Catching Him Cheating Was Just the Beginning
Juniper Marlow · Completed · 5.4k Words
Introduction
Through the gap in the door, I saw them on the bed. Tessa was blindfolded, wrists tied to the headboard with silk scarves. Callum's hands wrapped around her throat—some kind of breath play, I guessed.
Then her moaning turned to choking.
Her body convulsed. Her bound hands clawed at nothing. Her legs kicked against the mattress.
Then stopped.
Callum released her throat. Checked her pulse. Sighed.
And lit a cigarette.
He sat there scrolling his phone next to her body. No panic. No CPR. No 911.
Like this wasn't his first time watching someone die.
I bit my hand to keep from screaming. Blood seeped across the floor toward my bare feet.
Then he walked toward the closet.
I escaped that night. Barely. Ran three floors up to my neighbor's apartment—Dr. Neve Ashton, a trauma therapist. Beautiful. Warm. The kind of woman who made you feel safe just by existing.
She pulled me inside, locked the door, handed me tea.
"I called the police," she said. "They're on their way."
An hour passed. No sirens.
I looked at her. She smiled.
Chapter 1
My fiancé had his hands wrapped around my best friend's throat.
I was hiding in her closet, recording everything.
It was supposed to be a simple catch-him-cheating mission. Tessa's birthday party, me arriving early, finding them in bed together. I'd get my proof, confront them both, and walk away from this six-year friendship and four-year relationship with my dignity intact.
But watching through the gap in the closet door, I realized this wasn't just sex.
Tessa was blindfolded. Tied to the headboard with silk scarves. Callum's hands tightened around her neck while she moaned—some kind of breath play, I guessed. I'd heard of couples who were into that.
Then the moaning turned into choking.
Tessa's body convulsed. Her bound hands clawed at the air. Her legs kicked against the mattress.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to burst out and stop him. But my body refused to move.
The convulsions slowed.
Then stopped.
Callum released her throat. Tessa's head fell to the side, her eyes open and glassy, her tongue slightly protruding from her lips.
She wasn't breathing.
I bit down on my hand to keep from screaming.
This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
Callum checked her pulse. Frowned. Then sighed.
He reached for his phone, and for one desperate second I thought he was calling 911.
Instead, he lit a cigarette.
He sat there smoking, right next to Tessa's body, scrolling through his phone.
No panic. No attempt at CPR. No calling for help.
Like this wasn't the first time he'd watched someone die.
My whole body was trembling so violently I was afraid the clothes hanging around me would start shaking too. Tears streamed down my face, soaking into the sleeve of Tessa's winter coat.
What the hell just happened? Why did he kill her?
Did he know I was here?
Callum finished his cigarette and crushed it out on Tessa's nightstand. Then he stood up and started searching the room, opening drawers, looking under the bed.
What is he looking for?
My heart nearly stopped when he walked toward the closet. His shadow fell across the door, blocking the light.
I pressed myself against the back wall, barely breathing. The hangers dug into my shoulders.
His hand reached for the closet door.
Then my phone buzzed.
I grabbed for it, nearly dropping it, my fingers slick with sweat. The screen lit up with Callum's name: Working late tonight babe. Don't wait up ❤️
Outside the closet, I heard him pause.
"Hm."
My blood turned to ice.
I fumbled to switch the phone to silent, my hands shaking so badly I almost couldn't find the button. Every second felt like an hour. I could hear his breathing on the other side of the door.
Please. Please don't open it.
His phone rang.
He stepped back from the closet to answer it. "Yeah, still at the office. Probably another hour or two."
When he hung up, he moved away from the closet, and I nearly collapsed with relief.
Through the crack in the door, I watched him drag a large duffel bag out from under the bed. He unzipped it and began the horrible work of folding Tessa's body—bending her arms and legs at unnatural angles, forcing her limp form into the bag.
The sounds were unbearable. Wet cracks. The dull thump of flesh against canvas.
Blood began pooling beneath her—joints bent wrong, skin torn where bones had snapped. The dark stain spread slowly across the hardwood, creeping toward me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but I could still hear everything.
I need to get out. I need to run. I need to—
Something cold touched my bare foot.
My eyes flew open.
Blood. Dark and thick, seeping under the closet door, pooling around my toes.
I'd kicked off my heels at some point without realizing. Now I was standing barefoot in Tessa's blood.
I stumbled backward, my back hitting the wall, and looked up to see Callum staring at the floor.
At the trail of blood leading directly to where I was hiding.
He set down the half-zipped duffel bag.
Took a step toward the closet.
This is it. He's going to find me. He's going to kill me too.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but watch his shadow grow larger as he approached.
His hand closed around the closet door handle.
The front door slammed open downstairs.
"Tessa? Babe, I'm back early!"
Grant. Tessa's boyfriend.
Callum's hand froze.
Footsteps coming up the stairs. Fast. Eager.
"I brought champagne! Happy birth—"
The voice cut off.
Then: "What the fuck. Is that blood?"
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