Chapter 3 - The Husband's Confession
The living room was suffocatingly quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock. Justin sat on the edge of the sofa, his head in his hands. I stood over him, the silence of the house amplifying my own racing heart. I had cornered him here, away from Bonnie’s watchful eyes, determined to cut through the lies.
I expected him to crumble. I expected him to beg, to cry, to finally admit that the money I was paying wasn't for our lifestyle, but for his mother’s sins. And he did.
"I didn't know, Cadence," Justin whispered, his voice cracking. He looked up at me, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. "I swear. The Poconos... that property? I never saw the paperwork. I thought it was just... maintenance fees. I was just a pawn. Mom used me to get close to you, to make you comfortable. I never wanted this life. I’ve been trapped in this house for years, doing exactly what she says."
It was a masterclass in devastation. The slump of his shoulders, the tremor in his hands—it all screamed victimhood. A fresh wave of pity washed over me. Maybe he really was just a weak-willed son, a man who had never grown a spine. Maybe the financial abuse was a shared burden, and we could finally stand together against the matriarch.
"Did you know about Lydia?" I asked, my voice hardening with the new resolve to protect him. "Did you know she’s been held in that basement?"
Justin flinched, but he nodded slowly. "Lydia... Lydia was my father's mistress. He was having an affair for years. She threatened to go to the police about the business dealings. Mom made her disappear. She said she had to do what was best for the family name. I was just a kid—I didn't understand. I thought she was protecting us."
He looked so pitiful sitting there, so small. For a moment, I almost believed he was telling the truth. He had no history of violence, no arrest record, no anger issues. He was a man who took the beatings so I wouldn't have to.
But then, the silence stretched too long. And then, the phone buzzed on the coffee table.
It was a harsh, jarring sound in the quiet room. Justin’s head snapped up. He stared at the screen, his expression unreadable for a split second before he swiped to dismiss the notification.
I frowned. "Who was that?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, too quickly. "Just... junk mail."
"Justin," I said, stepping closer, the pity fading, replaced by a cold, analytical dread. "You never called the police about Lydia. You never called the police about the embezzlement. If you were a pawn, why didn't you fight back? Why let them ruin your credit, ruin your life?"
He looked away, staring at the wall. "I was scared. What could I do against them? They own everything."
I moved closer, invading his personal space, forcing him to meet my gaze. "You have to stop being scared. We can fix this. I’m going to find Lydia, and we’re going to take Bonnie down."
His jaw tightened. The sadness in his eyes seemed to harden, crystallizing into something colder, sharper. He looked at the phone again, as if waiting for a command.
*Don't screw this up.*
The text had come from Mom. And now, watching him, I realized the tears were just waterworks. The trembling hands were a performance. He wasn't broken; he was a soldier waiting for orders.
"Justin," I said, my voice dropping an octave, "What is that look?"
He smiled then. It wasn't a smile of relief or sadness. It was the smile of a shark that had just realized the swimmer was bleeding.
"Come here," he said softly.
I hesitated, then took a step forward. It was a mistake.
He lunged. His hand wrapped around my wrist with bruising force, yanking me down so fast my knees hit the hardwood floor. Before I could scream, he was on top of me, his face inches from mine.
"I'm sorry, Cadence," he hissed, his eyes wild. "But you have to sign this."
He shoved a heavy, legal-looking document into my face. It was a Power of Attorney. "If you sign that, you sign away everything. The house, the accounts, the investigation. You become my puppet, just like before."
I stared at him, the realization hitting me with the force of a physical blow. He wasn't the victim. He was the executioner.
"You son of a bitch," I spat.
He didn't flinch. Instead, he backhanded me. The slap was brutal, tearing a scream from my throat and sending my head spinning into the armrest. My vision blurred.
"You don't get to talk," he snarled, his face twisting into a mask of hatred.
I scrambled back, my hand fumbling in my pocket. I had bought the stun gun after the first time he hit me. I had kept it there, in the dark, waiting for this exact moment.
"You want to play games, Justin?" I gasped, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Then play with this."
I lunged forward, not at him, but past him, and pressed the device against his stomach.
*ZAP.*
The smell of ozone filled the air. Justin’s eyes bulged, his mouth opening in a silent, agonized scream. His body seized, his fingers clawing at the air as the voltage surged through him. He dropped to his knees, his muscles locking up, unable to move.
I scrambled to my feet, my legs trembling, and grabbed the heavy brass doorknob of the bedroom. I threw the door open and shoved Justin inside, letting him fall onto the carpet. I slammed the lock home and threw the deadbolt, the heavy thunk echoing in the silence.
I leaned against the door for a second, catching my breath, my chest heaving. I was safe. He was incapacitated. I had won this round.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, my hand shaking so badly I almost dropped it. I needed Sarah. I needed to tell her what happened, to warn her about the reversal.
I dialed her number.
It rang once. Twice.
*Click.*
It went straight to voicemail.
I stared at the screen, the darkness of the room pressing in on me. "Sarah? Pick up. Please."
No answer.
I hung up and dialed again. And again.
"Hello?"
May you like
The voice on the other end was flat, clinical, and terrifyingly calm.
"Ms. Huggins," Sarah Chen said. "I’m afraid Ms. Chen is out of the office for the evening. Leave a message."
