[Introduction] My husband told me he had fallen in love with someone else—on our seventh wedding anniversary. There was a kind of feverish intensity in his voice I had never heard before. “Erika, you don’t understand. I love her. Hopelessly.” “You’re still my wife, still the godmother of the underworld. I swear I’ll never touch her. I just hope... you’ll allow me to keep a place for her in my heart.” I didn’t scream. I didn’t break down. I simply stated, calm and cold, “If she stays, I go. If I stay, she goes.” That night, Charles—who never touched hard liquor—drank whiskey until dawn. Eventually, he gave in. “You book the ticket. I won’t ask where. I’ll send her off myself.” In the month before her departure, he clung to Evelyn like a dying man to air. He canceled every underworld meeting, every business deal. Spent his days walking with her in the park, camping, disappearing into the city until late. “Don’t worry,” he’d say. “Nothing’s happened between us. I just want to look at her a little longer.” That month included my birthday, our anniversary, and the day my mother died. No matter how many messages I sent, how many calls I made, he never came home. But Charles, did you ever realize? That plane ticket... was for me. --- Seattle’s rain always came at the worst time. Just like what Charles was about to say. In the study of the Nell family estate, the fire in the hearth was burning too hot, making my cheeks flush. But Charles, standing by the window, looked as cold as if behind a wall of ice. “Erika,” he turned around. His voice was calm—so calm it felt cruel. “I’ve fallen in love with her.” The bourbon in my glass trembled. The amber liquid nearly spilled. Seven years. This was the first time he’d spoken to me like this—not as a partner, but as a man delivering a verdict. “Who?” I asked, voice steady. “Evelyn. The new arms liaison.” He stepped closer. Those ash-blue eyes that once reflected only me now burned with a strange fire. “It’s not a whim. Not just... physical. I love her. Hopelessly.” I laughed. I actually laughed. I placed the glass gently on the mahogany table. Not a sound. “So what now? You want me to step aside and let that twenty-something girl become the lady of the Nell family?” “No.” Charles shook his head, still trying to play the rational don. “I won’t end our marriage. I won’t touch her. That would insult you, and betray the vow I made to the family.” He paused, choosing his words carefully—too carefully. He couldn’t wait to say them. “I just hope... you’ll allow me to keep a place for her in my heart.” The fire cracked. A log burst open in the hearth. I looked at him—the man I had chosen at eighteen. The man who shielded me during a bloody ambush, leaving three vicious scars across his back. The man who, drenched in blood in a warehouse, had pointed a knife stained with the old godfather’s blood to the sky and swore never to betray me in this life. “Charles,” I stood slowly, walked to him, looked up. “Do you remember what the family codex says about betrayal?” His pupils tightened. “It’s not just about the body, Charles.” I gently adjusted the collar of his velvet robe, my fingers soft—like a thousand nights before. “It’s about your heart. Your loyalty. They once belonged entirely to me... and to this family.” “And now, you want to carve out a piece—for an outsider?” “She’s not a threat, Erika.” He took my hand. His palm was still warm. It made my skin crawl. “She’s just... something different. You’ll always be my wife. My partner. My only true companion.” Partner. That word pierced the softest part of my heart like a needle. Ten years ago, who was he? A small-time thug scraping by on the docks. And me? The daughter of the Churchill family. My father’s only pearl. Everyone said, “Erika, you’re insane. He’ll ruin you.” But I chose him anyway. I used my family’s influence to open doors for him. Used my dowry to buy him his first real shipment of arms. I negotiated his deals. Learned to tend to his wounds when he came home bleeding. And now, after everything we built together, after seven years of life and death... all I am to him is a “partner.” And Evelyn? She gets to be his “different kind of love.” She doesn't bleed, doesn't scheme. She just enjoys his “pure love.” “If she stays, I go. If I stay, she goes.” I pulled my hand away. My voice was as cold as the winter sea. Charles froze. Maybe he thought I’d cry. Scream. Go hysterical like other women he’d cast aside—like those mistresses of his underlings. But he forgot: I am Erika Churchill. The woman who carved the Nell name into the top of Seattle’s underworld, right beside his. That night, Charles didn’t leave the estate. He went down to the wine cellar and drank an entire bottle of vintage Macallan—gifted by my father on our wedding day in the 1960s. I stood on the second-floor balcony, listening to the sound of glass shattering below. He rarely lost control like that. Alcohol was taboo in our line of work. It made men weak. Loose-lipped. But tonight, he broke that rule—for another woman. --- By morning, I found him in the dining room. His eyes were bloodshot. His jaw stubbled. The silk shirt he wore looked like a wrinkled rag. He stood before me, reeking of whiskey and regret. His voice was hoarse. “I’ll arrange for her to leave. You pick the place. I won’t ask.” He had compromised. Trading his beloved’s departure for the illusion of my forgiveness—and the right to keep her altar burning in his heart. “Fine.” I cut off a slice of bacon, chewed slowly. “Paris, then.” Relief washed over him. He even reached out to touch my shoulder—but I stopped him with a look. “This month,” I wiped my lips and stood. “This month is for you and her. A proper goodbye, isn’t it?” His face froze. “Don’t worry,” I stepped beside him, patted his stiff arm gently, like taming a wild beast. “I’ll oversee the family business. You go give her a lovely farewell.” I walked out of the dining room, spine straight as a blade. On the stairs, I overheard him tell the butler, voice low: “Cancel everything today and tomorrow. Get the car. I’m going to the downtown apartment.” Downtown apartment. That was Evelyn’s place. A property under our family’s name, now their temple of “pure love.” Back in my bedroom, I locked the door and slid down against the cold wood. The tears came, silent. Only three. I wiped them away with the back of my hand. Tears don’t erase betrayal. They don’t kill enemies. I walked to the vanity and opened the hidden compartment in the bottom drawer. No jewelry inside. Just a sleek Browning M1906 pistol and a secure satellite phone. I dialed a number I hadn’t used in seven years. Five rings. Then silence. Just steady breathing. “Dad,” I said, voice hoarse. “I need a one-way ticket to Europe.” There was a pause. Then Old Churchill spoke, voice aged but still commanding. “Finally ready to come home?” “It’s not coming home,” I said, staring into the mirror at my reddened eyes. “It’s starting over. As Erika Churchill. Not Mrs. Nell.” Another silence. “The price?” He didn’t sugarcoat it. In our world, nothing came for free. “Charles has three key pieces of evidence on East Coast smuggling routes. They’ll be on your desk in a month.” I paused. “And from now on, I want priority rights to all Churchill family business in Seattle.” “Deal,” he said without hesitation. “Ticket, new identity, Paris contact—ready in a week. His name’s Damien. One of our... friends in Europe. He’ll keep you safe.” “Thank you, Dad.” “Erika,” he said before hanging up, voice unusually soft. “Your mother... always wanted you to live free.” I gripped the phone tight, knuckles white. “I will.” I hung up. Hid the gun and phone back in place. At the window, I watched Charles’s black Mercedes pass through the gates, swallowed by morning mist. Did he even remember what today was? Today marked seven years since we married. Every year until now, he’d cancel all business, cook me a terrible but heartfelt Italian dinner, and gift me something—usually a weapon or a business asset. This year, his gift was sending off his lover. And asking me to enshrine her in his heart. How generous. I drew the curtains, shutting out the gray sky. The game had begun, Charles. Only this time, your opponent—is me.
