Remembering the conversation with Lauren, he dropped onto the bed. He’d never sent an inappropriate text, made a pass at a colleague, anything. Casey had said she wanted him to know she was serious. There was no mistaking it. This wasn’t a joke. This was a trap. This was a goddamn ambush.

He lay down and stared at the ceiling.

That weekend, Scott lived in a fever dream. Casey treated him like her personal servant, sending him into the kitchen to collect drinks and snacks as she reclined on the sofa and watched reality TV. If he didn’t arrive quickly enough, she’d ring a bell. A bell.

Scott thought he was imagining it the first time.

But no. There she was, the woman of his dreams, tinkling a bell he couldn’t remember seeing before. She must’ve bought it especially for this occasion.

“There’s a good boy,” she said, as he put down a tray laden with biscuits and lemonade. She grinned up at him. “Oh, and by the way, I’ve quit my job. I don’t feel like working anymore. That’s okay, isn’t it, honey? You’ll support me.”

Scott searched her face, but any sign of his wife had vanished. There was nothing. Perhaps this was Casey’s identical twin. She’d returned and slaughtered the real Casey, and now she was determined to ruin her life. Was that possible? It sounded ridiculous. And yet this whole thing was so absurd, he wasn’t going to dismiss anything without evidence.

“Scott, I asked you a question.”

He tried to make himself snap at her, tell her it wasn’t okay, the demeaning way she was speaking to him. It was the video, her blackmail, but it was the expectant look on her face too.

“Yes.” The video played on a reel in his mind, distorted naked writhing, and his face, twisted in pleasure. “I’ll support you.”

“How lovely. Anyway, off you pop. I’ll ring if I need you.” He eyed her phone, resting on the arm of the chair. She tittered. “Silly boy. I change my password daily, the same time I update the email draft. But go on, give it your best try. If you fail, however, my sweet slow husband, you know what happens…”

Scott left the room. Yeah, he knew what would happen. She’d wreck his life: their life. Except there was no them anymore. There never had been.

She wasn’t even talking the same. She was normally soft-spoken, straightforward. But now it was like she was playing some part. Like she was trying to be this insanely theatrical melodramatic actor. He read alternate history novels sometimes, what ifs, and maybe that was it. He’d woken up in the wrong life.

But no. Scott didn’t have that luxury. His wife was…

She’d planned this with the skill of a psychopath. That was it: what she was. That was where the evidence was pointing.

The email draft meant he couldn’t do anything. Even if she was arrested, he wouldn’t be able to access her account and delete the email. If he hurt her physically – which he wouldn’t – the email would send.