Page 158 of The Rival's Obsession
“I had to improvise and got the satisfaction I was looking for when I bashed my father’s head in. My mother was right there. She got soaked in his blood while she went mindless. It was cathartic to watch. Then there was my acting—slamming my head against the wall and themy-mother-tried-to-kill-mesob story. I had to get out of there before the police arrived.”
I chuckle, thinking back on the reactions when I first started reciting what had happened. No one ever questioned it.
“You know the rest of that story. She lived. If you can call it that.”
“Now she sits in an asylum—slumped, drooling, blinking once every thirty seconds. They say she’s still in there. Knows what’s happening around her.”
I tilt my head.
“That gives me some satisfaction. I visit her every week. I remind her who I am. What I did. I want her to see me. Her daughter. The one who almost killed her.”
Dante stumbles back.
His glass drops from his hand and shatters against the floor.
He gasps—mouth open, sucking at the air like it’s been stolen.
I keep going.
“But plans change over time. So I had to adapt.”
He drops to a knee.
One hand clutching his chest as foam touches the corner of his mouth.
“I needed to be seen here at the firm. Elevated. And the old CFO was past his prime anyhow. He should have retired ages ago, but he was also a horny bastard. Just perching on his desk, showing a little leg, and he’d drink anything you gave him. Then die, nice and quietly.”
Dante is quickly becoming a mess. It really is gross to watch, so I look away—out at the city skyline.
“When I came running to Grant’s—fake tears and all—I didn’t plan on walking in on the two of you seconds from fucking, though. It was too good. I didn’t even have to lie. Just gasped, loud and wounded, and watched Grant unravel. He’s always so predictable.”
“All I had to do was be patient after that. Keep driving the wedge. Keep feeding the doubt. And wait.”
I take a seat in Grant’s chair, fingers steepled, watching the show and trying not to listen to the sounds of suffocation. “Oh, lord. You’re foaming.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I keep going with my little confessional. It really is a cathartic moment to let it all out to someone.
“As I was saying—you made things difficult. Always hovering around Grant, whispering poison in his ear. I worked hard to drive that wedge between you two. The Vegas hot mic. The staged photo leaks. All necessary escalations. But cutting your brakes?” I grin. “That one was just for fun. Too bad you didn’t die in that wreck like you were supposed to.”
He collapses fully now—spasming. Seizing. Eyes bulging in panic. Muscles twitching as he suffocates on nothing.
“Now you’re going to die in agony. And that’s your punishment. A fitting one, if I may.”
His limbs jerk once—twice—then still.
Silence falls.
I take a breath and walk toward him, my heels careful on the tile. I kneel beside him and brush a lock of hair back from his damp forehead.
“Fucking finally,” I whisper, looking over the corpse.
With Dante out of the way, Grant will come back to me—just like he always does. He’ll lean on me in his grief, seek comfortin the one person who’s never truly left his side. He’ll marry me, trust me, give me everything without even realizing it’s already mine.
And then, in time, he’ll meet his own unfortunate end.
I’ll be the devastated widow, of course. The sole benefactor of his estate.
The firm. The wealth. The mansion.
