Chapter 3

He dropped Brenda off at an urgent care clinic — she was wailing the entire way — and left her there to get her burns treated. Then he drove back to the house alone.

Night had fallen. The house was dead silent.

Down in the basement, the unplugged chest freezer sat in the dark, still radiating a faint, cold chill.

Caleb sank into the couch and light up three cigarettes back-to-back. His fingers still wouldn't stop shaking.

He owned an abandoned medical waste processing plant on the outskirts of the city. Inside sat a compact, ultra-high-temperature incinerator.

Toss a body in, and within a few hours, there'd be nothing left — not even bone fragments.

His mind made up, he crushed out his cigarette and strode down into the basement.

He threw open the freezer lid.

A wave of thick, metallic blood smell hit him, mixed with the raw stench of frozen pork.

Caleb shoved aside the frozen cuts of meat on top, revealing the body crammed inside — twisted and folded into an unnatural shape.

"Veronica, don't blame me for being heartless. Blame yourself for being too pushy."

He let out a cold laugh, grabbed the body by the shoulders, and hauled it toward him.

The body was heavy, and it had been packed in too tight. It took everything he had to drag her down onto the floor.

Under the harsh white light of the basement ceiling, he finally got a clear look at the face.

The skin was unnaturally pale and bloated — waterlogged, then frozen. Tangled hair was plastered across the face like something out of a nightmare.

Disgusting.

Caleb grabbed a nearby towel and wiped at the face, clearing away the moisture so the body bag wouldn't soil his car later.

He pressed the towel down and scrubbed twice.

The water was gone.

And with it — accidentally yanked free — came a black wig.

A cascade of chestnut-brown, long wavy curls spilled out beneath it.

Caleb froze.

Veronica never permed her hair. She always wore it straight and black.

The towel hung motionless in his hand as his eyes locked onto the face he'd just wiped clean.

His pupils shrank to pinpoints. His heart felt like an invisible fist had just crushed it.

The features were slightly distorted from asphyxiation, but there was no mistaking them.

Delicate. Pretty. A faint beauty mark at the corner of one eye.

This was…

"M… Monica?"

A broken, inhuman sound crawled out of Caleb's throat. His legs gave out, and he dropped straight to his knees.

How could it be Monica?!

The one who was supposed to die was Veronica!

He had held her down with his own hands!

Right then.

His phone, still in his pocket, erupted into violent, frantic vibrations.

The screen blazed with harsh white light in the dark basement.

Incoming video call.

Contact name: [My Wife Veronica]

Caleb's hands were shaking as he scrambled backward, nearly crawling. His fingers trembled as he hit accept.

The call connected.

On the screen — no hell. No ghost.

Veronica was draped across a leather sofa, wearing a deep wine-red silk slip. Relaxed. Unhurried.

She swirled a half-glass of red wine in her hand, her eyes sharp and cold.

She looked straight into the camera, and the corners of her lips curved into a smile Caleb had never seen before — slow, deliberate, and deeply unsettling.

"Hey, honey."

Her voice was soft. Gentle as a blade dipped in poison.

"Did you enjoy the little surprise I prepared for you?"

"AHHH——!!!"

Caleb hurled the phone at the ground like a man losing his mind, clutching his head and letting out a raw, ragged scream.

The screen shattered — but the call stayed connected.

Veronica's quiet laughter drifted out through the cracked speaker, floating through the empty basement like a whisper from something that shouldn't exist.

"What's wrong? Can't bring yourself to look at your precious girl?"

Caleb lunged forward, snatched the phone off the ground, and screamed into the broken screen.

"Veronica! You sick, twisted — what did you DO?! Why is it Monica?! WHY IS IT HER?!"

"Keep your voice down. You'll wake the neighbors."

Veronica took a slow sip of wine, looking at him the way someone looks at a pile of trash.

"Already falling apart? Caleb, you held her underwater yourself. You watched her struggle and go still. You were smiling."

"Bullsh*t! That was YOU! YOU were the one who was supposed to die!" Caleb shrieked, his face a mess of tears and snot.

"Are you blind?"

Veronica let out a cold laugh and tilted the camera closer.

"Monica showed up at the villa this afternoon. Said she was carrying your son. Told me to step aside."

"All I did was slip a little something into her tea — just a sleeping pill — and then I called in a special makeup effects Artist. Hollywood-level work. Put my silicone face mask on her. Added the wig."

"Then I changed her into my clothes and put her in the bathtub."

Veronica paused. When her eyes came back to the camera, they were glacial.

"Caleb, you couldn't even tell your own wife had been replaced by someone else. Just how badly did you want me dead?"

The cold hit Caleb all at once, like he'd been dropped into ice water.

Special effects makeup?A mask?

He stared at the body on the floor — and finally understood why, when he'd wiped her face just now, a thin, filmy layer had peeled away with the towel.

"You... you set me up!" Caleb hissed through clenched teeth, wishing he could reach through the screen and strangle her.

"Set you up?"

Veronica burst out laughing, laughing so hard tears nearly streamed down her face.

"Caleb, you're the one who pushed her underwater with your own hands. What exactly did I set you up to do? All I did was give you a stage to show your true colors."

"You're insane! I'm calling the police! I'm going to tell them everything — this was all your doing!"

Caleb grabbed his car keys and made a dash for the door.

"Go ahead. Call them."

Veronica calmly picked up a tablet and tapped the screen a few times.

Ding.

A file landed on Caleb's phone.

"Open it."

Caleb's hands trembled as he tapped it open.

It was a crystal-clear security footage clip.

The video showed him, face twisted with rage, holding "Veronica" underwater. Then he smashed a vase over Mary's head. And finally, he and his mother huddled in the living room, plotting how to dispose of the body.

Every move. Every word. Even the sick grin on his face — all of it captured in perfect detail.

"So tell me — when the police see this footage, do you think they'll believe you were set up? Or do you think they'll believe you murdered a pregnant woman carrying your child, just to steal her assets, and then tried to destroy the evidence?"

Veronica's voice coiled around his throat like a viper, squeezing tight.

Caleb's legs gave out completely. He crumpled to the floor, his phone slipping from his fingers.

"What... what do you want from me?" he asked, his voice hollow with despair.

"Simple."

Veronica's smile vanished. Her eyes turned to ice.

"Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, bring every company seal and all shareholder certificates. You're going to sign a full transfer agreement — no compensation, nothing."

"Walk away with nothing and get out of my sight."

"Otherwise, I'll personally hand this footage over to the homicide unit."

The call ended.

Caleb sat motionless in the blood-soaked floor, staring at Monica's pale, lifeless face.

Transfer his shares? Walk away with nothing?

No.

That was money he had spent three years swallowing his pride to get his hands on.

If he burned the body tonight and dealt with Mary, there would be no evidence. What could Veronica possibly use against him?

Yes. No body, no case.

A flash of cold, desperate madness crossed Caleb's eyes. He reached down and grabbed the woven bag off the floor.