Claire
stepped through the front door of her colonial home, greeted by the scent of
tomato sauce drifting from the kitchen. The comfort was exactly what she needed
after the heavy therapy session with Evelyn.
“Clark
is here,” Grant called from the living room, his voice cheerful.
Claire
froze for a moment, her stomach churning at the mention of his name. Something
about her husband’s friend had always set her instincts on edge.
She
recalled Evelyn's words about instincts. She shouldn't ignore them.
“Great,”
she muttered under her breath.
Forcing
a smile, she made her way through the foyer to the living room, where she found
Grant and Clark lounging on the couch. Their laughter rang out like a haunting
melody, heightening her discomfort. Clark leaned back, his casual confidence
radiating, his gestures animated. The way he threw his head back and guffawed
made her nauseated.
“Hey,
Claire!” Grant said. “You're just in time. Clark was telling me about this wild
trip he took last year.”
Clark
flashed her a disarming smile. “A little ski adventure in Canada—nothing like
ungroomed black-diamond runs for an adrenaline rush, right?” He gazed at Claire
with a menacing, glassy gleam.
“Sounds…
interesting,” she replied, forcing the words out as tightness gathered in her
chest. Her focus shifted to Grant, hoping for a flicker of recognition that she
was unhappy to have Clark there, but he was leaning back with an amused smile
on his lips.
“Bella
made an Argentine dish, by the way,” Grant added, his tone light and
carefree.
“I'm
starving.” Clark leered, his gaze lingering on her longer than necessary,
making her blood run cold. “I bet it’s delicious. I've heard Bella has a knack
for cooking.”
“Yes,
she does,” Claire said, trying to mask her annoyance. It was already taking all
her willpower to keep from asking why he’d come over.
Clark
seemed too comfortable, too at home in spaces that were intimate for her. Her
mind raced with memories of their wedding day and of Grant’s possessive
demeanor when Clark had made a joke that struck too close to home.
“I
was just telling Grant how lucky he is to have a woman who spends her days
saving lives,” Clark continued, leaning forward as if drawing her into his web.
“It must be tough to manage everything, but you do it so well.”
Claire
clenched her jaw. “It’s part of the job.”
“Of
course,” Clark replied, his tone dripping with insincerity. “But you know, it’s
important to take time for yourself, too. I bet you could use a break.”
“I’m
fine.” Her voice was sharper than she’d meant. She could feel them both staring
at her, their expressions curious.
She
wanted nothing more than to retreat from the room. Instead, she plastered on a
smile and changed the subject. “Where are Bella and Olivia?”
“Don’t
you remember, dear?” Grant’s voice held a hint of irritation. “Olivia’s having
dinner at Rose’s house with Maya. Bella dropped her off.”
“Yes,
of course. Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to change for
dinner.”
“Don’t
be gone too long, Claire,” Grant warned, his features tightening with
disapproval.
She
walked away, unable to shake the feeling that Clark was a dark presence in her
home.
Once
upstairs, she collapsed onto her bed. Her head was pounding. She squeezed her
eyes shut, trying to quell the pain. She hadn’t had a migraine in several
months, but the signs were unmistakable—sensitivity to light and sound, an aura
of flashing lights. Her body prickled with pins and needles.
She
struggled to sit up, pulled open the drawer in her nightstand, and retrieved a
bottle of medication. It would make her sleepy, but the alternative was
dizziness, chills, and vomiting, which were worse.
Shuffling
to the bathroom, she filled a cup with water and swallowed the pill. She caught
a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Deep, dark circles framed her eyes. Her
skin was pale, her lips tinged blue. She dragged herself back to bed, her knees
weak. If she could rest for even a few minutes, maybe she’d make it through
dinner.
She
awoke to Grant shaking her. He spoke through clenched teeth, keeping his voice
low. “I told you not to be gone too long. You’ve been up here for over an hour.
Everyone’s waiting. Bella’s ready to serve dinner. Not only is this rude to
Clark, but it’s also disrespectful to me.”
Despite
the medication's sedating effect, his words made her face flush with anger.
“I
had a migraine. I had to take medicine. I didn’t have a choice. You know
how bad these headaches can be.”
He
sneered. “How convenient. You just happen to get a migraine when we have
company. And the pills—you know they make you so sleepy you can’t function. Did
you take them so you’d have an excuse not to come down?”
“No.”
She tried to raise her head, but fatigue left her drained and foggy. “I
wouldn’t do that, Grant.”
He
grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her to a standing position, and shook
her. “You will get dressed, and you will come down. Now.”
“I
can’t. I’m sorry.”
His
reaction was sudden. Yet time stretched thin, almost translucent. Her body
tensed before her mind could process what was happening. Then came the crack of
his palm against her cheek, echoing in the bedroom, followed by his cold
command: “Snap out of this, Claire.” Heat radiated across her face from the
point of impact.
She
staggered back, pressing a hand to her cheek. They faced each other in frozen
silence, tethered by a single thread of recognition that the line had been
crossed. Tears blurred her vision. Her mind rejected the harsh reality,
insisting that the burning imprint of his fingers wasn’t real.
He
released her and stomped across the room to retrieve jeans and a blouse from
the closet, then threw them onto the bed.
“Get
dressed,” he ordered.
She
moved through a haze of disbelief, her motions mechanical, while he stood
watching with his arms crossed.
“Now
go wash your face.” He followed her into the bathroom and turned the faucet to
cold water. “Do it.”
She
bent forward, cupping her hands beneath the water and splashing her face. She
caught a glimpse of her reflection. A red handprint was stamped on one cheek.
“I can’t go down like this. Everyone will notice.”
He
reached for her foundation. “Put this on.”
She
applied a thick layer, softening the mark, but the early signs of a bruise were
still evident.
He
took her hand, leading her down the stairs. “Smile,” he ordered under his
breath.
Whether
it was the numbing effect of the medicine, the shock of the violence, or pure
fear, she managed to force a smile. That moment—his hand, her cheek, the
sting—had left an indelible mark, shattering her life around her.
By day, C.J. Covino is an online fitness coach helping
people live healthier lives. By night, she channels her devious side into
writing psychological suspense, starting with her debut novel, The Au Pair's
Deception: When Love Turns to Lies. She resides in sunny Albuquerque with her
husband of 40 years, three grown kids who safely flew the coop, and a literal
zoo consisting of three dogs, a parrot, and a cat. She is powered almost
entirely by coffee, a passion for travel, and the thrill of a good plot twist.
Learn more at cjcovino.com and follow her writing journey on TikTok
@cjcovinoauthor.
