The Wife in the Bathtub

Elodie's POV

As the heiress to the Sinclair family, I inherited billions, yet a car crash left my legs completely paralyzed, confining me to a cold wheelchair for the rest of my life.

My husband, Dashiell, spent three years meticulously caring for me—pushing my chair, feeding me my meds, and holding me as I slept.

That evening, while I was soaking in a warm bath, he pushed the door open. His handsome face carried that familiar smile: "Honey, can I... have you in the tub?"

"I'm a bit tired today," I rubbed my temples and softly declined. "Carry me out."

The moment the words left my lips, his smile twisted hideously. With a vicious sneer, he grabbed my neck and shoved my head brutally underwater...

The pale light of a phone screen pierced the bathroom steam.

"MASSIVE SCANDAL: Sinclair Family's Live-in Son-in-Law Fakes Disabled Wife's Depression for Years to Steal Inheritance, orchestrates Bathtub Suicide!"

Unknown sender. The email contained only this sensational headline, but the attached photo was a candid shot of me in my wheelchair, alongside my usually gentle husband Dashiell—his face contorted, veins bulging in rage.

I chuckled and tossed the phone onto the edge of the tub.

Pranks were getting ridiculous these days. Dashiell might have married into my wealth with nothing to his name, but he loved me to the bone. How could he ever kill me?

The bathroom door opened. Dashiell walked in wearing a silk shirt. Through the mist, his face was as handsome as ever.

"Enjoying the soak, honey?" His hand rested on my shoulder, fingertips sliding down my wet skin. "Can I... have you in the tub?"

"I'm a bit tired today," I rubbed my temples. "Carry me out."

Dead silence.

I looked up in surprise, meeting a pair of intensely sinister eyes—that was not how my husband usually looked at me.

"Tired?" He sneered, a twisted smirk forming as he roughly grabbed my chin, his fingers almost crushing my bones. "Or did your crippled body find a wild dog outside, and now you've lost interest in me?!"

"Dashiell, are you cra—"

Before I could finish, he violently grabbed my long hair and smashed my face into the scalding bathwater!

Water rushed madly into my nose. My lungs felt like exploding. I thrashed my paralyzed legs in vain, my hands desperately clawing at his arm.

"Since your heart isn't with me," his voice drifted through the water like a demon's, "then you might as well die, you cripple."

The agonizing pain of suffocation swallowed me, and my consciousness plunged into darkness.

——

I broke the surface of the water, gasping greedily for air like a dying fish. Water splashed everywhere. My heart pounded so hard it almost burst through my chest.

"Enjoying the soak, honey?"

The exact same voice, the exact same silk shirt, the exact same hand on my shoulder—

Goosebumps erupted all over my body.

I had been reborn to the moment right before I drowned.

"Can I... have you in the tub?" He leaned in again, a chilling, probing look in his eyes.

Cold sweat mixed with bathwater rolled down my skin. I bit my tongue hard, forcing a seductive smile. "Of course, darling. But... let's go to the bedroom, okay? I just bought some lingerie I haven't shown you yet."

If I could just get out of this deadly tub, I'd have a chance to survive.

However, his face instantly darkened.

"You bitch! You are lying to me!"

He roared, making no effort to hide the violent, murderous intent in his eyes. His massive hand grabbed the back of my head and slammed me ruthlessly into the water!

My forehead struck the bottom of the tub. Agony exploded.

In the despair of drowning, an astonishing will to live flared up inside me. I abandoned my useless thrashing, grabbed the collar of his silk shirt with both hands, and yanked downward with the last ounce of my strength!

The shirt ripped open, exposing his chest. Through the rippling water, my bloodshot eyes widened in shock—

The small mole under his left collarbone, the one I had kissed countless times... was gone.

It felt like a sledgehammer struck my brain.

The man trying to kill me wasn't my husband at all.

Where was the real Dashiell?

With the oxygen in my lungs completely depleted, I closed my eyes again in sheer shock and despair.

Third rebirth. I bolted upright in the tub, coughing violently, my face covered in tears and water.

"Honey, how—"

"Go fetch me some soothing incense, please?" I snapped, interrupting him sharply. My voice was hoarse with terror, but my eyes were locked onto him. "My insomnia is acting up. My head is killing me."

The fake husband froze, a flash of impatience crossing his eyes. But to maintain the "gentle husband" persona, he forced a smile. "Alright. I'll go get it."

The second the door closed, I threw myself at the edge of the tub like a madwoman.

My paralyzed legs were like dead weight. Gritting my teeth, I used my arms to drag my body out of the water, tumbling onto the cold tiles like a pathetic dog.

Pain surged, but I didn't care. I crawled to my phone, fingers trembling as I quickly dialed the number of the real Dashiell!

At that exact moment—

A frantic ringtone echoed from right outside the bathroom door.

My blood turned to ice.

The door swung open.

The imposter stood there, holding incense in one hand, and waving a ringing phone in the other.

He looked down at me sprawling on the floor, a bone-chilling smirk creeping onto his face.

"Elodie, since you've figured it out, I guess we don't have to pretend anymore, do we?"