I grip my cup tighter. I don’t want to play this game. I don’t want to sit across from her and pretend I don’t know. Pretend I don’t see the blood on her hands, don’t feel it in every word she speaks.

“I’m planning to spend the day at his grave, of course,” she goes on, her fingers trailing idly around the rim of her cup. “But I was thinking…maybe it doesn’t have to be a sad day. I’d love it if you and Teddy joined me. We could invite my Morgan since they were so close. We could have a little get-together, just a small thing. Maybe bring some flowers, and share some stories. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

I hesitate, searching her face for any hint of insincerity.

Nothing.

No crack in her mask. No slip of the tongue. No tell.

It’s infuriating, really—how effortlessly she plays this role. The grieving widow. The doting friend. The kind-hearted woman who just wants to remember her husband. And the worst part? If I didn’t know what I knew, I might actually believe her.

I swallow, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I’ll have to check with Theo,” I say cautiously. “But I think he’d appreciate that.”

She beams.

Like she’s already won.

And maybe she has.

“Oh, that would mean so much to me. Gabriel would’ve loved it. He always said that anniversaries were for celebrating love, not mourning it. He was such a romantic, you know?”

She sighs wistfully, resting her chin on her hand. “Every single year, he’d come up with extravagant—over-the-top plans, but that was just Gabriel. One year, he rented out the entire rooftop of The Ivy for a private dinner under the stars. He said the restaurant wasn’t fancy enough on its own, so he had them decorate it with twinkling lights and candles everywhere. He even hired a string quartet to play our song.” She pauses, a dreamy smile softening her face. “No matter where we were we would always recreate our first dance to Unchained Melody.”

I sip my coffee, keeping my expression neutral. On the surface, the story is beautiful. Heartfelt. The love story that would make hopeless romantics sigh dreamily into their lattes.

But I’m not a hopeless romantic.

I’m sitting across from a woman who poisons people and calls the deaths she causes accidents.