The Husband Who Poisoned Our Love

was broken. My husband, Barron, was my perfect, doting savior

rheard him

ly murdering our ten children to repay a debt to his mis

a lie-it was a gilded cage b

He was wrong. Now, with a new face, I'

pte

n Kell

ter. It' s a dull, grinding erosion of the soul, a familiar ache that settles deep in y

rt monitor a flat, monotonous soundtrack to my emptiness. The air smelled of antiseptic a

ter of detai

generations, had been gutted by a hostile takeover, a brutal corporate raid orchestrated with surgical precision. The shame and despair were too m

on Carroll. The archite

ve the company' s integrity, of being a reluctant predator forced by the market. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, held a d

d my favorite brand of tea, the exact temperature I liked my bath, the obscure French films that made me laugh. He knew the Keller family history better than I did, revering my grandfather' s portrait as if it were hi

with the man who had destroyed my world because he had so e

ealing love. And ten pregnancies. Ten tiny sparks of hope that fli

ed with concern. He researched specialists, flew in experts from around the world. He comforted me through every miscar

left, offering gentle, useless condolences and suggesting another round of invasive tests. Barron was outside, speaking

Mr. Carroll' s orders," she said with a sympathetic smile.

s I drifted into the medicated haze, I heard the click

t the soft, caring tone he used with me, but

Cydney. The

ybe triumph. "Ten? Are you sure it was the tenth? I want to be certain, Barron. A life for a life. T

seemed to fade into a distant hum. My body was

and care, now sounded utterly monstrous. "The special blend of herbs in her relaxation tea works every time

tillness, but my mind was on fire. I couldn' t move. I couldn' t scream. I could onl

e

-lavender tea. "To help you relax, my love," he' d say, stroking my ha

ing the leaves, his handsome face a mask of devotion, while he was metho

of t

hild

once, years ago, crying in his arms after the third loss, convinced I was being punished for some unknown sin. He had held me tigh

ts years ago, a brilliant but volatile accomplice in one of Barron' s early, ruthless corporate schemes. She

t been paying a debt to my family' s legacy; he was paying a debt to his par

with a can of gasoline and a match. My parents' suicides weren't just the collateral damage of a business deal; they were the first calculat

d been. What a blind, pathetic fool, so desperate f

m the hot, messy grief I had known. This was a diamond-hard fury, forged in the ultimate betrayal. H

gly, my hand moved across the starched white sheet toward the nightstand where my pho

e now. Someone from a life before Barron. Someone who h

e. I managed to unlock it, my thumb shaking. I open

n Sul

d alongside me. Now a powerful, enigmatic security mogul base

on, but I typed a message instead,

eed

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