her toward the door. The last thing she said before disappearing into the squad car was spoken loud enough for every officer to hear.
"That heart in my chest? It beats better for me than it ever did for her."
He picked up the phone and called Daniel. "Get the police involved. Tonight."
"Are you sure? We could build a stronger—"
"She's planning to kill me, Daniel. I need her arrested before she gets the chance."
He paused. "And I need Lily somewhere safe. Today."
Within hours, Mrs. Park took Lily to Daniel's wife's house—a sprawling home in a gated community, filled with warm light and Daniel's three children.
Lily clung to Mrs. Park but didn't cry. She'd learned not to cry.
I followed my daughter there, torn between watching over her and seeing this through to the end.
I chose to follow Ethan. Because for once—for the first time in our entire relationship—he was fighting for me.
That evening, Ethan came home early. Mila was in the kitchen, a glass of wine in her hand—a particular bottle she'd pulled from the back of the cabinet.
"Hey! I opened that red you like." She poured him a glass, sliding it across the counter. Her smile was luminous.
Ethan looked at the glass. Then at Mila.
"You first," he said.
Mila's smile flickered. "What?"
"You always pour mine first but never drink with me. Come on—let's toast."
"I shouldn't, with my medication—"
"One sip won't hurt." His eyes were unblinking.
The standoff lasted three seconds. Then Mila laughed—too bright, too sharp—and lifted her own glass. "Fine. To us."
She brought the glass to her lips but didn't drink. Her eyes watched his over the rim.
Ethan didn't touch his glass either. He just stared at her.
"What's in it, Mila?"
The kitchen went silent. Even the hum of the refrigerator seemed to stop.
"What?" Her voice was pitch-perfect—confused, slightly hurt. "It's the Bordeaux, babe. You love it—"
"What did you put in my glass?"
"Ethan, you're being crazy—"
He grabbed her glass from the counter—her untouched glass—and switched it with his. "Then drink mine."
Mila's face finally cracked. It was subtle—a tightening around her eyes, a slight pull at the corner of her mouth—but I saw it. And so did Ethan.
"I'm not playing this game." She set the glass down. "You've been acting insane for days—"
"The way you acted when you pushed Nora off that terrace?"
The words dropped like a bomb.
Mila went completely still. Her eyes—those calculating, predator eyes—locked onto his. The mask didn't just slip; it shattered entirely.
"Who told you that?" Her voice was different now. Low. Cold.
"You did." Ethan pulled out his phone and played the bathroom recording—her voice, clear as crystal, discussing "the backup plan" with her mother.
Mila listened. Her expression didn't change. If anything, she seemed... relieved. Like maintaining the act had been the exhausting part.
"Okay," she said simply.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I pushed her." Mila leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "She was standing between me and what I wanted. What I needed."
"You killed her for her heart."
"I killed her for everything." Mila's voice was steady, almost proud. "The heart was the practical part. But getting her out of the way? That was personal. She had you—my Ethan—for five years. Five years I spent dying in hospitals while she played house with the man I loved since we were sixteen."
"You never loved me," Ethan said, his voice hollow. "You loved the idea of winning."
Mila smiled—that same smile she'd worn while watching me fall. "What's the difference?"
The front door burst open. Three police officers entered, weapons drawn, followed by two detectives.
"Mila Chen, you're under arrest for the murder of Nora Eastlake."
Mila didn't resist. She didn't scream or cry or beg. She held out her wrists and looked directly at Ethan as the handcuffs clicked shut.
"You know what's funny?" she said, her voice carrying over the chaos. "Your wife tried to warn you. For months. She begged you to listen. And you chose me every single time."
She leaned closer as they led her past him, her whisper like a blade.
"I didn't kill her alone, Ethan. You helped."
They pulled her toward the door. The last thing she said before disappearing into the squad car was spoken loud enough for every officer to hear.
"That heart in my chest? It beats better for me than it ever did for her."