Housewife
: Chapter 11

For the past two and a half weeks, I’ve dutifully followed Saint’s request and played the part of a submissive wife. But my behaviour is not a mere act, it’s a calculated strategy.

You see, there’s a method to my apparent madness. I’m biding my time, waiting for the right moment to take Saint out. And this time, I won’t use apples; that would take too long. No, I’ve got something much more sinister in mind – Wolfsbane.

When I researched ways to kill someone without arousing suspicion, Wolfsbane was a top contender. But I had to exercise patience with Viktor.

With Saint, however, I don’t need to hold back. I’ll play the perfect housewife until the time comes to strike.

Once he’s gone, I’ll disappear to Africa, emptying his bank account along the way. My uncles will never replace me there.

After taking the life of Viktor, I yearned to disappear without a trace.

Unfortunately, I lacked the funds to vanish like a phantom, since Viktor had stripped me of everything, including access to his bank account. However, my fortunes had changed with Saint. Unlike Viktor, Saint was a beneficent husband who didn’t hoard wealth. Though during our last argument, Saint attempted to pacify me with his credit card, without realizing it only provoked me further. Nevertheless, his folly made me contemplate how I could exploit it. Now, armed with his pin, all that remained was to obtain the combinations to his other accounts.

It may surprise you, but when I first plotted Viktor’s demise, I had a confederate. The origin of the scheme wasn’t mine, but rather the brainchild of a former maid in Viktor’s employ, named Jennet.

At first, my mind screamed for the primitive dagger, a swift and brutal end to Viktor. But Jennet, wise and cunning, suggested a more elegant approach

– a method that would make the bastard suffer. Suffer so deeply that death would feel like mercy.

Of course, Jennet didn’t just hand me a guidebook on how to murder my husband and get away with it. Instead, she whispered secrets about potent herbal mixtures and poisonous brews. Amidst her deadly teachings, one flower stood out like an al uring temptress – Wolfsbane.

The allure of Wolfsbane was irresistible. Its venomous toxins could destroy a heart’s rhythm, a single taste enough to cripple a man’s stomach. But what sparked pure joy in my veins was the knowledge that even the slightest touch could lead to death. How delicious it would be to end Saint’s life slowly and with a faint smile on my lips.

As the water trickled out of the pot’s punctured holes, I watched the soil surge to life with fresh, verdant greenery sprouting from the surface.

The seeds of wolfsbane were not easy to come by, but I was determined to get them. In a stroke of luck, I stumbled upon an old lady selling them online. The price was steep, but to me, it was a small price to pay for the chance to live my life.

I nurtured the seeds with devoted tenderness for two weeks before finally bringing them out onto the balcony to flourish. Though the brisk fall wind howled, the hardy plants persevered, visibly thriving in their new surroundings.

Their full growth signalled my liberation, the end of my struggles, and the beginning of a new chapter in my life.

As I gaze ahead, my gaze fixates on the sturdy SUV halting gracefully right in front of the mansion, where burly guards are seen patrolling around.

Eyeing the vehicle like a hawk, my suspicious mind gradually kicks into analytical gear as the doors swing open and Saint, closely trailed by Abel, effortlessly steps out of the driver’s and passenger’s seats.

A gnawing anticipation rushes through me, as I ponder on the reason for Saint’s abrupt return. Surely, he wasn’t scheduled to return until another hour.

Placing the water pot delicately on the table, I give my hands a quick dusting before retreating back into the comforts of the house, where the warmth of the glass sliding door provides a welcome respite from the coolness outside. A quick glance in the mirror reveals a few stray wisps of hair and, with a deft touch, I remedy the situation. With a breath of contentment, I take a step forward, leaving the sanctity of my bedroom behind me.

Thank heavens Saint and I are not forced to share a room. Having a spare bedroom is a godsend, though it’s frustrating that I can’t make use of the delights of the master bedroom’s bathroom.

I’ve got to admit, I’m quite the explorer – I’ve scoured every nook and cranny of the house except the garage and one mysterious room located at the far end of the downstairs hall. Though I’ve tried countless times to gain entry, the door remains firmly locked, with the key nowhere to be found.

The curiosity is eating away at me: what secrets are that locked door hiding?

As I descend the stairs, I happen upon Saint. Our gazes lock, pausing our movements in time – at least for a few bewitching seconds.

As I lock eyes with him, a wave of revulsion washes over me. There’s something about Saint that triggers a deep-seated animosity within me.

He has a way of coaxing out the darkest corners of my soul, parts I had no idea existed. My inner demon was always a whisper, but with Saint, it’s a deafening chant that sends chills down my spine.

When I was with Viktor, that voice only filled me with shame and drained me of life. But with Saint, it’s a new, sinister voice that sings of violent thoughts, making me uneasy.

I loathe him for the way he makes me feel.

I despise him for how he treats me.

And above all, I detest his mere existence on this planet.

His voice, low and haunting, echoes through me like a spectral apparition.

Every beat of my heart feels like an earthquake, every throb of my pulse an explosion in my neck.

‘Why are you back so early?’ I snap, bitterness coating my words like poisonous syrup. ‘I’m not in the mood for your demands and bullshit lectures about being a useless fucking wife.’

With a slight tilt of his head, Saint fixes his eyes on me. His sharp gaze scrutinizes me as if trying to unveil my deepest secrets. ‘Although your lips are as beautiful as a sunrise, you seem to have a dirty tongue,’ he quips. I can’t resist an amused eye roll in reaction to his playful tease.

‘What is it, Saint?’ I ask, making my way through our home to the dining room. There, Abel lounges on the couch, sipping bourbon and tapping away on his phone with a sly grin on his face.

I can feel it in my bones – he’s talking to Nirali.

‘I am hosting a poker game tonight and some of my business partners will be attending. Would you mind preparing some snacks for them?’ he asked. I halted and turned to face him. ‘So, I’ll be serving these men snacks all night as they yell and reek of smoke and alcohol until they pass out?’ I inquired, and his brows creased.

Recollections of serving snacks to Viktor’s friends flooded my mind, causing my heart to race and the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I swallowed hard, pushing back the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm me.

I nearly revealed my emotions in front of Saint, and I could sense that he wanted to ask about it, but he chose to let the matter go.

I take in a deep breath, slicking my hair back with a graceful swipe of my hand.

“Say it how you want, just feed them and mind your business’ he barks, his eyes piercing mine as we lock in a heated stare.

The venomous loathing I hold towards Saint’s wretched soul is akin to a searing flame that blazes with unrelenting fury. Every fiber of my being is consumed with a burning passion to watch him suffer as he is crushed under the weight of his own malevolence. My heart is a cold, black pit that seethes with the bile of resentment, as I envision Saint’s downfall and relish in the thought of his inevitable demise. The stench of his existence is a putrid odour that fills my nostrils, choking me with disgust, and leaving me desperate to rid myself of his foul presence. Hatred towards him courses through my veins.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you two are smothering your sour mood on me. My aura can’t handle it, go do your heated eye fucking somewhere else.” scolds Abel, interrupting the intense staring contest between Saint and me.

“This is my house, Abel.” Saint retorts, but Abel dismisses him with a flick of his wrist while fixated on his phone. ‘Whatever,’ he mutters, and Saint gives up, turning his focus back to me.

“The guest will arrive at 9 pm,” he informs me before turning to follow Abel.

My frustration simmered beneath my skin, and I stormed out of the dining room and towards the kitchen.

Saint is just-

Ugh!

A tumult of emotions is stirring within me, yet all he seems to do is manipulate them for his own enjoyment. I cannot bear his callousness, for it only ignites the inferno raging inside of me.

As I slipped into the wine room, my eyes darted around the shelves, searching for the perfect bottle to uncork. My fingers brushed against the cool glass as I selected a rich, ruby red, and plucked a gleaming crystal glass from the shelf. With my prize in hand, I strolled out of the room, almost skipping with anticipation.

But as I emerged from the wine room, I was met with an unexpected obstacle. Standing in my way was Saint, his piercing gaze trained on me and my loot. He arched a brow, silently questioning my intentions.

I held my head high, refusing to let his judgement affect me. ‘You wanted me to be a good little wife, right?’ I quipped, brandishing the bottle and glass-like weapons. ‘Well, how about this? I’ll pour myself a little happiness and play the obedient little puppet in front of your friends. A win-win for the both of us. How’s that sound?’

Saint scoffed, correcting me with his usual precision. ‘They’re not my friends, they’re my business associates.’

I rolled my eyes, dismissing his pedantry. ‘Whatever they are, I don’t care.’

With a huff, I brushed past him, feeling his eyes bore into my back as I stormed out of the kitchen.

‘Now excuse me,’ I called over my shoulder, ‘I’ve got some primping to do.’ I left him standing there, watching me with a mixture of fascination and frustration. But I didn’t look back. I had other things to worry about – like becoming the perfect submissive wife.