THE SURGEON’S SECRET

AN ADDICTIVE AND GRIPPING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER

AARON QUINN

CONTENTS

Prologue

1.  Lisa

2.  Alexis

3.  Lisa

4.  Paul

5.  Alexis

6.  Lisa

7.  Lisa

8.  Alexis

9.  Lisa

10.  Lisa

11.  Alexis

12.  Lisa

13.  Alexis

14.  Lisa

15.  Lisa

16.  Lisa

17.  Alexis

18.  Lisa

19.  Alexis

20.  Alexis

21.  Lisa

22.  Lisa

23.  Lisa

24.  Lisa

25.  Lisa

26.  Alexis

27.  Lisa

28.  Lisa

29.  Lisa

30.  Lisa

31.  Lisa

32.  Lisa

33.  Lisa

34.  Lisa

35.  Lisa

36.  Lisa

37.  Lisa

38.  Lisa

39.  Lisa

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About the Author

Published by aaronquinnbooks.com

Copyright @ Aaron Quinn 2024

All rights reserved.

Aaron Quinn has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction, names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

PROLOGUE

SEVEN MONTHS AGO.

The streets grow darker as evening sets in, long shadows stretching across the pavement. The sounds of cars rumble around me, occasionally drowned out by a high-pitched whining moped delivery driver racing past to drop off another takeaway. I follow behind her at a distance, allowing the woman to walk further ahead until she becomes a vague figure up the dimly lit street. She’s unaware of what is about to come, too engrossed in her phone in one hand, a carrier bag in the other, and her handbag slung over her shoulder.

As I delve into my jacket pocket, my grip tightens around the handle of the hammer. My heart rate rises, that familiar sense of anticipation building inside me. These are the moments I savour—when she is oblivious, unaware of what is coming.

Up ahead, an alleyway opens between two houses, a cut through to the next road. I’ve studied her route from the tube station many times, and as she nears home, the streets become deserted. This is my chance. I quicken my pace, keeping low until the last second. Then I burst forward, clamping one hand over her mouth before she can react.

She bucks against me, her body launching into a fight or flight response with screams and flailing arms which offer nothing against my hold over her. It’s too late for her to fight back—I was already too close. I hold my grip and tug her backwards. Her Tesco bag slips from her hands. Items spill across the ground—a bunch of bananas, packets of biscuits, a baguette, and coke cans, which roll away. Her phone clatters on the pavement, the screen dims to black.

Good. No calling for help to interrupt our private moment.

With her things littering the ground, I half-drag, half-carry her deeper into the shadows. The dank air reeks of fox piss. Her tears stream down my palm as whimpers turn to animalistic cries of terror. But I barely register her words anymore, as I’m consumed by the overwhelming tide of need and rage burning through me.

I throw her to the ground. Her body lands with a heavy thud as her face hits the tarmac path. Rising to her knees, she lets out a cry of pain while shielding her face. With a tight grip on the hammer, I pull it free and swing it down in a brutal arc, putting all my strength behind that first sickening crunch of metal on bone. A shrill scream cuts through the air as she falls forward. I strike again and again, shockwaves of violence shooting up my arms. My blows rain down relentlessly until the woman goes limp, collapsing into a crumpled mess.

Only my own ragged breathing drowns out the throbbing in my temples and the thumping of my heart against my ribs. It’s not warm this evening. We’re weeks away from Christmas but sweat beads on my brow as I notice my surroundings again.

I’m lost in my own world, a solitary place of endless thoughts and painful echoes that serve as my constant companions. I shrug off the cold finality of the past few minutes. It didn’t have to end like this. But reality often proves herself a cruel mistress—nothing stays untouched, not even the life I meticulously built for myself. And when someone comes along to mess that up, they must pay the ultimate price.

“Get too close and you get burnt,” I mumble. I look down at her crumpled, motionless body in the spreading pool of darkness. So fragile in the face of my will. A grim smile creeps across my face. I feel nothing. I should feel something, even a hint of guilt or remorse, but there’s nothing there, only a sense of equilibrium again.

With time running out, I quickly grab her handbag and put her phone, keys, purse—anything that could be traced back to me—in my pocket. I need to be sure it looks like a violent robbery that ended badly as I toss the handbag a few yards away.

With any evidence removed, I straighten my clothes and take one last breath of the tainted, metallic air. Another job done. The familiar ache will set in soon, that gnawing hunger rumbling back to life. My desire for her. But patience always wins out for those committed to doing what needs to be done.

Without a backward glance, I walk out of the shadows and weave through the alleys until I rejoin the High Street bustling with Christmas shoppers and revellers enjoying festive celebrations. Just another face in the crowd, leaving my night’s work for whatever poor sod happens upon it first.

Sometimes my feeling takes me to dark places. I do bad things for the people I love. I’m not stating it’s correct in any way, but it signifies that the love I have for them is of utmost importance and I will do whatever it takes to safeguard it.

My work will never be finished because, well, sadly, there are those who believe they understand me better than I understand myself. And the more they search, the more troublesome they become until I’m left with no choice but to take them out of the equation.

With that certainty anchoring each step, I hop on to the tube and disappear deeper into London’s heart where I’m a nobody. A place where I’m free to dream, to plan, to prepare.

1

LISA

THERE’S something about the smell of freshly cut grass that evokes memories of my childhood. Still to this day I can remember jumping in and out of the heaps of clippings dad gathered at the end of the garden, and the mock disappointment on his face as he stood there, hands on hips, shaking his head.

The gardeners have just left, and I find myself in the middle of our manicured front garden, admiring the splendid work Danny and his team have done. Beside me, my husband, Paul, shares in the appreciation, both of us taking in the vibrant blooms and neatly trimmed hedges. It’s a picture-perfect scene, one straight out of a glossy lifestyle magazine. We haven’t been picked yet, but our neighbours five doors down had their garden featured in Urban Life and Gardens a few months ago, and they haven’t stopped reminding everyone about it. I’ve got my fingers and toes crossed that it will be our garden soon. God knows we deserve it after the dozens of photos I’ve sent in along with the most cringeworthy emails.

As I turn to admire the facade of our home—all gleaming white stucco and elegant Georgian lines—I notice Paul’s gaze has shifted. He’s rooted to the spot and peering at our neighbours across the street, eyes narrowed into slits. His fingers are twitching, as if he’s restraining some unseen impulse or agitated about something.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

I experience a momentary flicker of unease, but then he looks at me and reveals that dazzling smile of his. “Isn’t it a stunning day, darling?”

“It certainly is,” I reply, returning his smile and gazing up at him. Even though I have a small sense of uneasiness, I’m captivated by him. Paul is, after all, the epitome of masculinity... well, he is in my eyes and maybe I’m biased, but others might disagree. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a strong jawline and striking features. A friend of mine once described him as astronaut handsome. No idea what that meant, and still don’t, but apparently it was a compliment. To me, he looks like a dashing Jon Hamm, the American Actor, when he starred in Mad Men. God, I drooled like a lovesick teen when I watched him in that. And the best bit? Paul’s all mine. At forty-two, he still looks youthful and could pass for someone five years his junior. I’m only two years behind him, and yet I wake up looking like the back end of a cow and feeling like a bus ran over me.

I sometimes wish we met earlier, but we were already deep into our careers by our mid-thirties—I was thirty-five and he was thirty-seven. Our past relationships didn’t last, often sidelined by our professional commitments. Looking back, it seems like a blessing. By then, neither of us wanted kids; instead, we chose to savour the finer things our careers afforded us.

As if sensing my scrutiny, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me close, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. With his voice low and soft, he murmurs, “I’m so lucky to have you.”

As I melt into his embrace, my earlier concerns fade into the background. Looking up at him, I say, “I’m lucky to have you too.”

A movement in the corner of my eye draws my attention, and I see Mrs Fawcett, our next-door neighbour, poke her head up from tending to her flowerbeds. She looks up and spots us, breaking into a friendly smile and waving.

“Afternoon, dears!” she calls out, her voice carrying across the pristine lawn.

Paul shifts gears, his entire demeanour transforms as he waves back, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Afternoon, Mrs Fawcett! Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely lovely!” she replies, beaming. “Enjoy the sunshine!”

“We will do,” he replies. He takes a few steps towards the deep hedge separating our gardens. “Is there anything I can do to help? Anything heavy that needs to be done?”

Mrs Fawcett has taken him up on his offer in the past, but on this occasion waves away his help. I’ve always felt Mrs Fawcett sounds too formal, but she prefers it, as do a few of our elderly neighbours. It must be a generational thing. She only puts Barbara in her Christmas cards, and at other times, always refers to herself formally.

With a last wave, she turns her attention back to her gardening. I marvel at Paul’s effortless charm, the way he slips into the role of the perfect, helpful and kind neighbour. It’s a quality I admire in him. He’s always willing to help others, even if they don’t ask. Selfless acts of kindness and generosity. It’s a stark contrast to the tense way he stared at the Butlers across the road.

“She’s such a dear, isn’t she?” Paul murmurs. His hand comes to rest on the small of my back.

“Yes, bless her,” I agree, though I can’t quite shake the lingering sense of unease. There’s something about the way he looked at the Butlers that unsettles me, but I push the thought aside. Paul is my husband, my rock, my best friend. He’s always empathetic and considerate, never one to upset anyone intentionally. It’s not in his nature.

We spend the next hour wandering around our garden deciding what to add next, which flowers would go where and what new bushes would add height to the beds. It’s a scene of domestic bliss, straight out of a Jane Austen novel, and I feel a swell of pride. This is the life I’ve always dreamt of—a beautiful home, a successful, adoring husband, and the admiration of those around us. Well, it’s almost the life I’ve dreamt of, but I hate bringing it up with him. There are thoughts occupying my mind that leave me with an emptiness inside, and dare I mention, like a stranger in Paul’s life.

As the sun dips below the horizon, the heat in the air thins out and we head back inside.

Once settled, Paul pours us each a generous glass of red merlot, our favourite. I sink into the plush leather sofa, savouring the fruity flavour as it slides down my throat. Paul joins me, his arm draped around my shoulders.

“To us,” he murmurs, a clink of his glass against mine.

“To us,” I echo, as I gaze at him.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, sipping our drinks as we watch David Attenborough in Blue Planet. I feel the tension in my muscles ebb away, replaced by a deep sense of contentment. This is where I belong, by Paul’s side, in the sanctuary of our luxurious home.

But then Paul’s gaze wanders towards the window, his brow furrowing. I follow his line of sight, and my heart sinks as I realise he’s once again fixated on the Butler’s house. The couple is now visible through their front window, enjoying a quiet evening in.

Paul’s fingers twitch before they curl into a tight fist. I feel a sudden pang of concern, the same one I sensed earlier. I open my mouth to say something, to interrupt his strange, almost hypnotic focus, but I decide not to.

Just as suddenly as it began, Paul snaps out of his trance. He turns to me, that warm smile once again in place. “Shall we order in tonight? I’m in the mood for something Italian from our usual.”

I nod. “That sounds lovely.”

As Paul reaches for his phone to call Luca’s restaurant, my gaze drifts back to the window, an icy knot of concern forming in the pit of my stomach. His abrupt shift from that intense stare to casual normalcy sends a chill down my spine. Was I just seeing things, or is there a darker undercurrent beneath my husband’s calm exterior?

DINNER IS A SUBDUED AFFAIR, the usual lively banter and playful flirtation dampened by the unease that has settled over me. Paul seems oblivious to my shift in mood, his attention focused on filling me in on his London medical practice in Harley Street, and the chance to move up a floor to a bigger suite. Harley Street is one of the most famous streets in London where over the generations, writers, politicians, singers, soldiers, and scientists have lived. Now it’s the home of highly skilled private medical professionals. You’re paying for the best surgeons and specialists. And Paul is one of them when it comes to his specialism of reconstructive surgery. In fact, Paul’s suite sits in the same building once frequented by Sir Frederick Trevers, a British surgeon credited with saving the life of King Edward VII before his coronation.

To say I’m proud of him is an understatement. He trained at St Thomas’ Hospital Medical School and spent the early part of his career working in the National Health Service before going into private practice.

“The extra space could allow me to spread out a bit and separate my private work from my pro bono stuff,” he declares, his eyes shining with pride. “The pro bono work needs a bit more care and attention. Softer surroundings to put the women at ease.”

While I nod along, providing the right responses and expressions of admiration, my mind is elsewhere. All I can think about is the way Paul has been watching the Butlers, the twitching of his fingers, the balled fist. He’s never mentioned problems with them as far as I can remember. Despite their falling out with the Patel’s to their left because of overgrown boundary hedges, it doesn’t involve us. Mind you, Mrs Sangita Patel has a mouth on her and is very vocal when she needs to be, often being the talkative one of the couple to where Vinod, her husband, can’t get a word in. Poor man.

As we finish our meal and retire to the living room once more, Paul pulls me close. His fingers trace lazy patterns along my arm. “You seem distracted. Is everything alright?”

Pausing, I consider my words. “I... I noticed you watching the Butlers earlier. Is everything okay?”

Paul’s brow furrows, and for a brief, unsettling moment, I see a flash of something dark and unreadable in his expression. But then it’s gone, replaced by a smile.

“Of course, darling. I was admiring their home. You know how I am about these things.” He chuckles, pressing a tender kiss to my temple.

I’m itching to bring it up, but there’s this voice in my head saying, “Don’t do it.” What if I’m being paranoid? What if there’s an innocent explanation? I can’t bear the thought of upsetting him. I hate it when he gets angry, and I feel guilty for setting him off. So instead, I snuggle closer to him, savouring the warmth and security of his embrace. “I’m sorry. I must be overreacting. You know how I can be sometimes. My mind doesn’t stop over analysing everything.”

Paul’s arms tighten around me, and a sense of relief floods through me. “Well, you’re perfect the way you are.”

We sit in silence for a while, the only sound coming from the TV as the food and wine sap me of energy and it’s not long before we call it a night and go to bed.

THE NEXT MORNING, I rise before Paul, as is my habit, and make my way downstairs to prepare breakfast for us. Paul is in the shower, so I take my coffee into the lounge and stand by the window and enjoy the warmth of the morning sun on my face. I shut my eyes and notice the orange glow on the back of my lids. After opening them a few moments later, I glance out of the window, half-expecting to see the street come alive, but I’m fixated on the Butler’s once more. But the front lawn is empty, save for a few chirping birds. They have closed their curtains, and I won’t catch a glimpse of them for at least a few hours. In all the time we’ve been living here, I’ve never seen the Butlers before ten a.m.

Shaking off my lingering concerns, I set about preparing poached eggs, crispy bacon, and toast. Paul prefers going to work on a full stomach. The aroma soon fills the air, and it’s not long before he appears, dressed impeccably in his tailored navy suit.

“Morning, darling,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “This all looks perfect.”

I offer him a small smile. “Me or the breakfast?”

He pinches my waist and comes round behind me, pulling me into him. “You are breakfast, every day.” He’s such a charmer, and I love how he makes me feel.

We eat in relative silence, apart from the occasional compliment from Paul on the quality of the spread. He seems his usual charming, attentive self, completely at ease. Perhaps I really was overreacting. Paul is a successful, driven man, and it’s only natural that he’d be interested in his neighbours and their homes. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions all the time.

We finish our meal and clear the dishes. Paul turns to me with a warm smile. “I have a few appointments this morning, but I was thinking we could spend the afternoon together. Perhaps a stroll through the park, followed by a spot of shopping?”

“That sounds lovely. Are you not seeing patients all day?”

“Only till one p.m. I need a break and you’re my number one priority.”

With a contented sigh, I wrap my arms around him, resting my head against his chest. “You know how to say the right things. I’ve only got one client appointment this morning, so it works for me, too.” That’s what I love about having my own successful interior design company catering to wealthy London clients. I only have a few meetings a week and spend most of my time at home drawing up plans, designs, and working with my contractors and suppliers.

“Well, it’s true. I’ve been so busy in recent weeks that we haven’t mooched around the shops. It’s about time I treated my wife.”

I pull away. “Right answer,” I tease as we head out of the door.

2

ALEXIS

ALTHOUGH THE CONCEPT of a top-floor apartment of a converted house seemed ideal, I neglected to contemplate the effort involved in moving all my possessions up the stairs. My entire world, in boxes and flat pack furniture, lay scattered in a horrid mess in every room.

I hoist the last box up the stairs, grunting from the effort as beads of sweat form on my forehead and my T-shirt clinging to my back. I drop the cardboard to the floor with a breathless sigh and view my new surroundings. I’m sure it felt bigger than this when I viewed it a few weeks ago. Setting aside my doubts, I remind myself of why I’m here.

The spacious open-plan living area stretches out before me. Natural light pours in through the Juliet balcony at the rear overlooking the back gardens, and I have a large bay window to the front with views of the street and beyond. Perfect for setting up my photography workspace and editing station.

As my gaze drifts across the manicured lawns towards the imposing detached house next door, I realize the rear view is far more important. A slight smile creeps across my lips as I take in the grand property’s impressive facade.

This upstairs apartment is an ideal choice—offering a unique vantage point over the neighbouring property that will prove invaluable for my purposes. Purposes that no one besides me is privy to.

I push those thoughts to one side and begin the arduous task of unpacking the many boxes and reassembling a sense of home amidst the chaos. I seem to have spent the last few years living like a bloody nomad as I’ve moved around the country for my work and in my quest to uncover the truth. Framed photographs find pride of place on shelving units first, reminders of happier times that feel like relics from a different lifetime altogether.

As I unwrap a framed photo of my best friend Lottie wrapped in my hug, a familiar melancholy ache grows in my chest. I place it on the shelf and take a step back. That shot at a dinner party captures us mid-laughter, our faces crinkled with happiness and our heads tilted towards each other like sunflowers seeking the warmth of the sun. We were so full of joy in that moment and lost in our own little world of inside jokes that no one apart from us would understand.

Sadly, it remains as one of the final precious treasures I can hold onto from an era when life was brimming with potential and opportunity for both of us. I remember that evening well because we were talking about our plans to travel and work in the US.

Lottie meant so much more to me than being my soulmate—we were connected spirits, two childhood friends who played outside our houses when we were young, did each other’s homework, and navigated through the defiant teenage years by drowning our adolescent angst in off-key singalongs with hairbrushes-as-microphones.

HER WARM SMILE could light up any room she entered. Perhaps that magnetism led to everything going wrong. My jaw clenches at the mere thought of the chain of fateful events his existence sparked. In the beginning of their relationship, Lottie seemed to think she’d hit the jackpot. Here was a man who loved her in a way she never experienced before. For a blissful spell, they were that picture-perfect vision of new love.

But then the cracks appeared. So subtle that many around Lottie didn’t spot them. It started innocuously enough with a handful of peculiar remarks Lottie would drop into conversations, without even registering the oddities herself. Like an interview opportunity she was excited about, cancelled out of the blue without explanation or rescheduling. Or the spontaneous leak in her apartment one afternoon. Then she had no post for months, only to find out that a mail redirection instruction was in place—something she knew nothing about.

There were the frequent Amazon packages that would go missing even though the delivery person had dropped them off at her apartment block.

At first, we came up with every rationalisation under the sun to wave these unsettling coincidences away. Crossed wires, overbooked schedules, strangers’ innocent mistakes. But the bizarre incidents kept coming like clockwork. Which is when the first flickers of dread began smouldering within my gut about the true root of these unexplained disruptions. They were shadowy glimpses of Lottie’s new partner displaying obsessive, controlling behaviour behind closed doors.

When out, he’d shoot daggers from across the room with those bulging eyes if she so much as glanced in another human being’s direction when they socialised. His constant need to monopolise every waking second of her friend’s time and attention became more and more unhinged. But most unsettling? The inappropriate outbursts of jealousy lurching towards emotional abuse and manipulation if she displayed any small shred of independence.

But I could never show my suspicions even as they solidified into certainties. Lottie fell head over heels for the man who showered her with affection, presents, and attention. Any attempts I made to tell her about what I noticed as a growing trail of red flags were dismissed and explained away by her partner’s silver-tongued gaslighting. He convinced Lottie, with a few carefully chosen words, that these paranoid delusions were a product of my own confused mind, fuelled by my fear of losing her to someone else.

My best friend soon turned that boundless empathy inward, laser-focused on dissecting her partner’s own psyche and the bottomless well of unresolved childhood traumas fuelling his difficulties with trust and vulnerability. If she could find the source and unpick it, Lottie figured that his controlling behaviours and sudden mood shifts would melt away.

If only she could have understood how ignorant that sounded.

God, I’ll never forgive myself for not being more vocal even if it meant coming to blows. Instead, I stood by until there was nothing left but silence. To this day, the aftermath still swirls around in my mind with nauseating repetition. The unanswered phone calls while she went off the grid for a weekend break. I brushed my concern aside, thinking she needed time to recharge. The horror and sadness etched across the grim-faced police officers’ faces when they appeared on my doorstep days later looking for answers. With cold, pitying looks and remorseless shrugs, they treated Lottie’s life as another "suicide" case that needn’t be examined from any other angle.

A lone tear rolls down my cheek as I stare at her photo.

But it wasn’t suicide, no matter how the police dismissed her case as such. The same controlling freak who had caused my friend such agonising pain, orchestrated the steps leading to her death right before my very eyes.

A renewed surge of determination flows through my veins with the scorching heat of molten lava as my hands curl into clenched fists. It may have taken years of tireless digging and dogged detective work to find him, but I’m here.

After scrubbing my flushed cheeks free of streaking dampness, I exhale a steadying breath and continue to unpack my life from the boxes. The hours seem to fly by and I’m still no closer to sorting out my possessions. Clothes lay across my bed, still needing to be hung up in the wardrobe. Plates, cups, and pans fill every inch of the kitchen worktops, and there are two suitcases in the hallway that I’ll have to leave until tomorrow.

As I look round me, I’m surprised at how much I have. Before leaving Manchester, I’d taken my spare clothes, bits of furniture, and other knick knacks to the dump. I didn’t want to hire a van or anything like that, choosing instead to fit everything into my Golf. Whatever I didn’t have a use for needed to be chucked. Of course, my photography equipment takes up lots of space. Tripods, softbox lighting, and camera cases, took priority when I loaded the car. I have a new freelance job starting in a few days, so I’d like to be settled, have met the neighbours, and had a wander around the area before I start work.

With a decisive nod, I draw the curtains closed behind me and straighten my shoulders as I stride towards the hallway mirror for one last check. Although my cheeks are flushed and my hair is wild, I think it’s time for me to say hello to my neighbours.

3

LISA

I CAN’T REMEMBER the last time Paul and I enjoyed a shopping trip more. The entire afternoon was perfect. We strolled hand-in-hand through St. James Park; the afternoon sun bathing our faces. Of all the parks in central London, I think it’s my favourite. With colourful floral borders lining the neatly trimmed lawns, it’s an oasis of tranquillity amidst the hustle and bustle of central London.

Sadly, we missed the sea of glorious, bright yellow daffodils by a few months but made a promise to visit next spring. From there, we headed to the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square and mooched around the artwork, before heading for what was the highlight for me, shopping!

Paul took me to one of my favourite stores, Max Mara, on New Bond Street. I adore their Italian influenced contemporary clothes. Paul spoilt me before we finished in Regent’s Street for more shopping and an early dinner. He paid for everything. Every time I interrupted his plans with a suggestion, he’d raised a finger to cut me off, insisting with a smile that I deserved the best.

Now as I stand in our lounge, I’m a little shocked at how many bags we have. Some are mine, the rest are Paul’s. “I think we went overboard.” I laugh as I place a hand over my mouth.

Paul stands beside me and rolls his eyes. “Just a bit, but we don’t do it often. What’s the point in working so hard if we can’t enjoy ourselves?”

I shrug. “True. But at this rate, we’ll need a bigger walk-in wardrobe!”

“Rubbish. Plenty of room in there. Besides, if we run out of space, we can get rid of some of your stuff to make room for my suits.” He places an arm around my waist and gives me a squeeze.

“There’ll be none of that talk, or it’s the spare bedroom for you.”

“Promises promises,” he replies.

The doorbell chimes. “I’ll get that.” I head to the door and open it to find a woman smiling back at me. Probably in her mid-to-late thirties, dressed in dark jeans, white T-shirt, and trainers. Judging from her flushed cheeks, I wonder if she’s been running or something. But it’s not her appearance that I find striking, it’s her flame red hair. Though wispy and untidy, it’s vibrant and striking. Out of a bottle, of course, but wow, I’m envious.

“Oh, hi, I’m Alexis, Alexis Johnson. I’ve moved in next door and I’m renting the first-floor apartment. I thought I’d pop round and introduce myself.” Alexis extends her hand, and I do the same as we shake.

I offer her a warm smile. “Hi, there. Welcome to the neighbourhood. I’m Lisa.” By now, Paul has joined me at the front door and looks on with curiosity. I point a finger in his direction. “This is Paul, my husband.”

Paul reluctantly shakes her hand, but I notice her smile fade as she looks at him. It’s as if she’s studying him a bit too intently, or perhaps I’m only imagining it. But they’ve not warmed to each other, which I find odd. His handshake is a little abrupt and he’s not smiling either. In fact, his face loses its softness, and he looks past her and to the road beyond.

“I don’t know anyone round here. I’ve moved down from Manchester for my work.”

“That’s a big move,” I say.

Alexis nods but doesn’t reply.

“Would you like to come in? It’s the least we can do as you’re new in the street. We can tell you about the other neighbours?” I throw a hand over my mouth as I stifle a yawn. My eyes water as I push away the tiredness.

“Oh, no, that’s nice of you, but I can see that you’re tired and I wouldn’t want to take up your evening.”

“Yes, we are a bit busy, and this old girl needs her beauty sleep,” Paul says, looking at me.

“Nonsense,” I reply, glancing at Paul with a scowl, annoyed at his rudeness. Don’t worry about Mr Grouchiness. It’s an age thing,” I tease. “Please come in,” I urge, as I step to one side.

Alexis and I laugh, but his comment does sting because he’s mentioned it a few times over recent months. We are getting older, but he doesn’t need to keep reminding me. He once joked about trading me in for a younger model, causing us to fall out for a few days. I ended up sleeping in one of the spare rooms. Though he didn’t really mean it, doubts filled my thoughts, and I started feeling so insecure. But then the closer I looked at myself, the worse I felt.

Paul has often said that he was bowled over by my looks when we met. He would sit and stare, which at times unnerved me, but he loved my shoulder length brown hair that framed my face and would go on and on about my high cheekbones, well-defined jawline, and delicate nose. All flattering of course, but hard to accept.

I remember on one particular occasion where his overzealous compliments embarrassed me. We were on our third date, and over dinner he dropped his knife and fork on the plate and leaned across the table to tell me that my long lashes and dark brown eyes which gave me a timeless and sophisticated appearance ‘captivated’ him. Cheesy I know, and I nearly burst out laughing because the diners next to us overhead him. But that was Paul. He didn’t care, he said what was on his mind.

Things have changed now. Grey roots, aching joints first thing in the morning, sex drive dipping, and my breasts losing their pertness. In fact, I reckon my body looks like a dropped lasagna. Getting older sucks.

I try hard to brush his comment to one side as I nod.

“Well, only if you’re sure,” she replies. Alexis steps into our hallway as Paul shows her through to the lounge. I pick up a strong whiff of perfume as she passes. Smells cheap.

Alexis seems pleasant enough as she takes a seat and looks around the room, her eyes scanning every piece of furniture, framed photo, and ornament.

“I remember you saying that you’ve moved to London for your work…” I ask.

Alexis nods. “Yes, I’ve picked up a new contract, and it meant moving to London for twelve months.”

“Oh, great. What do you do?” I ask.

“I’m a professional photographer.” She smiles and shrugs her shoulder.

Right. That makes sense. I wondered why she was scrutinising the framed photos on the mantelpiece above the fire. She must have been analysing them with her eagle eye. I glance at Paul. He’s staring at his phone, oblivious to our conversation that continues for a few minutes.

“Did you hear that, Paul?” I say.

“Hm, sorry?” He glances up from his phone and looks at me and then at Alexis.

I roll my eyes. “Alexis is a professional photographer.”

“Oh, right. Excellent,” he says.

The conversation appears to be stalling, and I sense Alexis’s awkwardness as she fidgets in her chair. “Can I get you tea or coffee?” I rise to my feet.

“Ooh, I’d love a tea, if that’s not too much trouble?”

“Of course not. Come through to the kitchen with me.”

Alexis stands and follows as we leave Paul staring at his phone.

“Wow,” Alexis’s eyes widen as she stops inside the kitchen and looks around. “This is incredible. I’ve never seen such a gorgeous kitchen. It’s huge.”

I feel a little embarrassed that she is gushing about our kitchen, but I appreciate the compliment. It’s always a talking point whenever someone visits. I watch as she runs her fingers along the smooth, black granite worktop, her eyes dancing from one appliance to another. I get on with making us both a cup of tea before we take a seat by the island in the middle of the kitchen, which offers us views through the large bi-fold doors to the garden beyond. Alexis is speechless as she cups her mug in both hands and stares in disbelief at the garden with its mature trees, pristine clipped lawn, and two patio areas.

Alexis breaks her silence as she puts down her mug. “I guess looking after this gorgeous house keeps you busy?”

“Not really. We have a wonderful team of gardeners who come in once a week. I also have a fabulous cleaner who comes in twice a week, and that allows me to get on with my work.”

“Sorry, I didn’t ask what you both do?”

I wave off her apology. “I have an interior design business, and Paul is a private surgeon with his own practice on Harley Street.”

Alexis raises a brow. “No wonder you can afford a place like this. I wish I could.”

“Well, we both work hard. We don’t have children, so, I guess this is a treat for ourselves. It allows us to indulge in our passions and hobbies.”

She leans in. “Oh, what are they?”

“Paul enjoys walking, and I enjoy going to theatres, shopping, and I’m a big fan of the arts.”

“Me too. I love the theatre and arts. Though most of my friends in Manchester aren’t interested, so I often end up going alone.” Her tone sounds a bit wistful.

“Same here. I have a few friends who like to go to the theatre and the occasional art gallery, but I don’t go as often as I would like because it’s not as much fun going on your own, is it?”

Alexis nods. “Yes. I agree. I wish I could go more but is not much fun being a singleton sometimes.”

I sigh, a shadow colouring my words. “I did have a friend I used to go with, but she passed away seven months ago, and I’ve not been since.”

Her expression softens. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Well, we could always go together one day. I’m sure we could find something that would interest both of us.”

“I’d love that. Especially because I don’t know anyone in London. That would be nice.”

I like Alexis. She seems down-to-earth. Almost humble. And there are times during our conversation where I feel a little embarrassed by the wealth that we have around us.

Paul enters the kitchen and breezes past, disappearing through the bi-fold doors without looking at us. “I’m going to the cabin. Don’t disturb me unless Charles turns up.”

Once he’s gone and disappeared up the path from view, Alexis turns towards me. “Is he always that rude?”

The directness of her question takes me by surprise. Her features have turned into a scowl, and there’s no warmth in her voice.

I apologise on behalf of my husband. “Um, I don’t think he means to. It’s just his way. He can be direct and blunt. I’m sure he didn’t mean to come across like that.”

“He hasn’t been too friendly towards me. Perhaps he doesn’t like me. I think it’s better if I go.” Alexis slides off her seat, and I stand. The change of demeanour leaves me confused. It’s as if she can’t get away from here quick enough as she hurries to the hallway with me trying to catch up.

“Alexis, I’m sure it’s nothing like that at all. He’s very kind and considerate. I think he’s tired because we’ve been out all day.”

Alexis pauses at the doorway and her shoulders drop. She turns and faces me. “I’m sorry. My apologies for snapping at you and jumping to conclusions. I suppose I am tired too. I’ve been unpacking all day and I’m exhausted. Perhaps I should have come round tomorrow.”

I place my hand on her arm. “Don’t be silly. We appreciate you coming round to say hi. How about we grab a coffee tomorrow morning?”

Alexis thinks about it for a moment before agreeing. She’s about to say something when the doorbell rings. I answer the door to see Charles standing there. Charles is one of Paul’s oldest friends since they met at university.

His eyes flick between me and Alexis as he purses his lips and narrows his eyes, sussing us out. “That’s a serious look that you have on your faces. You look like partners in crime. Go on, spread the gossip. Who have you murdered?” He teases as he steps forward and kisses me on the cheek.

“If anything, I’d say that you and Paul are more like partners in crime. I hate to imagine the secrets you two keep,” I reply.

He taps the side of his nose. “Man code. That would be telling. Anyway, where is he? We are going to be late for football practice.”

I poke my chin towards the kitchen. “Where do you think?”

“Ah, right. Safe to go there?” Charles steps into the hallway.

“Yes. You need to hurry him along.” I step to one side. “Oh, by the way, this is Alexis, our new neighbour. Alexis, this is Paul’s best friend, Charles. He’s a private doctor.”

Charles extends a hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Charles Burnett. Better looking than Paul and certainly cleverer. This young lady picked the wrong man when she chose Paul. Left me heartbroken. Story of my life.”

I laugh. “Go on, don’t flatter yourself. You are still coming to our dinner party?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world because I get to look at your lovely face across the table.” With a brief nod, Charles brushes past us both.

“Don’t worry about Charles. He’s a big flirt. Shall we say ten o’clock tomorrow morning?”

“Perfect. See you tomorrow. Thanks for the tea by the way.”

I watch as Alexis walks down the drive and disappears round the front of the tall hedges. I close the door behind me and head to the lounge to plump up the cushions. But as I pass the window, something catches my eye, and I stop in my tracks. Alexis has backtracked and is standing on the pavement peering round the hedge at our house. She lingers for a few moments before taking a step back and disappearing from view.

4

PAUL

THE SHRILL SOUND of Charles’s whistle pierces through the evening air. I watch from the sidelines as he jogs across the pitch, shouting words of encouragement to the under-16 boys of our local team. Giving back to the local community is a good thing, and we don’t do enough of that. I’ve done my bit for the first half. It’s Charles’s turn to take over and give me a breather. The last coach retired a year ago, in his sixties. He didn’t have it in his bones to continue, and I don’t blame him. These boys are hard work. Some have difficult family backgrounds, and this is their escape. But they’re a good bunch. Keen to listen and learn. There’s laughter, rivalry, competitiveness, but most of all, there are smiles… and the odd swear word.

Pushing my hands into my hoodie pockets, I let my mind wander. Images from my childhood, far removed from this idyllic scene, flicker through my thoughts. That’s what I hate. They never go away. Haunting me like a ghostly spectre and something I try so hard to hide. The loneliness. Always the outsider looking in, never picked for sports teams, I watched other boys lark about and joke with an envy that burned like acidic bile, scorching my throat. Too scrawny, too awkward, too haunted by the screaming rows and shattering glass that formed the backing track of home.

Mum’s tear-streaked face, battered and swollen. The stench of dad’s whiskey-soaked rages permeating the house. My little sister Amy, all brown curls and gap-toothed smiles, the only spark of light in the gloom. Until that night. The screech of tyres as dad raced away with Amy in the car to spite mum. Twisted metal and shattered bones. The beginning and end blurred into tragedy by dad’s drunken fury behind the wheel.

I can still feel the pain deep in my chest when they pulled her broken body from the wreckage. Something fundamental shifted in me that night, the moment my sweet, innocent sister took her last breath. The tether to normality, to any hopes of a happy family, shattered beyond repair. Perhaps that’s why I’m so scared of losing everything now.

A slap on my shoulder. abruptly shakes me from my thoughts. I blink, and Charles’s grinning face comes into focus.

“Alright, mate? Looks like you were miles away.” He chuckles, gulping water from his bottle.

I force a smile.

“I was. Away with the fairies. But you did good out there. The corner set play works a treat.”

He shrugs off the praise with his typical effortless charm. I feel the familiar swell of gratitude in my chest, remembering those early days at university when he took me under his wing, even though I was happy to stew in my darkening thoughts. I owe him more than he realises.

As Charles turns his attention back to the pitch, I let my gaze drift over a few parents huddled on the sideline. So invested in their sons’ every move, bursting with pride at each minor victory. The casual displays of affection—ruffling hair, slinging an arm around shoulders, pulling them in for a celebratory hug. Such foreign concepts to me. Dad never came to my school events. Too busy pickling his liver and using mum as a human punch bag. At the rare times he acknowledged my presence, it was with a snide remark about what a disappointment I was. Never athletic enough, never tough enough, never enough like him.

The fury that simmers in my veins is a constant companion. I’ve learned to tame it, to channel it, to hone it to my advantage. The power that comes from changing someone’s life, their every hope, in the palm of your hand... it’s intoxicating. Addictive. A high that I chase every day I’m at work.

Charles is back out there again, doing his bit, barking further instructions. The shouts from a few parents go unheard, or perhaps he ignores them. Sometimes I envy him. Good looking, clever, and assertive. He gets what he wants, and if he doesn’t, then he never gives up without a fight. Admirable. Even when tragedy has struck me, he’s been there like a rock, never letting me deal with it on my own.

The final whistle blows, and I watch the squad run back to a sea of smiling faces.

We say our goodbyes to the lads and head our separate ways. Charles wants a catch up over a beer, but I make my excuses and make a promise for next week. The solitude of my garden office beckons a refuge where I can indulge the obsessive need for control that churns in my mind. The meticulous planning, the thrill of manipulation, the delicate construction of a facade to conceal the truth of who... of what I am. It’s been in my DNA for so long, I wonder if I was born with it, and it took an event of epic devastation to awaken it?

No one can know. No one can see behind the cultivated person I’ve crafted. The caring surgeon, the pro bono work, the attentive husband, the pillar of the community. All a perfectly crafted illusion to hide the writhing ugliness inside. Lisa can never discover the depths of my sickness. She is the only one who matters now, the one I must look after. She brings stability into my life, a sense of normalcy. Without her I’d be lost. She’s beautiful and loving, always has been. Even after five years together, she takes my breath away. Makeup or no makeup, pyjamas or an elegant dress, she’s perfect.

The house is quiet as I step inside. Lisa must be upstairs, probably lying in the bath listening to music. Perfect, an opportunity for me to be alone in my garden office. I settle into my desk chair and flip open my laptop, fingers flying over the keys as I immerse myself in the dark web of my making. I check the CCTV images from the camera mounted outside to make sure I have a clear view in case Lisa comes to find me. It looks straight down the garden at the bi-fold doors of the kitchen. The camera hides in a bird box, so only I know it’s there.

The monitor bathes my face in a sickly blue glow as I scroll through the photos and snippets of information I’ve gathered on my latest client, Kathy Reynolds. Pretty little thing, all auburn curls, and innocent eyes. The familiar rush of adrenaline surges through my veins at the thought of breaking her, remaking her, until she’s mine. They all come to me broken, and I fix them. They’re indebted to me. A saviour that helps them to get their lives back on track. A professional who really gets them, and I, in return, bask in the glory of flexing my control once again.

My phone rings. It’s Lisa. She must have heard me after all.

“Paul? You coming to bed, love?” Lisa’s voice floats through the speaker, sweet and unsuspecting.

“Soon. I need to finish a bit of paperwork. I won’t be long.”

“Well, hurry. You know I can’t fall asleep without my nightly hug.”

“I promise, it will only take a couple of minutes.” I cut her off and return to my screen as I stare at the collage of pictures. “It won’t be long now.” There’s a reason I’m so invested in Kathy. She’s Lisa’s friend. Tragically, a recent widow. Three kids at private school. Insurance won’t last for long, and she’s broken. Proper messed up. Tried to take her own life out of desperation. That was until Lisa stepped in to help and support her. And now, Kathy won’t leave Lisa alone. Calls her every day. Sometimes, several times a day. She’s become reliant on Lisa. A little too much, to where my wife wants to spend more time with her than me because she’s worried about what Kathy might do to herself.

That won’t do. My hands curl into fists.

I minimise the window and compose my features into a mask of domestic tranquillity before going to join my wife.

As I slide beneath the duvet and pull her warm body against mine, I bury my nose in her hair and inhale. Mine. All mine. No one will ever make me feel powerless again. This is the legacy that my childhood and adult life carved into my very bones. The unquenchable need to dominate, to possess, to fill the howling void inside with the fear and agony of others who seek my help.

It’s not a choice. It’s a compulsion.

5

ALEXIS

THE APARTMENT IS QUIET, apart from the occasional creak of the floorboards, which the landlord stripped back and stained to maintain the character of the building. With everyone asleep and no cars passing, my surroundings feel ghostly and lonely. I stand at the back bedroom window, a bottle of Sol in my hand as I stare out into the inky darkness. There’s not much to see apart from the outline of trees and the soft glow coming from Paul Campbell’s garden office.

Despite the drawn window blinds, I can still make out his movements behind them, casting a shadow. Pacing, pausing, shuffling papers maybe, or thinking as he moves? What on earth is he doing in there at gone midnight? Shouldn’t he be in bed with his wife?

I snort and widen my eyes in consternation. Wife. Poor Lisa. She hasn’t got a clue what she’s married to. Or what kind of man Paul is? Then again, neither did Lottie.

Until it was too late.

A familiar ache throbs in my chest at the thought of her. Bright, funny, vivacious Lottie, always quick with a laugh and a dirty joke. A real source of entertainment for those round her on a night out. She didn’t take herself too seriously, but deep down I knew she wanted to be loved. Many of our friends had partners that came and went, but for some unexplained reason that only the universe must know, Lottie often got overlooked or was unlucky in love. But we were like sisters, me and her. Thick as thieves from primary school all the way to uni. We’d rather confide in each other than our own mums.

Then everything changed. At the time, I hoped for the better. I can still picture her smile, hear her voice down the phone gushing about this amazing new bloke she’d met. Paul. Handsome, successful, and mad about her. It all seemed too good to be true.

Turns out, it was.

At first, I didn’t meet him in person. Only saw the man from a distance, so I tried to keep an open mind. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to meet Paul. All her friends did, and yet, only a few of us ended up doing so. Lottie always had a reason, and Paul was always keen to whisk her away for ‘us’ time. He kept telling her he loved her so much that he didn’t want to waste their precious time together sharing it with others. Lottie was happier than I ever saw her, practically floating on air. Who was I to rain on her parade? Then on the one occasion when I met him, my impression of him soured further. I knew from that point on that he was bad news. But then other things started happening. Small things, easy to brush off as coincidences or bad luck.

Her dream job in the States fell through. Then dodgy wiring in her flat often left her cancelling our girls’ nights at the last minute while she waited for electricians. Amazon parcels left in the communal hallway disappeared. And her mobile kept playing up. It was like this unseen force was throwing down hurdles to hamper or isolate her, cutting her off from living her life, and everyone and everything she cared about.

And then, after one missed lunch date too many, I got the call. A call that would change my life forever and leave me shocked and heartbroken. Lottie was dead. An overdose, the police said. They couldn’t confirm if it was accidental or deliberate. But I knew Lottie. Better than anyone else. She never touched that shit. No way.

I tried to raise the alarm, but who was going to listen to me? I was the hysterical best mate, seeing tragedy in every shadow. The police wrote it off. The coroner ruled misadventure. Case closed.

But not for me.

No, someone played a part in her death. I didn’t know the who or why for certain, but all my instincts pointed at Paul. Other than me, he was the biggest part and influence in her life. And not long after her death, he left. Moved on. No one ever saw him again.

Call it a hunch, a gut feeling, or a woman’s intuition, but I knew Paul was behind it.

Despite it being the middle of summer with warm nights, an icy chill races down my spine. I spin round expecting someone to be there, hand outstretched, their fingers like cold tendrils of death coming to take me. But I’m alone. And yet, the hairs on my arms stand and my heart races. Perhaps Lottie’s spirit is here, keeping me company, helping me to exact her revenge.

Paul is the reason I’m here in this apartment next to the Campbells. I vowed that day, as I watched Lottie’s coffin disappear behind the crematorium curtain, that I’d stop at nothing to find the truth.

Watching.

Waiting.

Gathering evidence to prove that Paul’s up to his old tricks again, working his way into Lisa’s life with his oily charm. He’s clever, I’ll give him that. Knows how to play the doting husband, the respectable surgeon, the sociable, helpful neighbour, and the pillar of the community. But I see through the mask. I know the darkness that lurks beneath.

The blinds in the office twitch and I duck back, heart hammering. Can’t risk him seeing me, not that he could. My room is dark, my clothes are dark, and I’m partially hidden behind the curtain.

As I rest a shoulder against the wall and sip on my chilled beer, my mind drifts to my own tangled past. The childhood scars I’ve tried to bury, the ghosts that haunt my dreams. In a twisted way, I understand the compulsion to control, to manipulate, to take power where once you had none. It’s the only way to survive.

But understanding isn’t forgiveness. If anything, it only fuels my determination to find the answers. For now, all I have are small pieces of the puzzle which offer insights. It’s the missing pieces I need now. I won’t let him shatter another woman’s life the way he did Lottie’s.

I drain the dregs of my bottle and rest it on the windowsill, eyes still glued to that glowing office window. Somewhere in there, among the late-night paperwork and patient files, or whatever he indulges in, is the key to unlocking Paul’s sick secrets. And I won’t rest until I find it.

Lottie’s face flashes into my awareness. Lottie, my love, this is for you. I hope I can get to Lisa before it’s too late. She seems like such a lovely woman. Certainly not deserving of a similar fate. I have to figure out what Paul’s hiding, before she becomes another name on his sinister list of loves lost.

It’s another hour of straining my tired eyes before I notice the light turning off in the office. My breath catches in my throat as Paul’s shadowy figure appears. I watch as he locks the door and then tugs on the door and window as if to prove to himself that they’re fastened. He turns and walks up the path towards the house. But then panic twists my insides and I gasp.

Shit.

Paul has stopped halfway down the path and is looking up at my apartment. Has he seen me? Surely not? It’s way too dark, but I inch back away from the window. The silence round me broken by the thumping of my pulse in my ears. Is he curious? Does he recognise me? Possibly. I’ve changed my appearance. My hair is much longer, it’s flame red not light brown, and I wear coloured contacts. I’ve also changed my dress sense and lost three stone in weight. But he gave me a look on the doorstep as if he registered something. If he has, then perhaps that’s not a bad thing because he’ll be on edge.

He lingers for a moment, and I watch his outline.

Shit.

It’s not long before he continues up to his house and I sigh with relief before stepping away and to my bedroom. I pull the sheet up to my chin, gaze fixed on the ceiling. As I lie there, staring unblinking at the lightbulb dangling from its cord, questions swirl in my mind like leaves caught in an autumn gust. How much of Paul Campbell’s life is a lie? Is it all a mask, a carefully constructed persona to hide what lies beneath? But how deep does it go?

Did he ever love Lottie? Or was she another pawn in his twisted game, another pretty trophy to add to his collection? And what about the others, the whispered rumours I’ve chased down internet rabbit holes and old newspaper archives? Wendy, who vanished without a trace. April, who took a fatal tumble off a cliff. All of them linked to Paul, all their cases gone cold.

It can’t be a coincidence. But the police don’t want to see it. They refuse to accept that a monster could lurk behind such a respectable facade. It’s easier to write them off as tragic accidents, unhappy women who brought about their own downfall. And the more I’ve uncovered, the more I believe I’m right. I’m on to something. Is it driving me mad? Possibly. Am I thinking straight? I don’t know. So much makes little sense these days as confusion, frustration, and anger collide inside me.

But I know better. I’ve seen behind those pale blue eyes and charming smile. They hide secrets. And now he’s set his sights on Lisa. Beautiful, trusting Lisa, with her warm smile and her naïve personality. She thinks she’s found her happy ever after. Her perfect husband in their perfect house with their perfect life.

But it’s all a charade. I’ve been watching them for over two years. Once I tracked him down, I’d travel down to London every few months to build a better picture of his life.

I remember the first time I saw them together, at this swanky charity event at the Savoy on Park Lane. The way Paul had his arm around her waist, the way Lisa gazed up at him like there was no other man in the room... I wanted to gag. He had a knack for steering her away from conversations and returning her to their seats. All done with a subtle touch and carefully chosen words. I wanted to scream, to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she saw sense.

But I couldn’t. Not without proof. Not without something concrete to shatter the illusion Paul has so perfectly crafted.

So, I’m here now. It’s time to get closer to him, close to his life. I watch. I wait. I bide my time, scooping up anything I find.

Lisa is my door in. I’ll try to befriend her, to gain her trust with coffee dates and gallery openings, searching for a chink in her armour, a way in to plant the seeds of doubt.

But I don’t think it will be easy. Paul likes to have a say in everything she does and always finds subtle ways to control her, like he did with Lottie. It’s his pattern, his sick little game. Draw them in with charm and promises, then control them through his acts of insecurity.

It’s textbook stuff. But try telling that to a woman who thinks she’s found her soulmate.

I’ve been there. I know how easy it is to fall under a monster’s spell, to mistake control and insecurity for love, and possession for devotion. It’s a lesson I learned the hard way, a scar I’ll carry forever. But if I can spare Lisa that pain, if I can yank her out of Paul’s web before it’s too late...it’ll all be worth it. Every sleepless night, every dead end, every moment of fear and frustration.

Because I will save Lisa’s life.

So, this is the next stage of my journey. I must be patient. And when the moment comes, when I have the proof I need...

Paul Campbell won’t have any idea what is coming.

6

LISA

HAVING ALREADY EXCHANGED NUMBERS, I sent Alexis a quick text this morning suggesting that I pick her up. After all, what’s the point of taking two cars into town? Her reply was curt and to the point. “I’ll meet you at Charlie’s café at ten.” Perhaps I was being too forward, or she was unsure, but I shrugged it off and made my way there.

Charlie’s café is a popular spot, and it’s often hard to find a seat after midday, which is why I had suggested meeting earlier. I spot Alexis waving at me from a corner table as I push open the door of the cosy little café. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries hits me, and my stomach gives an appreciative rumble even though I’ve already had breakfast but try telling my stomach that.

“Hiya,” I say, sliding into the seat opposite her. “Sorry I’m a bit late. Bloody traffic was a nightmare. I had to park down the road.”

Alexis waves away my apology with a smile. “No worries. I’ve only just arrived here myself. Shall we order?”

“Definitely.” Taking the menu from the table, I glance down the list. I’m not sure why, I’ve been here many times, and I always get my usual. Alexis is doing the same, and every so often I see her eyes glance up from the menu but as soon as she catches me looking at her, she averts her gaze at the laminate between her fingers. I end up parroting her actions. It’s like a new couple on their first date, a slight awkwardness as we judge each other, offering polite smiles and welcoming the distraction of the menu to explain the empty silence.

Once we’ve got our drinks—a latte for me, a fancy herbal concoction for Alexis—it takes a few moments before we fall into easy chatter about work and the latest exhibition at the Tate. It’s nice, and though I know little about her, it’s pleasant to meet someone who shares my passion for art. Paul tries, bless him, but his eyes always glaze over when I bang on about brush techniques and colour theory. I swipe away the lock screen on my phone and find my photo folder, picking out a few interesting shots that I took from a recent visit to an art gallery. Alexis seems interested. Her brow raises as she nods.

“Oh, did you see the new gallery open on the High Street?” I ask, stirring my coffee. “Looks like it has some eye-catching pieces. Might be worth checking it out?”

Alexis nods. “I walked past it the other day. Looks interesting. We should go together sometime if you fancy it?”

“Definitely,” I agree, feeling the first glowing embers of friendship forming. It’s been ages since I’ve had a friend to do these things with.

“So,” Alexis says, taking a sip of her tea, “how did you and Paul meet, anyway? I don’t believe you told me.”

My cheeks warm up with the memories. “Oh, it was at a charity do. I drank one too many glasses of champagne and tripped over my own feet. I’m clumsy like that, especially when I’ve had a few. Paul caught me before I face-planted on the dance floor. My knight in shining armour, eh?” I stick a finger in my mouth and imitate a gag.

Alexis laughs, but there’s something... off about it. Like it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Love at first sight, then?”

“Pretty much,” I admit. “We clicked. It was like I’d known him my whole life. It may sound cheesy, but it felt right. I didn’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not, and he was very easy to get on with.”

“That’s lovely,” Alexis says. “So, did you do the whole ‘stay up all night talking about your hopes and dreams’ thing? Share your deepest darkest secrets?”

I shift in my seat, feeling uncomfortable. “Well, not exactly. Paul’s quite private about his family and past relationships. At first I thought it was weird, but I accept that some people aren’t close to their families. Maybe it’s his line of work. When you’re a surgeon, you need to keep your emotions in check and remain objective. I’m sure that type of profession rubs off on you and affects your personal life?”

Alexis’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? That sounds odd. I mean, for a couple in love, wouldn’t you want to know everything about each other’s lives?”

Her words are searching as she stares at me, her expression giving nothing away. I’ve never thought about it like that before. “I suppose, and I guess we have talked a bit,” I say. “But Paul’s always been a bit... guarded about his past. I figure he’ll tell me when he’s ready because things were quite tough for him as he grew up.”

“Hmm,” Alexis murmurs, and I can almost visualise the gears spinning in her head. “Well, I suppose everyone’s different. Still, it must be frustrating sometimes, not knowing much about his background. You never know. He could have a secret family somewhere.” She laughs as she takes another sip of tea, her eyes not leaving me.

“I doubt it. I know him well enough to say there are no skeletons in his closet.”

Alexis puts her cup down and glances around before leaning into me. “Are you sure, like, for certain?”

My body stiffens as I stare at her. I don’t like where this is going, and frankly, I’m annoyed but I bite my tongue. “I’m sure. Why do you ask? Don’t tell me, you’ve been in that situation.”

Alexis stares at me without replying as if expecting me to say something. I nod, not quite trusting myself to speak. Alexis’s questions have left me unsettled. I can’t tell if she’s being serious or if this is a windup, and because I don’t know her well enough, I’m not sure how to reply.

“I mean,” I start, sensing a sudden need to defend Paul, “he’s shared a few things with me. Like how his dad and sister died when he was young, and that his mother and father’s relationship was violent and abusive. He doesn’t like to dwell on it.”

Alexis nods, but there’s a gleam in her eye that makes me uneasy. “Of course, that must have been hard for him. But does he have happy memories? Old school friends? Favourite songs growing up? School life? First loves?”

I shrug but agree how little I know. “He doesn’t talk about any of that. He talks about university life sometimes but prefers to focus on the present and future.”

“That’s... interesting,” Alexis says, in a tone that suggests it’s anything but. “Don’t you ever wonder about his past? What shaped him into the man he is today?”

I feel a further flicker of irritation. “Listen, I don’t know why you’re asking stuff like this. Paul’s a good man. A great husband. Does it matter what happened? I couldn’t give a toss about his life before we met or who he was with, or what he did. He doesn’t know everything about me and doesn’t ask either, so I respect that and do the same for him.”

Alexis leans forward, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Lisa, I don’t mean to pry, but don’t you find it odd? A man with a hazy past, a few friends, no family connections… that you are aware of? It’s like he has left so much of his life blank.” She waves her hand as if bemused.

Her intensity catches me off guard, but I grit my teeth. “I... I don’t know. He likes his privacy. And I respect that.”

“Or could he be hiding something?” Alexis says.

I feel another surge of defensiveness. “Look, Alexis, I appreciate your concern, but you don’t know Paul. You have only met him once.”

“And do you?” she challenges. “Do you know him, Lisa?”

The tension at our table builds. I glance around, worried that others might be listening.

“You’re overstepping the mark,” I say, my voice tight. “Paul is my husband. I trust him. Back off. I don’t know what your game is, but it ends here. If this is your way of making friends, then let me inform you, it’s not working. More like a great way to make enemies and piss them off.”

Alexis sits back, holding up her hands. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just... I’ve seen this before. Women who think they know their partners, only to find out...”

She trails off, and I sense the uncomfortable atmosphere between us. It isn’t what I expected. A coffee date has turned into a clandestine interrogation and I’m not sure what is going on. “Find out what?”

“Oh, speaking of pasts,” Alexis says, ignoring my question, her tone light but her eyes sharp, “did I mention my best friend Lottie? She passed away years ago. It’s funny, her boyfriend was called Paul too. Apparently, he avoided having to meet Lottie’s friends as much as possible. They used to go to Sussex for weekends all the time. Said it was his special place and he loved looking out to sea. He told Lottie that it was the only place he felt free and himself.”

My heart gives a strange little lurch as my eyes widen. Paul and I go to Sussex sometimes. And he’d told me that too. It’s a coincidence, but...

“I’m sorry,” I say, pushing the thought away. “That must have been awful for you.”

Alexis nods, a shadow passing over her face. “It was. Still is. You never quite get over losing someone like that.”

“How did she...?” I trail off, not sure how to ask.

“Overdose,” Alexis says. “It was so out of character for her. Lottie was always so full of life. But then she met this Paul, and things changed. She became more isolated, anxious. I tried to warn her, but I couldn’t get through no matter how hard I tried.” She shakes her head.

She reaches across the table and grasps my hand, her grip almost painfully tight. She says, “I’m saying be careful, Lisa. Be very careful. You can’t trust men. Especially the ones who look too good to be true.”

I pull my hand away, unsettled by her intensity. “You’re reading too much into this. Paul is not a... a monster and I don’t know what’s brought this on? Not all men are the same.”

Alexis’s eyes flash with something I can’t quite read. Anger? Frustration? “I hope you’re right. I really do. But promise me you’ll keep your eyes open, okay? Notice the little things. The inconsistencies. The gaps in his story. I’ve seen too many women fall in to love, only to regret it later.”

In an instant, I jump up, almost causing my chair to fall. A part of me wants to lean over and chin her, or at least toss the last remnants of my latte over her, but I’m done here. “I need to go.”

Alexis rises too, her face softening. “Lisa, I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to upset you. I worry. I don’t want to see another woman get hurt.”

“Although I appreciate you mean well, you are mistaken about my husband. Not every man is the same. You don’t know him like I do. I’m sorry about what happened to your friend, but I don’t like your tone. I don’t know you and yet you’re here questioning my marriage and giving me unsolicited advice. This is ridiculous. Paul would never hurt me.”

“Perhaps,” Alexis says. “Or maybe I see things you’re blind to.”

We stand there for a moment, the air between us thick with unspoken words and concealed suspicions.

I break the silence and shake my head in annoyance. “I should go. Thanks for the coffee.”

As I turn to leave, Alexis calls out and catches up with me, “Lisa, wait. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. Why don’t you and Paul come over for dinner sometime?”

I pause, torn between my lingering anger and the desire to smooth things over. “I... I’ll think about it.”

Alexis nods, looking relieved. “Please do. And Lisa... take care of yourself, okay?”

As I walk to my car, my mind whirs. I tell myself I’m being silly. What right does Alexis have to talk to me like that? I barely know the woman. Silly bitch. Paul loves me. He’s kind, caring, successful. What more could I want? Perhaps she resents my success or hates Paul. She’s already suggested that he was rude towards her. Is this her being spiteful? Trying to stir up trouble for some reason? I didn’t like the way she was suggesting that my husband might be hiding something. Who does she bloody think she is? I know Paul, she doesn’t.

As I drive home, I wrestle with my thoughts. Despite my best attempts, the conversation between myself and Alexis fills my thoughts. Pulling up on to our drive, I sit in my car for a few minutes staring at our house.

But as I unlock our front door and call out, I wonder—how well do I know the man I married?

I hear Paul’s footsteps coming down the stairs, and for a moment, I see him as a stranger. A man with secrets, with a past I know nothing about. But I’m being absurd and irrational.

“Hello, darling,” he says, leaning in to kiss me as he takes my coat. “Good time with Alexis?”

I force a smile, pushing away the doubts in my mind. “Yeah, it was... interesting. She invited us over for dinner sometime. That okay? She wants to get to know us better.” Though the idea doesn’t appeal to me, I think it might end up being helpful. It would give me the opportunity to show her what Paul is like.

Something flickers in Paul’s eyes—surprise? concern?—but it’s gone. I might have imagined it.

“Of course,” he says. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

As he turns away to hang up my coat, I study the line of his back, the set of his shoulders. Familiar, yet strange.

Seeing Alexis has stirred a curiosity in me, and the need to find out more.

7

LISA

I’M CURLED up on the sofa, cup of tea in hand, watching Paul as he potters about between the lounge and the kitchen. He can never sit still until he’s dead on his feet. My mind’s still buzzing from that odd chat with Alexis earlier. The way she talked about Paul, like he was a mystery to be solved... it’s rankled me, much as I hate to admit it. Part of me is annoyed with Alexis and her probing questions, but then I also carry anger towards myself for even entertaining thoughts and doubts about Paul. What is there to know that will impact our marriage now? Nothing as far as I can tell. We are good. Always have been since we first met.

The gentle clink of mugs and the soft whistle of the kettle provide a soothing backdrop for my whirling thoughts. It’s our usual evening routine, but tonight it seems different somehow.

“Paul,” I call out, “Alexis and I had a funny conversation about ex-boyfriends.”

“As women do,” he shouts back. “Is this when you tell me that one of your ex-boyfriends has come back into your life, and you want to run away with him into the sunset?”

I laugh. “No. Nothing like that. It was funny exchanging stories. It appears our neighbour has a colourful history with her personal life. A few of her boyfriends were truly odd characters.”

“They say that before you find your prince, you have to kiss a few frogs.” I hear the clink of the spoon as it lands in the sink.

Blindly, I say, “Did I ever tell you about my first boyfriend? God, what a disaster that was.”

Paul chuckles, walking over with a steaming mug. His familiar scent—a mix of aftershave and surgical antiseptic—washes over me as he settles beside me. “No, I don’t think you have. Go on then, spill the beans. Let’s hear the gossip of how you broke a million hearts.”

I launch into the story, embellishing a bit for laughs. “So there I was, sixteen years old, thinking I was proper grown-up. This lad, Tommy, asks me out. He’s a bit of a bad boy. Anyway, he takes me to the cinema, right? But he’s skint, so we try to sneak in.”

Paul settles in beside me, his arm draped over my shoulders. The familiar warmth of him is comforting, but there’s a new tension I can’t quite shake.

“Let me guess,” he says with a grin. “You got caught?”

I nod, laughing. “Worse than that. We’re trying to sneak past the ticket guy, and Tommy sneezes. Giant tub of popcorn goes everywhere. Everyone looks round. I died of embarrassment. I’ve never seen someone go from cool to red as a tomato that fast in my life.”

As Paul laughs, I study his face. The crinkles around his eyes, the dimple in his left cheek. I know every inch of this face, but I’m wondering about the stories behind it. The memories I’ve never heard.

“God, I was mortified,” I continue, shaking my head at the memory, recalling how I ran out of there so fast, leaving poor Tommy to face the music. “Couldn’t look him in the eye for weeks after that.”

Paul chuckles. “Sounds like quite the Romeo, this Tommy. You had a knack for pulling the wrong ones.”

“Oi, he was a right charmer,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Last I heard, he was working in his dad’s chip shop. Living the dream, eh?”

As I finish my tale, I look at Paul. “What about you? Any hilarious dating disasters in your past?”

He shifts, a small frown creasing his brow. “Oh, you know me. Bit of a late bloomer. Nothing worth a mention.”

“Come off it,” I tease and nudge him with my foot. “Ok, skip the spotty teenager stage. But a handsome surgeon like you? Must’ve broken a few hearts along the way. A few nurses perhaps?”

Paul takes a long sip of his tea, then sighs. “Well, there were a couple of serious relationships, I suppose. Before you, obviously.”

My heart quickens. He’s never mentioned this before. “Oh? Go on.”

“Well, there was April,” he says. “We were together for about a year after uni. Sweet girl, but it didn’t work out.”

“What happened?” I prod.

Paul’s face clouds over. “She... she died. Tragic accident. Fell from a cliff during our holiday in Wales.”

I gasp, genuinely shocked. “Oh, Paul, I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”

He nods, his eyes distant. “It was a long time ago.”

“How did it happen? I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

Paul’s quiet for a while. The TV programme in the background seems loud in the silence even the volume is low. “She went off for a couple of hours for a wander by herself. The path was slippery from the rain. She fell... according to the police they think she lost her footing.”

I reach out, squeezing his hand. “That’s terrible. You must have felt devastated.”

He nods, but there’s something off about his expression. Like he’s remembering a sad film he once saw, rather than a personal tragedy.

“Was there anyone else?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.

Paul hesitates, then says, “There was Wendy. We were together for a few years, but it ended badly. She... well, she had issues. She was on a night out with her girlfriends and disappeared on her way home. Not much luck in the relationship department as you can see.”

Something niggles at the back of my mind. I try to recall our previous conversations, but it’s all fuzzy.

“What issues?” I press.

Paul’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Depression. She struggled with it for years. In the end, it was too much for our relationship to bear. I tried to help, but she pushed me away. We kept arguing. Tough to deal with as she didn’t want to help herself.”

“That must have been hard,” I say, observing his face. “Losing April, then things going pear-shaped with Wendy.”

Paul shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Like I said, it was all a long time ago, and my relationships were a challenge for many reasons. Things are different now. You’re my present and future, Lisa. That’s all that matters.”

He leans in to kiss me. The sentiment is there, but it feels uncaring. The way he talks about April and Wendy, it’s like he’s reciting facts from a textbook, not reliving memories. There’s no emotion in his voice.

“Did you ever think about trying to get in touch with Wendy?” I ask, unable to let it go. “To see how she’s doing?”

Paul’s eyes flash with something—Fear? “No point dredging up the past, is there? Besides, I’m sure she’s moved on. Just like I have.”

“But you must wonder sometimes,” I persist. “I mean, if I had an ex who was struggling like that, I’d want to know they were okay.”

Paul stands up, his mug clattering on the coffee table. “Look, Lisa, I don’t know what’s brought this on, but I’m not comfortable talking about it. The past is the past. You know things were bad for me. Why are you so interested suddenly?”

A wave of guilt washes over me as I think about my conversation with Alexis. “I’m curious, that’s all. Sorry. I realised I know little about your life before we met. It feels... important.”

Paul’s expression softens, and he smiles, the warmth returning to his eyes. “I understand. But trust me, there’s nothing exciting to tell. My life began when I met you. Everything before was a dress rehearsal.”

It’s a sweet sentiment, but it doesn’t quite ring true. How can a man in his forties have no stories to tell, no old friends to reminisce about? Charles is the only one he talks about.

“What about your family?” I ask, trying a different tack. “You’ve never told me much about them. Uncles, aunts, cousins? Any in London?”

Paul sighs. “Lisa, this is a difficult subject for me. My dad died along with my sister when I was young. My mum... well, she had her own issues. Dad wasn’t nice towards her, and that left me with deep scars. We’re not in touch anymore. It’s not a happy story.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply. “My intention wasn’t to upset you. I only want to know more about my husband.”

He nods. “I know. And I love you for that. But certain things are better left behind. I don’t want to talk about my family. Can we focus on us, on our future?”

I want to push further, to unravel the mystery that Paul seems to have wrapped himself in. But I can see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. I’ve pushed too far already. Silly as it may seem, I am inclined to ask if he knew a Lottie, but I don’t want that to open another can of worms. He’d wonder where I got the name from, and then I’d have to tell him about my conversation with Alexis.

“Of course,” I say, forcing a smile. “You’re right. The past doesn’t matter.”

But even as I say the words, I know they’re not true. The past always matters. And Paul’s past seems to be full of shadows and secrets.

He kisses me on the forehead. “I have patient files to review. Don’t wait up, yeah?”

As he leaves to disappear into his study at the end of the garden, I’m left with more questions than answers. Why does talking about his past make him so uncomfortable? And why do I suddenly feel like I’m living with a stranger?

I grab my phone, thumb hovering over Alexis’s number. Should I tell her about this conversation? About the little inconsistencies I’ve noticed?

No, I decide, putting the phone down. Paul’s my husband. I love him. I trust him.

Don’t I?

As I head up to bed alone, I feel that there’s so much more to Paul’s story. And I’m not sure I’m going to like what I find when I dig deeper. Or maybe I am being paranoid. I have the man of my dreams, and I guess I’m scared of losing him and the perfect life we have built together. He doesn’t know this, but I need him more than he needs me. I’m the insecure one. Paul could leave me and start a new relationship tomorrow. He would never be short of female attention. And because of that, a part of my mind wants to erase my doubts and my curiosity.

Lying in the darkness, I replay our conversation in my mind. When I asked about Wendy, Paul tensed up. The vagueness about his family. The lack of any happy memories or funny stories from his past. In all the time we’ve been together, we’ve never visited the graves of his family. I don’t even know where they buried his father and sister. Or were they cremated? It’s a closed chapter in his life that I cannot unlock. It’s mad. I don’t even know the anniversaries of their deaths? Or their birthdays? These are important dates that you would always remember and recognise each year.

It’s like he’s a man without a history. A blank slate that only started existing when he met me.

But that’s impossible, isn’t it? Everyone has a past. Everyone has stories, good and bad.

So, what is Paul hiding? And more importantly, why?

I toss and turn, sleep eluding me. The room feels too warm, too stuffy. I get up and crack the window open, letting in a cool breeze. As I stand there, I notice a light on in Paul’s garden office. It’s close to midnight. What could he be doing out there at this hour?

For a moment, I’m tempted to go down, to peek through the window. But that feels like crossing a line. Like admitting that I don’t trust my husband.

As I crawl back into bed, Alexis’s words echo in my mind: “Be careful, Lisa. Be very careful.”

For the first time since I’ve been with Paul, I’m wondering if there’s any truth in those words. Should I be careful?

Tomorrow, I decide. Tomorrow I’ll do some digging of my own. There must be newspaper articles, old social media accounts, births, deaths, and marriage records, something that can tell me more about the man I married.

Because right now, I’m not sure I know him at all. And that thought terrifies me more than any secret he might be hiding.

8

ALEXIS

I STAND AT MY WINDOW, a glass of JD and coke forgotten in my hand. I fix my eyes on the light coming from Paul’s garden office. He’s been inside for hours on end. What on earth is he up to?

The time on my phone reads a little after one fifteen a.m.. Typically, people are asleep at this hour, not holed up in their garden shed or whatever he calls that posh little building.

I squint, trying to glimpse movement behind the drawn blinds. Nothing. Just that steady, unwavering light. It’s eerie.

Has he fallen asleep in there? What’s he doing? Surely it can’t all be work. No surgeon needs to spend this much time on paperwork, do they? Maybe it’s his man cave, a place to escape from Lisa. The thought makes me frown. Are things not as rosy in the Campbell household as they seem?

Lisa gushed about how perfect Paul is, how wonderful their life together is. But if everything’s so great, why does he need to hide away in the middle of the night?

I sip my drink and grimace as the icy sting hits the back of my throat. I should go to bed, try to get some sleep. But I can’t tear myself away from this window, from the mysteries unfolding in the garden next door. It’s like it draws me in every night. With my lights off, I can stand here hidden from view, a curtain offering obscurity. I’m not even sure what I hope to gain from maintaining my nightly vigil. It won’t be long before the sky lightens and sunrise arrives.

My mind drifts back to our coffee date earlier. The way Lisa’s face changed when I started asking about Paul’s past. That flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Good. That’s what I was hoping for.

I remember how she stirred her latte, her eyes darting around the cafe as if she was afraid someone might overhear us. I wasn’t paying much attention; she was far too dull. But I recall her mentioning something about how Paul didn’t talk much about his past, and what she did know was enough for her. Yeah, right! Then she droned on about how he had a rough childhood. He’s a very private person, and she respected that. “But sometimes...” Then she trailed off. What was she about to say?

I can’t rush this. If I spilled everything I know—or suspected—about Paul right then and there, I’d have looked like a right nutter. Probably scared Lisa off for good. And I can’t afford that. Not when I’m so close. No, I need to play this smart. Plant the seeds of doubt, water them, and watch them grow. If I’m going to do this, I need Lisa on my side.

My hand tightens around the glass as I stare at the cabin. You think you’re so clever. But I see you. I know what you are. What you’ve done.

A movement catches my eye. The light goes off in the cabin. My heartbeat quickens, and I step back further in to the shadows. The door opens and Paul’s figure emerges. He lingers by the door, staring at his house before locking it. Then something takes me by surprise.

I watch as he strolls up the garden path, but before he reaches the house, he veers off and heads for the gate in his fence. I hear the squeak of the hinge and then again as it closes. Where is he going? I step towards the window and press the side of my face against the cool glass, straining to see where he went. But there’s no sign of him. I hurry through the apartment to the lounge window. He hasn’t appeared. What’s he doing? Where has he gone? Planning his next move? Covering his tracks? Finding his next victim? Shit! I’m tempted to grab my camera, to follow him. But no. I can’t risk tipping my hand. Not yet.

My breath comes in ragged gasps. The room closes in on me as a vision floods my mind of him in my apartment. Paul jabs an accusatory finger in my face while the other hand wraps around my throat. His hot, stale breath assaults my nostrils as he accuses me of spying on him and asking too many questions.

I close my eyes, and I’m back there. The disbelief, the gut-wrenching pain. And then the anger, when I realised what had happened. What I think Paul did.

I can still hear Lottie’s mum’s broken voice on the phone. “She’s gone, Alexis. Our girl is gone.” The words had hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. It made little sense. Lottie, vibrant, beautiful, always full of life and laughter. How could she be gone?

It was only later, as I sifted through her things, struggling to understand it all, that I saw the pattern. Cancelled plans. Missed calls. The way she pulled away from everyone and everything she loved. All of it leading back to one person: Paul.

I open my eyes, blinking away tears. My chest feels tight. I glance around my lounge. He’s not here. A long, slow breath passes my lips. “I’m going to get you,” I whisper, staring at the empty street. “For Lottie. For all of them.”

My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a text from Lisa: “I can’t sleep. Had a weird chat with Paul tonight. Not sure what to think. Can we talk soon?”

I smile. The seed has taken root.

“Of course,” I type back. “Same cafe, eleven a.m.?”

“Perfect. Thanks, Alexis.”

I put the phone down and turn back to the window. Paul is nowhere to be seen. The street is dark, quiet. Peaceful, even. But not for long as I hear that familiar squeak that has me running to the back window again. Paul is back. He closes the gate, doing his best to keep the noise down before heading back into his house.

Where did he go? And why?

As I crawl into bed, my mind races with plans. Tomorrow’s meeting with Lisa is crucial. I need to push enough to keep her questioning, but not so much that she gets scared and pulls away. It’s a delicate balance, but I’ve got to take the risk. Lisa’s my way in.

I toss and turn. Sleep eludes me. Every time I close my eyes, I see Lottie’s face. Her bright smile, the mischievous twinkle in her eye. And then I see her as she must have been at the end. Alone. Afraid. Betrayed.

I sit up and switch on the bedside lamp. My gaze falls on the corkboard above my desk, covered in newspaper clippings, sticky notes, and red string connecting it all. To anyone else, it would look like the ravings of a conspiracy theorist. But I know better. Every thread leads back to Paul.

April Hill, found dead at the bottom of a cliff in Wales. Wendy Stone vanished without a trace. And Lottie, my Lottie, another ‘tragic accident’ in Paul Campbell’s wake.

How many more, I wonder? The number of lives he has destroyed? Families left broken, searching for answers they’ll never get?

I climb out of bed and pad over to the board. My fingers trace the outline of Lottie’s photo. Taken at Glastonbury. Best time ever. Mud galore. Wellies getting stuck. No sleep and running on adrenaline and the buzz of living our best lives. “I’m close, Lots,” I whisper. “I’m going to make him pay for what he did to you. To all of you.”

As I return to my bed and drift off to sleep, my last thoughts are of Lisa. Sweet, trusting Lisa, who has no idea she’s sleeping next to a monster. I hope I can open her eyes and prove it before it’s too late. Before she becomes another name on my board, another life destroyed.

I have so much to do before I meet Lisa. Time to gather my evidence, to prepare my approach. Today could be the day that changes everything.

I’m coming for you, Paul.

9

LISA

I’M a bundle of nerves as I push open the door to the café. I’m not sure why but I’ve never managed anxiety well, and I suppose it’s why I feel so unwell today. A lack of sleep and troublesome thoughts bothered me most of the night. I even heard Paul come to bed, though I pretended to be asleep as he climbed in and reached across to give me a peck on the cheek.

Alexis is already there, sitting at the same corner table as last time. She waves, and I force a smile as I make my way over, my handbag clutched tight against my side like a shield.

“Hey,” I say, taking the seat opposite her. “Thanks for meeting me.”

Alexis looks at me, worry evident on her face. “Of course. You okay? You look a bit... frazzled.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “That obvious? Yeah, I’m... I don’t know what I am, to be honest. Tired mainly.”

“Me too.”

The waitress comes over, and I order a strong coffee. Lord knows I need it. My hands tremble so much I have to clasp them together to hide it.

“I cancelled all my meetings this morning,” I confess once the waitress is out of earshot. “Told them I had a migraine. I... I couldn’t face work today. Not after last night. I kept tossing and turning, replaying everything in my mind. Paul... went to his office in the garden. He was out there for hours.”

Alexis wrinkles her forehead. “Did he say why?”

“Said he had work to catch up on,” I reply, but to my own ears, it sounds weak. “It’s not the first time. He’s often in there most nights, and it never bothered me, but... now I’m wondering what he’s doing out there.”

“So,” Alexis leans in. “What happened with Paul when you asked about his past?”

I sip my Americano and glance at the other customers close by to make sure they’re not within earshot. “I asked him about his exes. Tried to keep it light. I mentioned my disastrous dating experiences before I asked him. But Alexis, it was... weird.”

“Weird how?”

I’m not sure what to say. Do I leave bits out? After all, I still don’t know Alexis too well, and I’m questioning why I’m even sitting here. But I decide to tell her everything. About April’s accident, Wendy’s depression. How Paul clammed up when I pushed for details. As I speak, it all comes flooding back—the tension in Paul’s shoulders, the way his eyes went cold and distant. I couldn’t tell if it was sadness or something else. I’d not seen him like that before.

“It was like... like he was on autopilot and reading from a piece of paper. Not talking about real people he’d loved. And when I asked about his family, he... shut down.”

Alexis nods, her face filled with sadness. “Lisa, I have something important to tell you about my friend Lottie.”

I stare at Alexis, my eyes narrow and my brow furrowed. “The one who died?”

“Yeah. The thing is... as I mentioned before, Lottie dated a bloke called Paul too. Right before she passed away.”

“What are you saying?” I fold my arms across my chest and stick my chin out. I’m willing to stick up for Paul despite my conflicting thoughts.

Alexis reaches into her bag, pulling out a photo. It’s of a pretty blonde girl, arms wrapped around a man who’s facing away from the camera. But I’d recognise that profile anywhere.

It’s Paul.

“Oh god,” I whisper, my hand shaking as I push the photo back across the table. “This can’t be real. It’s bloody photoshop or something. You’re a photographer. I bet you made this up. What is it you’re after? My husband? Is this a game? Have you met him before and now want him to yourself, so you made up a load of shit?”

“I’m so sorry, Lisa.” Disregarding my rant, Alexis insists, “I haven’t fabricated this and I’m not after Paul in the way you think. I didn’t want to believe it either. But the more I dug, the more I found. Lottie’s death wasn’t an accident. She wouldn’t take her own life. And neither was April’s. It’s the reason I’m here searching for the truth.”

My mind reels. This can’t be happening. Not my Paul. The man who brings me tea in bed every Sunday morning, who remembers every anniversary, and who held my hand through my dad’s funeral. But then I remember his evasiveness, the coldness in his eyes when I pushed too hard. The long hours in his garden office. Things I’ve taken for granted or ignored because…well, it’s the way Paul is.

“Tell me about Lottie. Everything.”

Alexis lets out a sigh and picks up the photo, staring at it for a few moments. “Lottie was... she was like sunshine. Always laughing, always up for an adventure. We were best mates since primary school.”

As Alexis talks, I can almost see Lottie—this vibrant, free spirited, beautiful girl full of life and promise. Similar to April and Wendy. Just like me… before I met Paul.

“She met Paul at a charity event,” Alexis continues. “Said he was charming, sophisticated. Everything she ever wanted. But then things changed.”

“How?”

“She became distant. Started cancelling plans, missing calls. When I saw her, she seemed... different. Anxious. Like she was always looking over her shoulder.”

It sounds familiar. I remember all the times I’ve begged off nights out with the girls, of how my world has shrunk to revolve around Paul… because he missed me and wanted to see me at every free opportunity.

“What happened to her?” I whisper.

Alexis’s eyes fill with tears. “They said it was an overdose. But Lottie wasn’t into that, not even paracetamol or Nurofen if she could help it. It was very much a last resort thing. It made little sense. They found high levels of Anafranil in her tox reports. That’s for OCD, anxiety, depression. Lottie’s doctor confirmed that she was never prescribed that medication.”

“And you believe Paul...?” I can’t finish the sentence.

Alexis shrugs. “I can’t prove it. Not yet. But I’m sure he was involved. In the same way that I think he had a role in what happened with April and Wendy. Lottie was infatuated with Paul. He was so attentive, but we rarely met him. He said he never wanted to share their precious time together with others because he couldn’t be himself. Lottie believed it was sweet and adorable.

My heart stalls. “I can’t even begin to understand what’s going on.”

“There’s more,” Alexis says. “I’ve been doing more digging. There might be others.”

“Others?” I echo, my voice little more than a whisper. This has to be a joke.

Alexis nods. “I’ve found online articles from the press and police about tragic accidents. Women who’ve gone missing or died under suspicious circumstances. All with connections to a man matching Paul’s description.”

I feel like I’m going to be sick. “How... how many?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Alexis admits. “But at least three more that I suspect. Maybe more.”

The room spins. I grip the edge of the table, trying to steady myself. “This can’t be happening. It’s mistaken identity. Christ, passersby have stopped me countless times in London for a selfie or autograph because I’m mistaken for bloody Keira Knightly, and yet I don’t even look like her.”

“Lisa, listen to me. I know it’s overwhelming. But you’re not alone, okay? I need your help.”

“You’re nuts,” I say, pushing my chair back to leave.

Alexis leans over the table and reaches for my hand. Her stare is intense. “Please.”

It’s a while before I reply. I can’t breathe. The air is suffocating. My mind feels foggy. “What do you want from me?”

“We need to dig deeper. Find out everything we can about Paul’s past. Where he lived, where he worked. It will help us to connect the dots. I have to prove my hunch is right that Lottie didn’t kill herself.”

“How?” I ask. “He’s so private. I don’t know where to start.”

“I have contacts. People who can help us access records, dig up information. But Lisa, you need to be careful. If Paul suspects anything...”

The unfinished sentence hangs in the air between us, heavy with implication.

“Should I... should I leave him?” I ask, the words feeling strange in my mouth.

Alexis shakes her head. “No. It could be dangerous if he thinks you’re on to him. For now, we need to act normal. Keep researching. If I’m mistaken, then I will stop. I will back off completely. You won’t see me again.”

I nod, feeling a strange mix of terror and determination. A part of me is still in denial. She has it wrong. It’s not my Paul. But the photo… “Okay. Where do we start?”

As Alexis lays out her plan, I glance over my shoulder. Paranoia creeps in. Is Paul watching us right now? Is he aware of our plans?

“Lisa,” Alexis says, drawing my attention back. “I know this is scary. We’ll figure this out together.”

I nod and force back tears. “I... can’t believe this is happening. Last week, my biggest worry was what colour to paint the spare room. And now...”

“I get that. But you’re strong, Lisa. Stronger than you imagine. And we’re going to get through this.”

As we leave the café, it appears I’m entering a different realm. Everything looks the same—the bustling street, the familiar shops—but it all seems strange now. Dangerous. For the first time since I met him, I’m afraid of my husband. And I’m not sure I’ll ever feel safe in his presence again. But as I watch Alexis stride ahead, her determination seems to bolster my own.

As I drive home, my mind is a whirlwind of fear, doubt, and a growing resolve. I reflect on all the little things I’ve overlooked over the years—Paul’s resistance to open up about his past, his extended hours in the garden office. The way he glances at me when he assumes I’m not paying attention, tightening his jaw when he stares at neighbours, and how he keeps a lot of his personal possessions under lock and key in his garden office. Why?

How could I have been so clueless?

Whatever Paul has done, I’m going to find out.

10

LISA

I HEAR Paul’s key in the lock. My chest tightens. All day, I’ve been thinking about our chat last night and my coffee with Alexis this morning. I have so many questions needing an answer, it’s like a hurricane of doubt and fear. I know my husband, and I still struggle to believe that Paul has a bad bone in his body. He changes people’s lives. He does pro bono work, and he coaches a boy’s football team. That doesn’t sound like a bad person… or someone who would harm his girlfriend. Maybe from what Alexis said, he was possessive, or madly in love.

The door opens, and Paul strolls in, his bag slung over his shoulder. He looks tired but satisfied, the way he always does after a successful day at the hospital or at his practice. For a moment, he’s my Paul—handsome, brilliant, the man I fell in love with. But then I remember Alexis’s words, the photo she showed me, and that familiar face now seems like a mask.

“Hi, love. How was your day?”

I force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as fake as it feels. “Oh, you know. Same old. I went looking for interior design inspiration for one of my clients. Yours?”

“Didn’t catch up with any friends today?”

My eyes widen, and something flips inside me. “No, why?”

“No reason. You often meet friends for coffee when you’re out on inspiration trips.”

He hangs up his jacket and loosens his tie before launching into a detailed account of a tricky surgery he performed. He describes the procedure step by step, his eyes lighting up. It used to fascinate me, make me proud to be married to someone so skilled and dedicated. But now, I’m not listening. I’m watching his face, trying to see... what? A sign that he’s not the person I believe him to be? A flicker of the darkness Alexis hinted at?

When he finishes pouring himself a glass of water, I decide to take the plunge. My heart’s pounding so hard I wonder if he can hear it. “Paul, about last night...”

His whole body stiffens, shoulders square, jaw clenched. The change is so sudden, so complete, it’s like watching a shutter come down. “What about it, darling?”

“I didn’t mean to upset you or drag up the past and any bad memories. I’m interested in learning more about your past. Your exes, your family. There’s so much I don’t know. I’ve not asked until now because, well, I appreciate it’s difficult for you. You mentioned an aunt in Scotland, but I’ve never met her.”

“So why now?” He sets down his glass and comes over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and laying a soft kiss on my forehead. His scent smothers me. A combination of antiseptic, sweat from the London Underground tube, and his scent. It’s so familiar. It’s unique. It’s Paul.

“At times, it seems as if I’ve missed a whole chunk of your life before we got married. Don’t you consider that odd?”

Paul’s eyes go cold. It’s scary how quickly he can change, like a switch being flipped. The warmth, the openness of moments ago—gone in an instant. “Sweetheart, I told you. The past is the past. Why can’t you let it go? What brought this on? Has someone been filling your head with rubbish?”

His words sting, but I press on. “Because you’re my husband,” I say, my voice shaking a bit. “I want to know everything about you. Your childhood, your first sweetheart, your journey through life and love, your dreams when you were younger. The lot. It’s exciting in a way. To discover a part of you. The man I love.” I smile, keeping my tone light and warm as I stare into his eyes. “Don’t you think that’s normal?”

He tips his head back and steps away from me, running his fingers through his dark hair. “I really don’t see the need. Pain and sadness filled my life before you. Isn’t that enough for you? Why would I want to talk about that?”

“I hear what you’re saying, but…” I take a step towards him.

“There’s no but!” Paul slaps his hand on the counter, making me jump. The sound echoes through the kitchen, sharp and angry. The glass rattles, water sloshing over the rim. “For God’s sake, Lisa! Please stop pushing! Not everyone had a picture-perfect childhood like you. Some of us have things we’d rather forget. Why can’t you understand that? Why isn’t what we have now enough for you?”

I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve touched a nerve. A part of me wants to back down, to apologise and pretend this conversation never happened. But another part, the part that’s been gnawing at me since my talk with Alexis, pushes me on.

“Paul, please. I’m not trying to upset you. I want to understand. We’re supposed to be partners, to share everything. But sometimes I feel like there’s this whole other side of you I’m not allowed to see. Don’t you trust me?”

His laugh is harsh. “Trust? That’s rich, coming from you. Sneaking around, asking questions behind my back. Is that what trust looks like to you, Lisa?”

I feel the blood drain from my face. How does he know? Has he been watching me?

“I’ve not been asking anyone questions.”

“Really?” he snaps. “The dinner party we attended a month ago. You asked a fellow surgeon I work with about how much he knew about me.”

I shrug. “I was making polite conversation, that’s all.”

“I’m going out,” he snaps, grabbing his keys. “I need air, and the car needs petrol. I’ll be back later.”

“Paul, wait. We need to talk about this—” I reach for his arm, but he shrugs me off.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Please... leave it alone, Lisa. For both our sakes. I’m not telling you, I’m begging you.”

But he’s already gone. The door slams behind him with a finality that makes my heart sink. I stand there, staring at the closed door, feeling more alone than I ever have in our house.

I sink onto the sofa. What just happened? This isn’t Paul. The Paul I married would never storm out like this or shut me out. I wrap my arms around myself. The doubt, the fear, it’s all consuming now. Clutching myself, I shudder as a chilling realisation dawns. Pandora’s box has been opened and there’s no closing it now. Once his mask begins to slip, the truth will cascade out, unbidden and terrifying.

An hour later, the doorbell rings. For a moment I hope it might be Paul returning to apologise. But when I open the door, it’s Charles. He’s got that easy smile of his, but it fades a bit when he sees my face.

“All right, Lisa? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Paul about? I was passing. Thought I could talk team tactics ahead of our next match.”

I step aside to let him in, noticing how he glances around, as if expecting Paul to materialise from thin air. “He’s gone out,” I say, leading him into the living room. “Not sure when he’ll be back. We had a bit of a... disagreement.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, settling into the armchair. “Trouble in paradise? That’s not like you two. What’s going on?”

Before I know it, I’m spilling everything. About Paul’s secretiveness, his mood swings, my chat with Alexis. It all comes tumbling out in a rush, and once I start, I can’t seem to stop. I tell him about the photo Alexis showed me, about Paul’s evasiveness, and about my growing fears. Charles listens, nodding now and then, his expression growing more serious with each word.

“You know,” he says when I run out of steam, “Paul’s always had a bit of a dark side. Even at uni, he could be dead secretive. Closed off. Sometimes he’d disappear for days, wouldn’t answer his phone. When he came back, he’d act like nothing happened, but there was always something... off about him. I accepted that it was Paul. To be his friend, I had to take the good with the bad.”

“What do you mean? Off how?”

Charles shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “He has depth. More going on than he lets on. Sometimes, back then, I’d catch him looking at people, especially women, with this... intensity. Like he was studying them, figuring out how they ticked. It was unsettling, to be honest. He was never one to chat up a girl. Too shy. Not confident. Me, on the other hand, they were fighting me off!”

He gives a little laugh, but it sounds forced. “Love’s a killer sometimes, eh? Makes us do crazy things. See things that might not be there. I remember April. She was mad about him. Dated her about ten years ago. Followed him around like a puppy. Calling and texting him. Then one day, poof, she was dead. Fell off a cliff of all things. But he was the last person to see her alive. A weekend away to Wales…”

I feel cold all over, goosebumps rising on my arms. “Charles, what are you saying? Do you suppose Paul could have... done something to her?”

He holds up his hands, back-pedalling. “Whoa, steady. I don’t know anything concrete. It was a long time ago, and like I said, Paul’s always been a private bloke. But if you and this Alexis woman are digging... well, I’d be interested to know what you find out. Just... be careful, yeah? Paul’s not always been the easiest person to deal with when he feels cornered. He thrives on being in control.”

“But if you suspected something, you would have gone to the police?” I press, desperate for answers.

Charles shakes his head, looking pained. “With what evidence? Vague suspicions? Paul’s always good at covering his tracks, at explaining things away. Besides, they interviewed Paul at length. Paul and April argued. He stormed off, and that’s the last he saw of her. The police ruled him out and labelled it a tragic accident. They discovered her body, and it broke him. Like really fucked him up. And besides, who’d think or believe something so preposterous? Accomplished surgeon, cornerstone of the community... Sometimes I thought I was imagining things. Perhaps I still am. It’s in my nature. Suspicious about everything.”

“I’ve never been in his garden office, but you have. What does he do in there?”

Charles laughs. “Man cave. He likes privacy. A few filing cabinets, his desk, and computer. Framed certificates on the walls. Oh, and his comfy chair and footstool. Probably snoozes. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

As Charles leaves, I’m completely bewildered. His words bounce around in my mind, mingling with Alexis’s warnings and Paul’s angry outburst. The house feels too big, too empty, filled with shadows and secrets. One thing’s for sure—I need to speak with Alexis again. Soon.

I pick up my phone, pausing briefly. I want to send Alexis a message. But something stops me. Fear? Uncertainty? Whatever it is, indecision paralyses me, and I stuff my phone back in my pocket. I need some time to think this through.

11

ALEXIS

I HOLD my photo of Lottie in my hands, slide back into my sofa, and close my eyes, letting the memories wash over me. Lottie’s laugh, bright and infectious, echoes in my mind.

We were back in our tiny flat, celebrating her new job. The air was thick with the scent of cheap fizzy drinks and Chinese fast food. Odd combo, but that was Lottie. She loved weird combinations like McDonald’s fries dipped in vanilla milkshake, or strawberries dipped in salt, or the worst of all, pickled gherkins and honey! Nutter! I can almost smell it now, mixed with the acrid smell of the burnt microwave popcorn.

“I can’t believe it, Lex! A proper grown-up job!” Lottie twirled around the kitchen, her blonde hair flying. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of joy, heady excitement, and disbelief. Like all her Christmases and birthdays at once. “No more pulling pints or folding jumpers. I’m going to be a marketing executive! Can you imagine? Me, in a fancy office, making important decisions and stuff! Whatever stuff means.” She shrugged and let out a high-pitched squeal.

I grinned and popped open the bottle. The cork collided with the ceiling, creating a slight blemish we would later attempt to conceal using Tipp-Ex. “Look at you, all fancy. Next thing you know, you’ll be too posh to hang out with the likes of me. Swanning about with your new work mates, talking about spreadsheets and synergy or whatever you marketing gurus natter about.”

Lottie chuckled; eyes wide as she grabbed a glass. Some of the fizz slopped over the side, but neither of us cared. “As if. You’re stuck with me, mate. Forever and ever. We’ll be two old ladies, still sharing a flat, going to bingo, and complaining about our creaky bones and incontinence knickers. You won’t get rid of me that easy.”

If only that was true. If only we had the chance to grow old together, to see our dreams come true side by side. The memory of that night, so full of hope and possibility, feels like a kick to the gut.

In my mind, the scene shifts to the charity gala where everything changed. It seemed a world apart from our regular places—with shimmering chandeliers and people dressed in designer clothes. Lottie looked stunning in a borrowed gown as she sipped champagne and tried to look sophisticated. I felt out of place, tugging at my cocktail dress, which felt too tight and cheap. But we giggled throughout, commenting on who wore what, and which bloke looked the hottest.

“Oh my god, Lex. Don’t look now, but that fit bloke over there is staring at us.” Lottie’s voice was a stage whisper behind her hand, her excitement clear.

I glanced over, catching sight of a tall, dark-haired man in an expensive suit. He had been watching Lottie, not me, with an intensity that made me uneasy. There was something predatory in his gaze that set alarm bells ringing. No smile and a cold stare. It reminded me of how guys were at nightclubs when they spotted someone they fancied. Even now, years later, I can still feel the chill that ran down my spine when I first saw Paul Campbell.

“Be careful, Lots. He looks a bit... intense. Perhaps a tad too smooth. Like one of those city boys who’s all charm and no substance. In his perverted mind, he’s probably undressed you already.” I jab her ribs with my elbow.

Lottie rolled her eyes, but her gaze kept drifting back to the mysterious man. “Don’t be such a worrier. He’s gorgeous! And successful, by the looks of it. Maybe my luck’s changing. He can do me anytime. Not all of us want to die alone with our cats.”

I wish I’d tried harder to stop her that night. Wish I’d made her see what I saw. Trusted my gut instinct. But how could I have known? How could I have predicted the chaos and disruption that was about to engulf us? The guilt of that moment still haunts me, a constant whisper in the back of my mind: you should have done more. You let her down.

The scenes flash by faster now, a dizzying carousel of memories, like a movie on fast-forward. Lottie, gushing about Paul. How he was so charming and attentive. The way he surprised her with weekends away and lavish gifts. The bitterness of hindsight colours each memory, reminding me of the red flags I should have seen but didn’t.

“He’s so... perfect, Lex. Like he knows what I need before I do. Yesterday, I mentioned off-hand that I liked orchids, and today there was a massive bouquet waiting at my desk. Who does that?”

I attempted to put on a happy face for her sake. But something felt off. Like love bombing. Too much, too soon. And the way Lottie talked about him... like she was reciting lines from the perfect dating profile on Match.com. Now I wonder if those words were her own, or if Paul fed them to her, moulding her into his perfect girlfriend.

But then things changed. Lottie became distant, always too busy or too tired to meet up. Our weekly wine and whine sessions became monthly, then not at all. When I saw her, she seemed... different. Anxious. Jumpy. The spark that defined her dimmed like a light being snuffed out. Her eyes. They were empty, like everything became too much for her.

“Sorry I missed your birthday, Lex. Work’s been mental, and Paul... well, you know how it is when you’re in a new relationship. Everything’s so intense. I lose track of time when I’m with him. And any spare time I have, he wants to be with me. Cute, but tiring.”

I didn’t know. Not really. At the time, Lottie hadn’t yet introduced me to the man who made her so happy. Every time I suggested a double date or a group outing, she found an excuse. He was busy, or shy, or preferred one-on-one time. It made little sense. The Lottie I knew would’ve been dying to show off her new boyfriend. Now I realise Paul was isolating her, cutting her off from her support system, piece by piece. So gradual that Lottie didn’t realise.

The last time I saw her, she looked terrible. Pale, with noticeable bags beneath her eyes that her flawless makeup couldn’t conceal. Her hands shook as she lit a cigarette, something she’d quit years ago. We sat in our favourite cafe, but Lottie kept glancing at the door, like she expected someone to burst in at any moment. The fear in her eyes was so noticeable, a silent cry for help I didn’t hear.

Idiot!

“I think... I think I might have made a mistake, Lex.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, cracking on the last word.

I leaned forward, hope and dread pressing on my chest, stealing my breath. I held her hand. Cold and bony, with chewed fingernails. Was this it? Was she going to open up about what was going on? “What do you mean, Lots? What kind of mistake?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her lips forming silent words as she shook her head. A forced smile appeared but didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing. Forget I said anything. I’m being stupid. You know me, always making mountains out of bloody molehills. Everything’s fine. Great, even.”

I should have pushed her to tell me what was wrong. But I didn’t want to risk pushing her away. So, I let it go, changed the subject to safer topics. I’ll regret that decision for the rest of my life. The weight of that moment, that missed opportunity, sits heavy on my shoulders every day.

Three days later, Lottie was dead. But I knew better. Lottie would never touch that stuff. Never. She’d been terrified of drugs after what they’d done to her older brother. There was no way she’d take something like that. The official story never sat right with me, a glaring inconsistency that set me on this path.

The funeral was a blur. Lottie’s parents, shell-shocked and grey. Our friends, whispering and speculating. And me, standing apart, unable to reconcile the vibrant girl I once knew with the cold, still body in the casket. Paul wasn’t even there. Apparently, he was “too distraught” to attend. His absence smacked me in the face like the final insult, the last piece of evidence I needed to fuel my suspicions about him. It spoke volumes about a selfish, arrogant, and dangerous man.

As I open my eyes, back in the present, I feel the familiar mix of grief and rage burning in my chest. Lottie smiles at me through the photo, but I can’t bring myself to smile back through tear-filled eyes. The pain is as fresh today, a wound that refuses to heal. I failed Lottie once. I didn’t see the danger or protect her when she needed me most. Why didn’t I trust my gut and push harder? I could have saved her. Now, it’s time for me to do the right thing as I can’t carry the guilt of what I failed to do.

I look at the wall of evidence I’ve compiled. Online articles, clippings, photographs, timelines. A picture of Paul Campbell in the middle. Successful surgeon, pillar of the community. Murderer. His smiling face stares back at me.

Whatever it takes, I’ll find out the truth. I’ll unravel every lie, expose every secret. And Paul Campbell will pay for what he’s done. Not only to Lottie, but to all the others. April. Wendy. How many more are there? How many lives has he destroyed with families left broken in his wake?

I pick up my phone and send a quick text to Lisa. “We need to meet. There’s more you need to know. But before we do, ask Paul about Lottie. See what he says.” My finger hovers over the send button for a moment. Am I doing the right thing, dragging her into this? But I push the doubt aside. Too late to worry. She needs to discover the truth.

As I hit send, I stand up, stretching muscles stiff from hours of poring over evidence. The surrounding room is a testament to my obsession—walls covered in notes and photos, stacks of files on every surface. Some might call it madness, but to me, it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore. The only way to fill the Lottie-shaped hole in my life.

As I wait for Lisa’s reply, will this be the breakthrough I’ve been waiting for? Or am I leading another innocent woman into Paul’s web? The thought troubles me. I have to believe that this time will be different. This time, I’ll be ready for him.

12

LISA

I PACE THE LIVING ROOM, nerves making my movements jittery. I don’t know what to believe or what to say. This all sounds so bloody crazy. Paul is upstairs getting ready for a football match with the boys’ team. Any minute now, Charles will arrive to pick him up. I need to talk to Paul before they leave, but I’m not sure how to start. How do you ask your husband if he’s involved in a woman’s death, or knows anything about it? It’s not the type of conversation you would ever expect to have. The words sound ridiculous even in my head.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the fireplace. I don’t recognise the woman staring back at me—pale, wide-eyed, with dark circles under her eyes from worry. When did I look so... washed out and haunted?

The sound of his footsteps on the stairs startles me. This is my chance. I need to ask him about Lottie. I can’t let this gnawing doubt eat away at me any longer. The photo Alexis showed me flashes in my mind—Paul, younger but unmistakable, with his arm around a smiling blonde woman. Lottie. Her eyes looked so bright, so full of life.

I follow Paul into the kitchen as he grabs a water bottle from the fridge. His movements are casual. He hums to a tune I don’t recognise. How can he be so calm when my world feels like it’s falling apart?

“Paul, can I have a quick word?” My voice comes out shakier than I’d like.

He turns, a brow raised. There’s a hint of impatience in his eyes, but also concern. “Can it wait, love? You are well aware of how Charles reacts if we’re late. The boys are counting on us for the match. Some of them struggle at home. This might be the only bright spot in their week.”

I nod, knowing how important it is to him and the boys, many of whom have come from tough backgrounds with very little. Paul has even brought their football strip and boots for them. “I appreciate that, but it’s important. It won’t take long. I need to ask you something. It can’t wait.”

Just then, the doorbell rings. Shit. Charles’s timing couldn’t be worse. I feel the moment slipping. If Charles comes in now, I’ll lose my chance. I can’t let that happen. I need answers. Paul moves towards the hallway to answer the door, but I step in front of him, placing a hand on his chest. “Paul, please. Did you know a woman named Lottie? It’s important. I need you to be honest with me.”

His face goes blank for a moment, then he frowns. There’s confusion in his eyes, but is it genuine? I have never questioned Paul’s honesty before, but now I scrutinise each micro-expression, every twitch of his lips, every blink. “Lottie? I don’t think so. Why? What’s this about, Lisa? You’re worrying me.”

“Are you sure? She died fifteen years ago, aged twenty-two. Alexis said,” I start, but Paul’s reaction cuts me off.

Paul’s eyes harden as crease lines appear on his forehead. His jaw clenches, and for a split second, I see something in his eyes that I’ve only seen when he’s angry or annoyed. It’s gone in a flash. Did I imagine it? “Alexis? What’s she been saying to you? Are you listening to her over your own husband?” Paul sidesteps me and heads for the front door to let Charles in.

I catch the sound of Charles from the hallway, his voice reverberating through the house. “Took your time answering. You two better not be canoodling in the kitchen,” he teases. “We’ve got a match to get to! The boys will never let us live it down if we’re late!”

I feel my chance slipping away, frustration building inside me. I want to scream, to ask Charles to wait outside while Paul stays and answer my questions. But I stay silent, watching as Charles enters.

He places a hand on my waist and kisses me on the cheek, his usual jovial smile faltering as he senses the tension in the room. His eyes dart between Paul and me, and I see a flicker of something. Concern? Wariness? “What’s going on? I’ve not turned up in the middle of a domestic, have I?”

This might be my only opportunity. The words tumble out in a rush. “I was saying to Paul that Alexis showed me a photo of Paul with a woman named Lottie. She died of an overdose, but Alexis thinks there’s more to it. She believes someone else was involved. I need Paul to tell me about her.”

“This is ridiculous,” Paul interrupts, his voice rising. His face flushes and a vein pulses in his forehead. He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’ve seen a thousand times when he’s stressed. “Never heard of a Lottie. Alexis is confused or making things up. Why are you listening to her, Lisa? Is she accusing me of something? If so, why not ask me to my face?”

Charles clears his throat, an odd expression crossing his face. He looks uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Actually, I remember Lottie. She wasn’t Paul’s girlfriend or anything. She was someone we knew after uni. Bit of a wild one, if I recall. Always at the centre of every party. Do you remember her, Paul? Bright girl, but... troubled.”

I stare at Charles, my mind reeling. This is the first I’ve heard of him knowing Lottie, too. Why hasn’t he mentioned her before? And how can he remember her if Paul doesn’t? The pieces don’t fit, and it’s making my head spin.

Paul looks surprised. His brow furrows. He turns to Charles, confusion clear in his voice. “I don’t remember her at all. Are you sure, Charles? I mean, we knew a lot of people after uni.”

Charles shrugs, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. He stares at Paul and nods. “Not surprised you don’t remember, mate. Hideous laugh. Lots of ear piercings. She wasn’t around for long. Got in with an unsavoury crowd when she took a job in a marketing team. Can’t remember the company,” he says, narrowed eyed, staring at the ceiling. “You know how it is in that sector—high pressure, long hours. Lots of them turn to booze or drugs to cope. It’s a shame. Lottie couldn’t handle it. Last I heard, she’d dropped out and fallen in with a sketchy crowd.”

My certainty wavers. Charles’s explanation sounds plausible, but something doesn’t add up. The Lottie in the photo didn’t look like someone who couldn’t handle pressure. She looked happy, vibrant. And Paul’s arm around her hadn’t looked casual.

Paul clicks his fingers and points at Charles, as if the penny has dropped. “Of course, earrings. Lots of them. I remember her now. Or at least the name.”

“But Alexis said—”

“Look, Lisa,” Charles says, placing a hand on my shoulder. His touch makes me want to step back. There’s something patronising in his tone that pisses me off. “I know you mean well, but Alexis has got this all wrong. Lottie was troubled. It’s sad what happened to her, but it had nothing to do with Paul. He was always the sensible one, remember? Too focused on his studies and his career to get mixed up in that sort of thing. If anything, she needed help, and I tried at the time to get through to her, but you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

Paul nods, looking relieved. The tension seems to drain from his body, and he steps closer to me, his eyes pleading. “I’m sorry you’ve been worried about this, love. But Charles is right. I had nothing to do with what happened to this woman. I wish I could remember more about her to give you more peace of mind, but I don’t. Lisa. I could never hurt anyone. It’s not in my nature.”

I want to believe them. It would be easier than the alternative. But something in Charles’s tone doesn’t sit right with me. It’s too smooth, too practiced. Is he covering for Paul? Do they know more than they are letting on? And the way Paul’s demeanour changed... it’s unsettling. I’ve known this man for years, shared a bed and my body with him, built a life with him. How can I feel like I’m looking at a man with secrets? You don’t have amnesia about someone from fifteen years ago.

Before I can press further, Paul glances at his watch. “We need to go, or we’ll be late. The boys will be waiting for us. We can talk more about this later, okay?” His voice is gentle, but there’s a firmness to it that suggests the conversation is over. He leans in to kiss my cheek, and I need to fight off the temptation to turn away. They hurry out, leaving me standing in the kitchen, more confused than ever. The front door closes, and I hear their muffled voices as they walk to the car. Paul’s laugh drifts through the open window—how can he laugh at a time like this?

Have I got it all wrong? Is Alexis mistaken? Or is there something more going on? The doubt gnaws at me, a relentless ache that twists my insides. God, I just want answers. To know if I’m living a lie. Is that too much to ask?

As I hear their car pull away, I settle into a chair at the kitchen table. I’m confused about what to think anymore. Paul seemed genuinely confused about Lottie, but then why was he in that photo? And Charles’s explanation... it fits. Why would he remember Lottie if she was a peripheral figure from life after uni? And why did Paul seem so angry at the mere mention of Alexis’s name?

I have to speak with Alexis again. I need to understand what’s going on. Because right now, I feel like I’m so confused. The foundations of my life, my marriage, everything I believe, seem to crumble beneath me. I reach for my phone and stare at the screen. Should I call her now? Demand more answers? Or am I playing right into her hands? What if she’s the one manipulating me, not Paul? I barely know Alexis, after all. What if she has her own agenda?

The notion of not knowing my husband well enough troubles me. But just as frightening is the possibility that I’m allowing a virtual stranger to come between us. I’ve built a life with Paul, years of love and trust. Can I throw that away based on suspicions and an old photograph? As I sit here, I realise that no matter what I choose to do next, nothing will ever be the same again. The seed of doubt has been planted, and I’m afraid of what might happen next. And right now, I don’t know who I can trust—Paul, Charles, Alexis, or even my judgment.

I rise from my chair with a decision made as I head for my office determined to do some digging of my own. I need more information before I confront Paul again. There must be something that can shed more light on Paul’s past. As I boot up the computer and wiggle the mouse to wake the screen, I can’t shake the fuzz in my mind.

13

ALEXIS

I STAND at my window and peer through a gap in the curtains. I heard the Campbell’s front door close and then laughter, so I rush to see who’s there. My heart races as I spot Charles and Paul by Paul’s car. They’re looking up at my apartment and talking in hushed tones. I can’t hear their actual words, but their body language speaks volumes. Paul’s body is rigid with tension, his hands making sharp, abrupt movements. He looks edgy. Charles nods, his expression serious but calm.

I wonder what they’re talking about? Do they suspect something? I force myself to stay calm. I can’t let them see me watching. My fingers grip the curtain, knuckles turning white. I’ve come too far to be discovered now. The fabric of the curtain feels rough against my skin.

Paul is staring at the floor. Charles places a hand on his shoulder and leans in close to say something. I wish I could lip read. Are they talking about me? About Lisa? About Lottie? I watch as Paul shakes his head. His face contorts into what looks like anger or frustration. I’m not sure. He shrugs off Charles’s hand. Charles seems to calm him down, his own expression a mix of concern and something else I can’t quite place. He must be worried about his friend.

After what feels like ages, they get into the car and drive away. I let out a long breath as I rest my forehead against the cool glass of the window. This is good, I tell myself. My plan is working. Paul’s getting nervous, which means Lisa must be asking questions like I told her to. But it’s so frustrating how slow things are moving. Every day that passes is another day of pain and guilt for me.

I turn away from the window and pace my living room, my footsteps muffled by my socks. The wall of evidence I’ve compiled stares back at me. It’s a testament to years of work, of sleepless nights and missed opportunities in my life. But it’s worth it. It has to be. My eyes linger on a photo of Lottie, her bright smile forever frozen in time. Someone took it at a party weeks before she met Paul. A bottle of wine in one hand, and a beer can in the other. She looks so happy, so full of life. The contrast with how I last saw her is stark and painful.

Lisa deserves to know. Everything. I want to march over there right now and tell her. Show her all the evidence I’ve gathered over the years. The late-night phone calls were accompanied by ‘accidents’ that happened to anyone who got too close to the truth, and there was a pattern of women who mysteriously disappeared or died. The intricate web of lies and manipulation that Paul has spun around himself. She needs to meet the grieving parents. But I can’t. She wouldn’t believe me. Not yet. She needs to figure this out for herself, piece by painful piece.

But hold on, why wait? It’s been long enough. Why not force this pace? There are things I can do right now to help things along.

“Come on, Lisa,” I mutter to myself. “You’re so close. Keep digging. You’re smarter than this. You see that something’s not right.” I’ve watched her from afar, seen the doubt creep into her eyes. She’s started to question. But is it enough? Lisa’s the key to all of this. She’s the one who can get close to Paul. She’s already in his world. Lisa can access his things, his secrets. She’s already suspicious after what I’ve told her. I need to nudge her in the right direction. But it’s a delicate balance. Push too hard and she might pull away in fear, cling to the safety of her marriage and the lie of her perfect life. I’ve seen it happen before, women choosing the comfort of denial over the harsh truth.

But Charles... he’s a wild card I didn’t count on. The way he looks at me, like he’s trying to figure me out. Does he know something? Is he protecting Paul and his secrets? There’s something off about him. He’s very perceptive and has Paul’s back. I need to be careful around him. He could unravel everything.

I move to my desk, flipping through my notebook. Pages and pages of notes, observations, theories. Years of my life were dedicated to this. The edges of the paper are worn, and some pages have stains from coffee, wine, or tears. Sometimes I wonder if I’m obsessed, if I’ve lost perspective. Probably. But then I remember Lottie’s face the last time I saw her—scared, withdrawn, a shadow of her former self. And I know I can’t stop until I reach the end.

I’m torn from my thoughts by an incoming call. I glance at the screen. Its Sian Minor, a client of mine.

“Hi, Sian. Good to hear from you. How can I help?”

“Hi, Alexis. We’ve just got back from our honeymoon, and I wanted to see how you were getting on with our family portrait photos?”

“Almost done. I’ve been adding a few refinements and sharpening up the images. I think you’ll be really pleased with them.”

“I’m so excited,” she squeals, and I can’t help but smile. The shoot was so much fun. Sian and her family wanted a pre-wedding shoot, and we chose a stately home as a backdrop. In all, there were seventeen members of her family, and it took a bit of organising, but was so worth it.

“I should have proofs for you in the next two-three days if that’s okay?”

“Perfect. We’re a bit jet-lagged, so it will work in our favour.”

“Great,” I say. “How was the honeymoon?”

“Amazing. I have to say that Antigua is simply stunning. Painful coming home” she sighs.

“Holiday blues?”

“Yep.”

“Well, the photos will cheer you up,” I offer.

“Can’t wait. Anyway, thanks for your time,” she says before hanging up.

“Bye, I reply.

The call leaves me smiling. But before I can dwell on it for long, my phone buzzes with a text from Lisa: Yep. I’ve just spoken with him. Same place in an hour?

Yes! I smile as I type my reply.

This is it. The next step. I can feel we’re at the point of no return. My heart races again, a mix of excitement and fear. But I have to be careful. One wrong move and I could scare Lisa off for good. Or worse, screw up so Paul knows what I’m doing. I’ve seen what happens to people who get too close to the truth about Paul.

As I grab my jacket, keys, and head out, my mind’s already forming a strategy. How much to reveal, how much to hold back. It’s a delicate balance, but one I’ve been preparing for. It’s only a short drive to the café, and once parked, I cover the short distance on foot. However, I look back. Is anyone keeping an eye on me? I’ve lived with this paranoia for so long. It’s become second nature. Every passing car, every shadow on the side streets could be a threat.

I arrive at the café early, choosing a seat with a clear view of the door and the street outside. Old habits die hard, and vigilance has kept me alive this long. I order a coffee though I won’t drink it because of my nerves. As I wait for Lisa, I run through the facts once more in my head. The timeline of Paul’s past relationships, the suspicious deaths, the inconsistencies in his stories. I need Lisa to hear it.

My fingers drum on the table, and my legs bounce up and down on my toes as I gaze at the door.

It’s only a few minutes before Lisa walks in, looks around and spots me. She nods and then weaves her way through the tables before taking a seat opposite me. The lost look on her face tells me she’ll do anything now for answers.

14

LISA

THERE’S silence between us for a few moments. Neither of us knowing what to say. I’m sitting in the café, my hands wrapped around a mug of latte I haven’t touched. The buzz of conversations around me feels distant, and it’s hard to pick up on anything of substance. I can’t stop thinking about Paul’s reaction, about Charles’s convenient explanation.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I say as her eyes scan my face. “I’m so confused, Alexis. I am uncertain about what to believe anymore. It’s like everything I know is slipping away.”

Alexis leans forward. “Tell me everything. Leave nothing out, no matter how small it might seem.”

I draw in a deep breath, aiming to steady my nerves, and begin speaking. I tell her about confronting Paul, about how at first he denied knowing Lottie. About Charles showing up and backing Paul’s story. As I speak, I can see Alexis’s expression darkening, her jaw clenching.

“They both acted like Lottie was just a woman they barely knew in the years following uni,” I say. “Paul seemed confused, but Charles... he knew so many details. I found that odd. He filled in the blanks and didn’t paint a great picture of Lottie.”

Alexis’s face darkens further. I can see the anger simmering beneath her calm exterior. Her fingers tap on the table, a quick, agitated rhythm.

“What else did Charles say?” she asks with a shake of her head. “Every word could be important, Lisa.”

I think back to the conversation, trying to remember every detail. “He made this odd comment as they were leaving. He said, ‘People get what’s coming to them if they make stupid decisions. She chose the wrong crowd; don’t you agree Paul?’ And Paul nodded. I didn’t understand what he meant.”

Alexis nods, like this confirmed something for her. She leans back in her chair, her eyes distant for a moment. When she looks at me again, there’s a new intensity in her gaze.

“Lisa, I’ve looked into April’s death. We know she fell from a cliff in Wales while on holiday with Paul. The police ruled it an accident, but... Well, let’s say there are many unanswered questions.”

I feel dizzy, overwhelmed. “How did you gather all this information?”

“I’ve been investigating Paul for years. Ever since Lottie died. And I’ve tracked down April’s mother, Eloise. We’re going to see her now. Are you up for it?”

Part of me wants to say no, to run home and pretend these conversations never happened. But I know I can’t. I need answers. I nod, and before long we’re in Alexis’s car, on the way to a small house in the suburbs.

An older woman answers the door, her eyes small and tired. She looks like she’s aged beyond her years, grief etched into every line of her face.

“Mrs Hill? I’m Alexis, and this is Lisa. We spoke on the phone about April,” Alexis says.

Eloise nods. “Yes, we did. Please come in.”

Eloise leads us into a living room that takes my breath away. Photos of a young woman with auburn hair and a bright smile cover one entire wall. April, I guess. It’s like a shrine, a testament to a life cut short. The rest of the room is clean and functional. A bit dated but nothing a lick of paint and new furniture wouldn’t fix.

“My beautiful girl,” Eloise says, her voice breaking as she catches my stare. “She was so full of life. Until she met him. Until Paul came into her life.”

She shows us pictures and recalls stories about April’s childhood, her dreams, her love of adventure. It’s only then I realise April lost her dad when she was fifteen. He died when his lorry was in a multi vehicle collision on the M25. Eloise lost her husband and their only child. Life had dealt her a crushing blow that most wouldn’t survive. With each word, each photo, I feel my heart break. This was a real person. A young woman with hopes and dreams, all gone too soon.

“I took this before..." Eloise trails off, holding a photo of April laughing on a beach, her hair windswept, a smile spread across her face. “Before their trip to Wales. Before everything went...”

I can’t help but ask, even though I’m afraid of the answer. “Mrs Hill, what do you believe happened to April?”

Eloise’s eyes harden, a flash of anger cutting through her grief. “Paul pushed her. I can’t prove it, but I know my daughter. She wasn’t clumsy, and she wasn’t a risk to herself. She had everything to live for. I am unsure if it was intentional or an accident. But he was involved. Follow me.”

She leaves the lounge, not looking back to see if we follow, and leads us upstairs to April’s bedroom. It’s like we’ve stepped back in time, a moment frozen forever. Another layer of memories that Eloise grips onto for dear life. Posters of bands I don’t recognise cover the walls. Clothes rest on the bed, as if April might walk in at any moment to put them on after her shower. The dresser beneath the window has makeup scattered on it, with the lipstick left open. A hairdryer on the floor, its lead snaking across the carpet. Fluffy slippers by the door and her grey dressing gown hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

I glance at Alexis. There’s sadness etched in her features.

“I’ve kept it as it was,” Eloise says, her voice thick with emotion. “The day Paul picked her up for their trip... I never imagined it would be the last time I’d see her. If I’d known... if I’d had any idea...”

As I gaze around the room, I feel sick. The teddy bear on the bed, the photos of friends stuck to the mirror, the half-finished novel on the bedside table—all small reminders of April’s life. Could Paul have done this? Could I be married to a man capable of destroying a life?

Eloise’s expression changes. “There’s something I need to show you,” she says, moving to the corner of the room. She kneels and pries up a loose edge of the carpet, pulling out a sealed envelope.

“I found this a few weeks after we lost April,” Eloise explains, her hands shake. “April was afraid Paul might find it.”

I pick up on the we. A shared loss as parents even though by then she’d lost her husband.

She hands me the envelope. Inside is a letter, dated before the trip to Wales. My fingers hold the edges as I read:

“Mum, if you’re reading this, something’s happened to me. I think Paul isn’t who I thought he was. He’s been acting strange lately, possessive and angry. I can’t seem to do anything right in his eyes, even though I try my hardest to please him. When I stayed at his apartment, I found a box hidden in the bottom of his wardrobe with newspaper clippings about missing women and a pale blue scarf with the initials ‘WS’. When I asked him about it, he got upset and angry with me. He’s taking me to Wales tomorrow for a romantic weekend by the coast, says we need to ‘talk about our future’. He seems calm and nice as usual. But I’m a bit scared, Mum. If he’s still angry with me or brings up the stuff about me finding the box, then I’ll try my best to fix things. If anything happens to me, it might not have been an accident. Tell the police to look in that box.”

I look at Alexis, my mind reeling. “WS... could that be Wendy Stone?”

Alexis nods, her expression grim.

“Mrs Hill,” I ask, “did you tell the police about this letter?”

Eloise nods, wiping away a tear. “I did. They questioned Paul at length, but they couldn’t find the box. Paul claimed he knew nothing about it. Without the box, they said it was speculation.”

I turn to Alexis. “What do we do now? How do we prove any of this?”

Alexis straightens up and pulls her shoulders back, a look of determination in her eyes. “We keep digging, Lisa.” She turns to Eloise. “You have my number. I know you’ve carried this pain for a long time, but I have too. You’re not alone. Please call me if you ever want to talk or need company.”

Eloise offers a weak smile that’s barely noticeable.

We thank Eloise as we leave. My entire perspective has changed, like my world has shifted on its axis. I rest my hands on the side of Alexis’s car and stare at the paintwork. Overwhelmed by a sense of numbness, I am at a loss for words. It’s all gone. The man I knew and the life we had—was it all a lie? How much of Paul’s history and life is true? I’m scared of what we might uncover next.

“Ready?” Alexis presses the button on her fob, and I hear the doors unlock.

I don’t reply, but walk around to the passenger side, open the door, and slide in, closing it. As we drive away, I look back at Eloise’s house, at the window I know belonged to April’s room.

My heart hammers against my ribcage, a relentless, terrifying drumbeat as I clutch the handle of the car door, the words within April’s letter echoing in my mind like a death knell. Cold sweat beads along my hairline, and a shudder ripples through me—fear, raw and visceral, coursing through my veins. The air seems thinner, each breath a struggle as the potential reality of Paul’s dark side presses down on me with suffocating weight. I know they say that love is blind. But did I miss something? Subtle indicators? I don’t know. My mind swirls with confusion.

The man I love, the man I trust with my heart and my life—can he really be a monster cloaked in the skin of my soulmate? Every shadow now feels like a lurking danger, every sound a potential threat.

As Alexis starts the car, the normalcy of the engine’s hum feels surreal because of the storm raging inside me. I can’t shake the image of April—that sweet, innocent young girl full of vibrant life. And now it’s gone.

My eyes can’t even focus on the road ahead. Just how many more secrets are hidden behind the closed doors of his past?

15

LISA

ALEXIS DROPPED me back at my car and we timed our returns, so I didn’t arrive home at the same time as her. Paul’s car isn’t on the drive, which helps as I have the house to myself. I can start searching. If I’m lucky I might find a spare set of keys to the garden office lock.

I stand in front of Paul’s wardrobe, my hand hesitating on the handle. This feels wrong, like I’m betraying his trust. But then I think of the sadness no mother should experience. Eloise’s face permanently etched in tragedy. The doubt gnaws at me, eating away at the certainty I once had about my husband.

I open the wardrobe door. The familiar smell of Paul’s aftershave wafts out, and for a moment, I’m transported back to happier times. Times when I didn’t question everything about our life together. Funny how a certain scent can do that. It’s so powerful and evocative. I rummage through his clothes, not sure what I’m looking for. A clue? Evidence? Anything to either confirm my growing suspicions or put them to rest once and for all. My hands brush past his neatly hung shirts, each one a reminder of the person I believed I knew. The man who picks me up when I’m down, the man who does so much for everyone else and expects nothing in return.

As I push aside a row of suits, my fingers brush against something hard at the back of the wardrobe. A box, maybe? My heart races as I reach for it, but it’s only an old shoebox filled with receipts and bank statements. I sift through them, looking for anything unusual, but they all seem mundane. Normal. But why are they here and not in his office? Odd, but I push on. Minutes tick by and nothing. Sweet FA.

What did I expect to find? A confession? A murder weapon? I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all.

And yet...

I’m about to give up and close the wardrobe when something catches my eye. The edge of a pale blue scarf tucked away inside one of his many suits. As I reach for it, could this be the proof I’m looking for?

Suddenly, I hear the front door open downstairs. My heart leaps into my throat. Shit! He’s home early. I hurry to straighten up his suits and ties and close the door, almost catching my finger in my hurry. I smooth down my hair and clothes, trying to look casual as his footsteps approach our bedroom. The sound of each step makes my pulse quicken.

“Lisa? What are you doing up here? I looked for you downstairs,” Paul asks, poking his head around the door. His voice is light as his eyes search our bedroom. Is he looking to see what’s out of place? Has he left something out?

I put on a fake smile. “Oh, you’re back! How was work?” I try to sound normal, but to my ears, my voice seems higher than usual.

He steps into the room, his eyes dart from me to the wardrobe and back again. I watch as his gaze lingers on the wardrobe for a moment too long. Does he know? Can he tell I’ve been going through his things? “Fine,” he says. “But you didn’t answer my question. Were you looking for something?” He points to the floor.

To my horror I see the tip of a pink tie poking out beneath the door. Idiot. It must have slipped off the hanger.

“Well,” I begin, my mind racing to construct a believable lie, “I was trying to sort out your birthday present. I saw this lovely top and tie in Selfridges and wanted to check what you already had. But now you’ve gone and spoilt the surprise!”

Paul’s eyebrows rise, a small crease forming between them. He doesn’t look convinced as he opens the wardrobe door to scoop up the tie that rests on the floor. I can almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to decide whether to believe me. “Really? I’m sorry. That’s thoughtful of you.” He threads the tie back onto a hanger and closes the door.

I nod, perhaps a bit too much. “So, how was your day? Anything exciting happen?” I’m desperate to shift the focus away from me.

He shrugs, moving to sit on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and I resist the urge to move away. “Not really. Just the usual. Helped a few patients, did some paperwork. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

I perch next to him, despite the tension I feel turning my insides. “I’ve been thinking about what Charles said the other day. About Lottie? It’s funny how he remembers so much more than you do.”

Paul stiffens almost imperceptibly, but I notice. After years of marriage, I’ve learned to read the subtle changes in his body language. “Oh, that,” he says, his tone neutral. “Well, you know how Charles is. Bloody photographic memory. Mine’s like a sieve. He’s always been better with names and faces than me. It slipped my mind, that’s all.”

“But you’d remember someone you dated?” I press, watching his face for any reaction. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve had loads of girlfriends, have you?”

He turns to me, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. It makes me want to shrink back, but I hold my ground. “Lisa, darling, it was a long time ago. I wouldn’t call it dating in any sense of the word. I may have seen her a few times, but I can’t remember much, so I doubt she meant anything to me. Why are you so interested? You’re asking a lot of questions. Don’t you trust me?”

I nod, attempting to look nonchalant even as my heart races. “Just curious, I suppose. It’s not every day you find out your husband dated someone who died. I guess I want to understand that part of your life better.”

Paul stands, the sudden movement making me flinch. His tone shifts to something cooler, a hint of warning in his voice. “Well, that’s the kind, thoughtful side of you, a side I love very much. But I think you’re reading too much into this. It’s in the past. Let’s leave it there, shall we?”

He paces the room, his movements agitated. I watch him, torn between the desire to push further and the fear I hold. “Paul, I’m not trying to upset you. I...”

He stops pacing and turns to face me. “You know everything that matters. Everything else isn’t important. Can’t we focus on our life now, our future?.”

I smile but stay silent. Paul moves towards me, and I have to force myself not to lean away. He leans down and kisses my cheek, his lips cold against my skin. But it’s his words that send a chill down my spine. “Besides, love, sometimes it’s better not to dig too deep.” He straightens up as he unbuttons his shirt. “I’m going to grab a quick shower. Why don’t you start dinner? We can enjoy a nice evening together.”

I watch as he grabs clean clothes and heads to the bathroom. The sound of the shower fills the silence he leaves behind. I sit there on the bed, my mind whirling.

He sticks his head through the open door. “You could always join me?”

I smile and roll my eyes. “Dinner first, fun later,” I tease. I can’t bring myself to do that, not now with so much swimming around in my head.

Paul shrugs and winks before he closes the bathroom door. I can’t escape the sense that his words a moment ago weren’t a casual remark. His tone sounded almost… sinister.

I stand up on shaky legs, making my way downstairs to start dinner as I suggested. But with each step, I know that things have shifted between us. The comfortable routine of our marriage now feels like a tightrope walk, and I’m terrified of what might happen if I lose my balance.

As I reach the kitchen, my mind drifts back to the pale blue scarf hidden in the wardrobe. Could it be the same one April’s mother mentioned? And assuming it is, what does that mean? The thoughts keep coming, each one more terrifying than the last. I realise that I’m standing at a crossroads. I can either continue down this path, exploring for the truth no matter how painful it might be, or I can turn back, pretend I saw nothing, questioned nothing?

16

LISA

EVEN THOUGH I’M in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner, my mind is elsewhere. I can’t stop thinking about how close I came to getting caught searching Paul’s wardrobe. Quietly muttering under my breath, I recall the moment he came home. If he’d arrived a few minutes earlier... I shudder at the thought. I can’t take risks like that again. It’s too dangerous. I already feel like I’m on rocky ground, and there’s so much of me still that feels that what I’m doing is wrong.

The battle rages in my mind.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that the carrot I’m slicing slips under the knife, and I narrowly avoid cutting my finger. I need to be more careful, more present. But how can I be, when I’m so confused?

I remember the glimpse of the pale blue scarf. An odd thing in the first place to be honest. I don’t have one and neither does Paul. So who does it belong to? Is it the exact same one April’s mother mentioned? If it is, what does that mean about Paul? Has he kept it as a sick trophy?

I try to focus on dinner. The rhythmic thud of the knife on the cutting board is oddly soothing, giving me something to concentrate on. Chop, chop, chop. Each cut is precise, controlled. Neat and orderly, unlike my thoughts.

If I’m going to help Alexis uncover the truth, I can’t afford to be reckless. But how? How do I investigate my husband without him noticing?

Suddenly, my phone buzzes on the counter, startling me out of my reverie. It’s Alexis. My eyes widen as I answer, glancing towards the stairs to make sure Paul is still in the shower. I can hear the water running, but for how long? I leave the kitchen and hover in the hallway to listen out.

“Lisa, have you found anything?” Alexis’s voice is urgent.

Cupping my hand around the phone, I lower my voice to a whisper. “I’m not sure. I looked through his wardrobe and glimpsed a blue scarf tucked inside one of his suits, but he came home early. I didn’t have a clear look at it. It was too close, Alexis. I can’t snoop around like that again. I almost got caught.”

“A blue scarf?” Alexis’s voice rises in excitement. “Lisa, that could be it! Remember what April’s mother said about the scarf with the initials?”

“Yes, I know. You don’t need to remind me, but I’m not sure.”

“But not everyone hides a scarf,” Alexis counters. “You need to dig deeper. There must be more. Old photos, documents, anything. Have you checked his office?”

“No, I haven’t had the chance. And I don’t know where the spare key is. Paul’s always in there. And Alexis, I have doubts about this. What if we are wrong? What if we’re seeing things that aren’t there? Making false accusations could ruin my marriage. Implode my life.”

“Are you kidding me?” Alexis snaps. “We’re not wrong,” she says. There’s a strength and certainty in her voice, which unsettles me a little. How can she be so sure? “We need the truth. You can’t stop now. We’re so close, I can feel it.”

I hear the shower stop and panic rises in my throat. “I’ve got to go,” I hiss into the phone.

“Wait,” Alexis says. “We need to meet again. Soon. There’s more we need to know. It’s not safe to talk over the phone.”

Just then, Paul appears on the upstairs landing dressed in comfy lounge pants and a baggy t-shirt. Damp hair clings to his face, and for a moment, I’m struck by how normal he looks. How handsome. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the dark suspicions in my mind. I freeze and almost drop the phone. My heart is pounding so hard that my chest aches. I cut the call without replying.

“Who’s that?” he asks, his tone casual. He pads barefoot down the stairs. His eyes flick from my face to the phone and back again.

I smile, forcing myself to look normal. “Oh, it was Alexis,” I say, aiming for nonchalance. My palms are sweaty, and I resist the urge to wipe them on my jeans. “She was calling to see if I wanted to go to the National Portrait Gallery with her in the next few days.”

Paul raises an eyebrow, a small frown creasing his forehead. “That’s nice of her. Though aren’t you busy this week? You mentioned that big project for your client. The one with the impossible deadline? I don’t think you can afford to spare her the time. Perhaps put her off for a week or two?”

I nod, my mind racing to keep up with the lie. “Yes, but I thought I might squeeze it in. It’s been ages since I’ve been to a gallery. You know how I love art. It might help clear my head, give me some fresh inspiration for the project.”

“Well, it’s up to you,” Paul says with a shrug. His casual tone doesn’t quite match the stare he’s giving me. It’s like he’s trying to spot any sign of incongruence. “But don’t overwork yourself, love. You know how you get when you’re stressed. All wound up and forgetful. Remember the last time? You were so overwhelmed you forgot our anniversary dinner. I was so disappointed.”

With a forced smile, I try not to attach too much meaning to what he says. “I’ll be fine. Let me see if I can make it work. If not, I can always reschedule with Alexis.”

“Alright then. I’m hungry. Dinner smells wonderful, by the way. Almost ready?”

“Not long.”

As Paul heads back up to dry his hair, I turn back to the phone. I want to send a text, but it will have to wait.

As I finish preparing dinner, I make a mental note to call Alexis back later. We need a plan, a way to uncover the truth without raising suspicion. And I need to decide how much I’m willing to risk in my quest to find out what happened.

The sound of Paul coming back downstairs snaps me back to the present. I plaster on a smile and start setting the table, all the while my mind racing with questions and fears. Paul enters the kitchen and comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, planting a kiss on my neck. It’s a gesture that used to make me feel safe, loved. Now, it feels odd. He holds me tight, pulling me in closer and buries his face in the nape of my neck. I can sense his excitement building as he presses his hips against the small of my back.

“Smells delicious, and so do you. I want you,” he murmurs in my ear. “What would I do without you?”

I turn in his arms, forcing myself to meet his eyes. They’re the same eyes I’ve looked into countless times before, but now I search them for... what? A hint of darkness? A flicker of the monster Alexis seems to think lurks beneath the surface?

“Probably starve,” I reply. “Now let’s eat. I’m sure you can wait until later for it,” I add, tapping his arse.

As we sit down to eat, the normality of it all strikes me. Here we are, having dinner like any other night. Like any other couple. But everything has changed. Every word, every glance, every casual touch now carries the weight of suspicion.

I pick at my food, my appetite gone. Paul chats about his day, about plans for next weekend, and I nod along, making the right noises in the right places. But how long can I keep up this charade? How long before the truth, whatever it may be, comes crashing down around us?

As I watch Paul laugh at his own joke, I’m struck by a chilling thought: I’m sharing a meal with a man who might be a killer. And I don’t know what to do next.

17

ALEXIS

THE NIGHT IS STILL and the only sound I’ve heard in the past hour was a pair of foxes fighting or mating. It sounded intense whatever it was. I stand at the rear window, staring out into the darkness. I stare at Paul Campbell’s garden office. He’s been in there for hours now, like every other night. Doesn’t he get bored with the same routine because I’m bored shitless now.

I check my phone. It’s close to eleven p.m. Normal people are asleep at this hour, not hiding in their garden shed. But Paul Campbell isn’t normal, is he? At least, I don’t think he is. This man has shattered lives. Their faces, ghostly and accusing, reflect in the window glass. “I’m trying,” I whisper to them.

I’ve been standing here for hours, my legs stiff, and my back aching, but I can’t bring myself to move. What if I miss something? What if tonight’s the night he slips up and reveals something crucial? Or he forgets to lock the office door? The coffee I made to stay awake sits cold and forgotten on my desk.

The light goes out. A gasp slips from my lips and my body goes rigid. I hold my breath, pressing closer to the window. The garden is pitch black now, but I can make out a figure moving in the shadows. It’s Paul, heading towards the gate in his fence. Where’s he going at this time of night? Before I can think better of it, I grab my coat and trainers, and search for my keys. I can’t let this opportunity slip away. I need to know what he’s up to. This could be the break I’ve been waiting for. My hands fumble as I lace up my trainers, adrenaline already coursing through my veins as I bite down on my bottom lip. I slip out of my flat, careful not to make any noise. The stairs creak under my feet, and I wince at each sound. The woman in the flat below is a light sleeper, and the last thing I need is her poking her head out and asking questions.

By the time I get to the street, Paul is already a good distance ahead. I follow, keeping to the shadows, and use the trees and cars as cover. The streets are eerily quiet, the only sound my own muffled footsteps and the occasional distant car.

He weaves through the streets, his pace brisk but leisurely. Does he do this often? Have a secret night-time routine that Lisa knows nothing about? The thought makes my skin crawl. Poor Lisa, sleeping at home while her husband prowls the night like a predator.

We’re in a part of town I don’t recognise now. The streets are darker here, the buildings a mix of shops and small, low-level apartment blocks. Graffiti tags cover the side walls that disappear down alleyways, and there’s rubbish strewn across the pavement close to a traditional-looking London boozer called The Bell. The smell of urine and stale alcohol hangs in the air. Is he meeting someone? A secret woman, perhaps? Or something more sinister? The possibilities race through my mind, each one darker than the last.

Suddenly, Paul turns a corner and disappears from view. I quicken my pace, not wanting to lose him. But when I round the corner, the street is empty. He’s gone.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. How did I lose him? I spin around, scanning for any clue as to his whereabouts. Nothing. It’s like he’s vanished. My heart races, frustration setting in. I’ve come too far to lose him now.

A bottle clatters across the pavement somewhere behind me, the sound echoing in the quiet street. I jump, my heart leaping into my throat. Is someone there? I peer into the darkness, but I can’t see anyone. The shadows seem to shift and move, playing tricks on my eyes the harder I stare. And yet I can’t get rid of the feeling that I’m being watched. The hairs on my neck stand up. I spin around again, but the street is still empty. Am I imagining things? Has this whole situation made me paranoid? I reflect on all the nights I’ve spent like this, watching, waiting, always on edge. Maybe it’s getting to me.

I stand there for what feels like ages, torn between pressing on to search for him and heading back. Street signs tell me there’s a park near to here. Did he go there to meet someone? Is it worth checking out? But what’s the point? I’ve lost Paul, and I do not know where he’s gone or what he’s doing. For all I know, he could be watching me right now, laughing at my pathetic attempts to uncover his secrets.

With a heavy sigh, I turn and make my way back home. It’s not safe being out at this time of night. I’m an idiot for taking the risk. Using Google maps on my phone, I find a route back, but my mind races with questions. Every sound makes me flinch—a cat yowling in the distance, a car alarm going off several streets away. I walk faster, my footsteps muffled in the empty streets. I feel exposed, vulnerable. What if Paul saw me? What if he knows I’m on to him?

An hour later, I’m back at my window, staring out at the Campbells’ house. Everything looks normal, peaceful even. But is it? Has Paul returned, or is he still out there somewhere, prowling the streets? I strain my eyes, trying to catch any movement, any sign of life, but the house remains still and dark.

Feeling frustrated, I press my forehead against the cool glass. I was so close to... something. But now I’m back where I started. As I settle into bed, worn out but too anxious to doze off, one idea keeps revolving in my mind: What secrets is Paul Campbell concealing? And how far am I willing to go to find out? The question haunts me, keeping sleep at bay despite my exhaustion. I toss and turn, unable to shake the image of Paul disappearing into the night. What if he was meeting someone? What if there’s another woman out there right now, falling into his trap? The thought makes me sick.

I grab my phone, tempted to text Lisa. To warn her, to tell her everything. But what would I say? That I followed her husband through the streets after dark? That I’m obsessed with proving he’s a murderer? She’d think I was crazy. Maybe I am. Maybe this whole thing has driven me over the edge. But even if that’s true, I can’t stop now.

As the first light of dawn creeps through my window, I reach a decision. Lisa is a liability, and I can’t do this alone. I need someone who knows him and might have seen the cracks in his facade.

I reach for my phone and scroll through Google until I find the number I’m looking for. It’s a risk, but I’m out of options. My finger hovers over the name for a moment. His number is listed on his LinkedIn profile. Am I really going to do this? But I know I have no choice. I press call. It feels likes minutes before he answers.

“Hello?” a groggy voice answers after several rings.

“Charles? It’s Alexis. I need to talk to you.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. I can hear Charles’s breathing, can almost picture him rolling over in bed.

“Alexis? Do you know what time it is?” His voice is raspy with sleep, but there’s an edge to it. Wariness, maybe. Or fear.

“I know it’s early. I’m sorry,” I say. “But this is important. It’s about Paul and I need your help.”

Another pause. I hold my breath, waiting. Finally, Charles speaks again. “Meet me at the cafe on the corner of the High Street at midday. And Alexis? Be careful who you trust.”

The line goes dead. I stare at my phone, my mind whirling. What did he mean by that last comment? Is he warning me about Paul or Lisa?

18

LISA

THE BASEMENT IS dark and cold, the air heavy with the musty smell of forgotten things. Even with light from the single bulb dangling from the ceiling, only a muted glow illuminates the space. I can’t even remember the last time I came down here. This is Paul’s territory. I hate spiders and cobwebs, and there are plenty around me now filling the corners.

I shiver as I pull another dusty box towards me, the cardboard rough against my fingers. Paul’s at work, and I’m using this time to search for clues about his past. I’ve been down here for the past hour, sifting through old papers and forgotten knick-knacks. My back aches from bending over, and my eyes sting from the dust, but I can’t stop. I need answers.

At first, it’s just mundane stuff—old medical textbooks with Paul’s neat annotations in the margins, certificates from conferences he’s attended over the years, a box of childhood toys that makes me smile despite myself. A battered teddy bear, a collection of toy cars, a stack of comics. For a moment, I see Paul as a little boy, innocent and vulnerable. But I remind myself of why I’m here, and the warmth fades.

And then, at the bottom of an old cardboard box, beneath a stack of outdated medical journals, I find it. A folder. It’s unmarked, unremarkable, but something about it makes my heart race with curiosity. Inside are printouts. Dozens of them. As I scan the pages, I gasp as confusion blows through my mind. They’re my emails and text messages from years ago, before Paul and I were even married. Some are conversations with friends, full of inside jokes and shared memories. Others are work related emails, discussing projects and deadlines. There are even flirtatious exchanges with a guy I dated before Paul, full of winky faces and suggestive comments. Oh God! Has he been spying on me all this time? How did he even get access to these? Was he going through my phone’s history while I slept beside him? I feel violated, exposed, as if someone has laid bare my most private thoughts.

Next, I uncover a small notebook, its cover worn, and pages dog-eared from frequent use. As I flick through the pages, my heart races faster. It’s filled with details about me—my daily routines, my likes and dislikes, even my fears and insecurities. There are notes about my favourite foods, the perfume I wear, even the brand of toothpaste I prefer. It’s like reading a manual on how I run my life.

One page lists my biggest fears—losing my independence, being controlled, ending up alone. Next to it, in Paul’s neat handwriting: “Useful”. The word makes my skin crawl. I feel sick, remembering all the times Paul seemed to know what I needed and what to say. Was none of it real? Was it nothing more than a calculated move in his twisted game?

But it gets worse. There’s an envelope full of photographs… of me. A few are from before I even met Paul. There I am, walking to work, my head down against the rain, clutching a coffee cup like a lifeline. Having lunch with friends at our favourite café, throwing my head back in laughter at a shared joke. Even standing at my bedroom window, wrapped in a towel after a shower, my hair wet and tangled. He was following me, watching me. The realisation hits me like a punch to the gut. I was never safe. Never alone. Even before I knew him, he was there, lurking in the shadows, capturing moments I thought were private.

Fuck! Bastard!

The onslaught of my senses continues as I pull out a stack of financial documents. Bank statements, investment reports, property deeds. As I scan them, my confusion turns to horror. Paul’s been moving money from our joint account into a secret account in his name. Small amounts at first, a few pounds here and there, but growing larger. The most recent transfer was for thousands. How long has this been going on? How much has he taken? And what was he planning to do with all this money? Was he preparing to leave me? Or was this merely another form of control, ensuring I’d depend on him financially? I look after my business accounts, but Paul looks after our marital accounts, and I trusted him.

Why wouldn’t I?

The final blow comes as I discover a list. At first glance, it looks innocuous—just names and numbers. But as I read, I realise it has names of all my friends and family, with detailed notes about their lives, their relationships to me, how often I see them. There are even notes about potential “leverage”—things Paul could use to drive wedges between us if necessary. My friend Sarah’s secret struggle with alcohol, my dad’s financial troubles, my mother’s health issues. It’s all there in black and white, laid out in cold, clinical detail.

But what makes my heart stop is a separate list of men’s names. Each name on the list has a number next to it, and a few are circled with the word “THREAT” scrawled beside them. With a jolt, I realise these are all male friends and colleagues I’ve had over the years. The numbers... are they a danger or threat level? I see Tom from a marketing company—we once had lunch together to discuss a project. His name has a ‘7’ next to it. Paul always seemed to dislike my old college friend Mike, who has a ‘9’ next to his name and has been circled twice. Even my cousin James is on there, with a ‘5’ and a note: “Family. Hard to avoid.”

I sit back, my mind reeling. The concrete floor is cold beneath me, but I barely notice. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. But the evidence is right here in front of me, in black and white. Paul, my husband, the man I’ve shared a bed with for five years, the man who’s held me when I cried and laughed with me in happier times... he’s been controlling every aspect of my life. Planning, manipulating, isolating. How did I not see that?

With shaking hands, I pull out my phone and call Alexis. It rings and rings, but there’s no answer. Just her cheerful voicemail message, telling me to leave a name and number. The panic that’s been building in my chest threatens to overwhelm me. I need to talk to someone, anyone. Before I have a change of heart, I dial Charles’s number.

“Lisa?” Charles sounds surprised. Wherever he is, there’s a lot of background noise. Sirens from an emergency vehicle, the rumble of heavy traffic. He sounds out of breath as if he’s walking fast.

“Everything alright?”

“No.” I can hear the hysteria building in my tone, but I can’t stop it. “No, it’s not. I’ve found something about Paul. I... I don’t know what to do.”

I tell him everything. My words pour out. The emails, the photos, the lists. As I speak, it becomes real in a way it wasn’t before. Each word is like a nail in the coffin of my marriage, of the dreams I once had. When I finish, there’s a long pause. I can hear Charles breathing on the other end of the line, can almost picture him processing what I’ve said.

“Well,” Charles says, his voice careful, measured, “Shit. That does sound a concern. But Lisa, you know Paul. He’s always been intense about the people he cares for. I’m sure he thought he was protecting you in his own weird way.”

Although his words are meant to be reassuring, they provide little help. “Protecting me? By spying on me? By controlling my money, taking creepy photos of me, evaluating my relationships?”

Charles sighs. “Look, I’m not saying it’s right. But Paul... he’s had a tough life. Sometimes he doesn’t know how to show he cares. Maybe this was his way of trying to keep you safe. He wouldn’t hurt a hair on your head. He loves you. Loves you more than I’ve ever known him to love another. And he’s lucky to have you.”

Lucky to have me? Really? What about me? “This isn’t care, Charles. This is something else. It’s not right.”

“Have you spoken to Alexis about this?” Charles asks, his tone changes. There’s an edge to his voice now, something I can’t quite place.

“I tried, but she’s not answering.”

There’s another pause, longer this time. “Be careful with Alexis, Lisa. She’s been asking a lot of questions. She called me a few hours ago. She sounded fraught but I wasn’t listening. She’d woken me up. I hope she hasn’t got herself into trouble.”

Something in his voice makes me uneasy. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing specific,” Charles says. Too quickly in my opinion. “Just... be careful, okay? And listen, don’t do anything rash. I’m sure there’s an explanation for all this. Why don’t you wait until Paul gets home and talk to him?”

But the thought of confronting Paul terrifies me. The idea of sitting across from him at our kitchen table, knowing what I know now... “I... I don’t know if I can face him right now.”

“Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” Charles insists. His voice is firm now, almost commanding.

As I hang up, I realise I’m shaking. Charles’s words, meant to calm me, have only fuelled my fears. And now I’m worried about Alexis too. What has she got herself into? Is she in danger? And Charles... whose side is he really on?

I look at the pile of evidence around me. My life, my relationship, all feel like a lie. The basement walls seem to close in, the air thick and heavy. I need to get out of here. Need to think. Need to breathe.

But who can I trust? For the first time in years, I feel alone. The weight of everything I’ve discovered presses down on me, threatening to crush me. I gather up the evidence, shoving it into my bag. I can’t leave it here for Paul to find.

As I climb the stairs the house I once thought of as a sanctuary, now feels like a prison. Every photo on the wall, every piece of furniture we chose together, taints the space. How much of my life has been real? How much has been Paul’s careful manipulation?

I pause at the front door, my hand on the knob. Where do I go from here? What do I do with this knowledge. I’m overwhelmed by the grim realisation that there’s nowhere left to turn, no escape from the web of deceit that’s ensnared my entire existence. Every step forward now feels like a plunge into a black hole, the ground beneath my feet as uncertain as my husband’s web of lies.

19

ALEXIS

THE WALK only takes me about twenty minutes, but I need the fresh air to wake up. I’m knackered as I push open the café door. After a night of chasing Paul through the streets, I feel like a bus has hit me, reversed back over me, and then hit me again. My eyes sting from lack of sleep, and there’s a dull ache in my muscles that speaks of too much time spent observing and waiting.

The café is busy, full of the lunch crowd’s chatter and the hiss of the espresso machine and the clatter of plates. A young waitress cleans tables in a flash to free up more space for the waiting customers clutching their laden trays. The smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries would usually tempt me, but I can’t face them today. For a moment, I wonder if this is a mistake. Too many ears, too many eyes. What if this whole meeting is a set-up? Has he told Paul? But then I spot Charles in the corner, nursing a coffee, and it’s too late to back out now as he clocks me.

As I weave through the tables, I catch my reflection in a mirror. Christ, I look awful. Dark circles under my eyes, hair a mess, clothes rumpled from my restless night. I look like a woman who lives out of a bag and on the edge, which, I suppose, is exactly what I am. No wonder Charles looks concerned as I approach.

“Alexis.” He nods as I sit down. His eyes are wide as he takes in my appearance. “You look... Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, not much sleep,” I mutter, ordering a strong, black filter coffee and an espresso shot when the waitress stops by. My voice sounds rough, even to my own ears like I’ve smoked roll-ups all night. “I’ll get straight to the point, Charles. What do you know about Paul? No bullshit. No lies. What is Paul hiding?”

Charles leans back, his fingers play a soft tune on the table. “It’s not that simple. You’re digging into things you don’t understand. Paul is a damaged man. A shitty childhood, lots of tragedy. He’s clawed himself out of a deep, dark pit and made something of his life. Paul now has powerful friends and a big reputation. He’s protective over his career, his friends, and his marriage. Are you sure you want to meddle in his life?”

My coffees arrive and I try my espresso and wince at the acrid punch. I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table. The words fall out in a rush, fuelled by exhaustion and desperation. “I don’t care about his friends. I care about the women he’s hurt. There’s something you must know? You’ve been his friend for years. I’m sure you’ve seen or heard things. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed anything off about him.”

He sighs and rubs his face. For a moment, he looks old, tired. The lines around his eyes seem deeper than the last time I saw him. “Paul’s... complicated. Always has been. Even at uni, he was strange. The way he’d look at women, like they were puzzles to solve, or prizes to be won. But he never seemed dangerous, just intense. Harmless really.”

“And Lottie? Lisa told me about her conversation with you and Paul. How well did you know her?”

A shadow crosses Charles’s face. He glances around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. When he speaks, his voice is low. “I met her a few times. Sweet girl. Vibrant. Full of life. Paul was... different with her. Possessive. I’d never seen him like that before. It was like he was obsessed. But I never thought...”

He trails off, and I feel a flicker of frustration because that’s at odds with Lisa’s account as Paul could barely recall Lottie. Someone is lying. “Never thought what, Charles? That he’d hurt her? That he was capable of murder?”

“Careful, Alexis,” Charles warns, his voice sharp. His hand shoots out, gripping my wrist. It’s not painful or hurtful, but the suddenness of it startles me. His palm is sweaty against my skin. “Those are serious accusations. Do you have any proof? No. She overdosed. There was no one else involved. You can’t throw out accusations like that.”

I pull my hand away. “Not yet. But I know it. There’s a pattern. Women who get close to Paul and then... disappear. Or worse.”

Charles nods, his eyes never leaving mine. There’s a weight to his gaze. “I get that. I do. None of this makes sense and I struggle to believe that my good friend could be capable of such things. Yes, he’s strange and focused, but not harmful unless you are aware of something I am not. Just... be careful, okay? Sometimes the truth is more dangerous than the lie.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Why can’t anyone give me a straight answer? “If you know something, you need to tell me. People’s lives could be at stake.”

But Charles shakes his head, a sad smile playing at his lips. “It’s not that simple, Alexis. Nothing about this situation is. Just watch your step. And remember, not everything is as it seems. Paul could be the victim in this witch hunt.”

As we talk, I reach for my phone, wanting to check the time and maybe record some of this conversation. It’s not there. Shit. I must have left it at home in my rush to get here.

Charles notices my discomfort. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I lie, though my heart is racing. “I should go. Thanks for... well, for whatever this was.”

As I stand, Charles catches my arm again. This time, his grip is firmer, almost painful. “Remember, Alexis. Not everyone is who they seem to be. Watch your back. And think about letting this go. For your own sake.”

“Why does it feel like you’re protecting him?”

“I’m not.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

I shake my head and leave.

His words follow me out of the café, echoing in my mind. On the street, everyday life continues. A man dressed in a suit walks past deep in conversation on his phone. There’s a woman with a pushchair across the street. She pulls faces at her child. A Deliveroo rider whizzes past on his scooter.

What did Charles mean? Who can’t I trust? And what secrets is he hiding? Is he trying to protect Paul, or warn me? Or is there something bigger going on, something I can’t even understand? Could Charles be involved somehow? He’s Paul’s oldest friend. What if he’s been helping Paul all along? But then why warn me? Unless it’s a double bluff, meant to throw me off the scent. Or what if Charles is a victim too, somehow caught in Paul’s web and unable to break free?

I approach my street. Every step feels heavy, like my feet are stuck in mud. As I round the corner, I stop dead. A figure looms over my car. But as I get closer my heart hammers for a different reason.

It’s Paul.

He looks up as I approach, his face a mask of concern. There’s no hint of the man I followed last night, no trace of the monster I believe him to be. Instead, he looks... worried. Friendly, even.

20

ALEXIS

I APPROACH PAUL, my mind still whirling from my conversation with Charles. The sight of Paul standing by my car catches me off guard. With his arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable, I can’t immediately discern what’s wrong. Had he not seen me already, I might have turned around and walked away, but now it’s too late.

“Alexis,” he calls out, “I’m afraid there’s been an incident with your car.”

“What do you mean, an incident?” I ask as I near him.

Paul steps aside to show the damage. The driver’s side door has deep scratches running along its length, long gouges marking the paintwork. The wing mirror hangs limp like a broken branch on a tree. It looks like someone took a screwdriver or hammer to it. There are dents in the bodywork too, as if someone vented their frustrations on the metal.

“Bloody hell.” I run my fingers along the jagged marks, small paint burrs collecting on their tips. The metal feels cold to touch under my fingers, the damage rough and deliberate. “How did this happen?”

Paul shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “I noticed it when I walked past. Looks like vandalism to me. London’s not what it used to be, I’m afraid.”

He launches into a litany of complaints about the city’s declining safety. “Knife crime is through the roof. Mobile phone snatches. There is a high rate of break-ins into tradesmen’s vans. Thousands of pounds worth of tools nicked and flogged for pennies at car boot sales. It’s a shame.”

I nod as I walk around my car and inspect the damage. This is the last thing I need right now. I’ve been in London five minutes, and already this. Is it bad luck, or something more? I try the door handle, still locked. I peer inside the car, checking if anyone has taken anything. Everything seems in place, which only adds to my unease. If this wasn’t a theft, what was the point?

“You know, a few weeks ago,” Paul continues, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “Mrs Patel had her catalytic converter stolen right off her drive. Broad daylight, if you can believe it. Less than sixty seconds. Seen it on their Ring doorbell. The thieves are getting bolder by the day.”

I look up at him, trying to gauge his expression. Is he concerned?

“That’s terrible,” I say, not sure what else to offer. “Did they catch who did it?”

Paul scoffs, shaking his head. “Catch them? The police didn’t even show up. They’re stretched too thin these days. Budget cuts. And when they do come, it’s too late. The criminals are long gone.”

I rest my hands on my hips and stare at my car.

“Oh, it gets worse,” Paul says, warming to his theme. “You’ve got to be careful these days. Personal safety’s no joke. Take Lisa’s friend Juliet, for instance. Bloody tragic. Killed seven months ago, walking home late from a work do. Robbery gone wrong, they said.”

I’m startled by the shift in conversation. His eyes meet mine, and briefly, I catch sight of something there that makes my skin crawl. Is he pleased?

“What happened to her?” I ask. My mind is still on my car.

“Bludgeoned to death, right there on the street. For what? Her phone and a few quid in her purse. Left her there to bleed out. Lisa felt devastated. They weren’t close but met as friends at the gym. Then the odd girls’ nights out turned into a weekly thing. The girls’ spa weekends soon followed. They were always out. I hardly saw her. Now, Lisa doesn’t go out after dark, and I feel happier that she’s safe at home.”

I study his features. Is he trying to scare me? Or warn me?

“You and your property aren’t safe anymore,” he continues, gesturing at my damaged car and waving an arm around us. “You never know who might watch, waiting for an opportunity. It could be kids looking for a thrill, or it could be hardened criminals. Either way, you’ve got to stay vigilant.”

I’m eager to end this conversation. “Thanks for letting me know about the car,” I say, taking a step back. “I’d better head in and call my insurance.”

Paul reaches out, his hand grasping my arm. “Listen, Alexis, I know you’re new to the area, and I don’t want to frighten you. But you need to understand how things work around here. We look out for each other. Keep an eye out for anything... suspicious.”

Is that why you roam the streets at night? Or are you part of the problem?

I pull my arm free, trying not to show how unnerved I am. “Right, of course. Thanks for the advice.”

Paul nods, his face softening back into a mask of neighbourly concern. “Ask if you need any help. We’re all friends here, right?”

I smile before hurrying inside and upstairs to my apartment. As I reach the front door, my heart sinks further. Fresh scratches and score marks on the wood panelling. Someone’s been here, trying to get in.

My hands shake as I clumsily handle my keys. The lock’s been temperamental lately, something I’ve been meaning to report to the letting agent. Now, it feels like a glaring vulnerability. Maybe it needs a squirt of WD-40. But what if someone’s broken in? After a moment of struggle, the lock gives. I step inside, shutting the door behind me. I lean against it and tune in to my surroundings. The flat looks undisturbed, but that doesn’t mean much. A skilled intruder wouldn’t leave obvious signs.

I move through the rooms, checking for anything out of place. My laptop’s still on the desk, my camera gear untouched. But something appears amiss. Like someone’s been here, rifling through my things with careful precision. In the kitchen, I notice a mug on the counter that I don’t remember leaving out. Did I use it this morning? I can’t be sure. The uncertainty gnaws at me.

As I move to my bedroom, I notice my bedside drawer is ajar, which worries me as I always keep it closed. In my rush to get out this morning, had I forgotten to close it? I can’t remember. I check inside and it’s clear that photos of Lottie that I keep hidden away have been touched. They’re still there, but in a different order. Has someone been looking at them? Or in my tired state, did I rifle through them? I sink on to the bed, my mind racing. No. I’m careful. I don’t do things like this. Normally.

I glance at the window and feel exposed. I draw the curtains, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Paul’s words about personal safety replay in my mind. I can’t shake the feeling that his friendly warning carried a veiled threat. And now, with my car damaged and my door tampered with, that threat feels all too real.

I want to call Lisa, but Paul is there. She won’t be able to talk. What have I got myself into? And more importantly, how do I get out? I’m worried. Not just for myself, but for Lisa, too. What if my digging has put her in danger? I need a plan. I need to be clever about this. Whoever did this—whether it was Paul or someone else—they’re trying to scare me off. I thought talking to Charles would help, but it’s left me with more questions than answers.

I move to my desk and fire up my laptop. Seconds later, I open a word document and write down everything that’s happened, everything I’ve learned. If anything happens to me, I need there to be a record. Someone needs to know the truth.

21

LISA

AFTER SPENDING a long time driving around to clear my mind, I come back home to discover that I am alone. I’m in one of the spare bedrooms tidying up when I hear the front door open, the jangle of keys as Paul hangs them on the wall hook, his footsteps heavy and purposeful, and then a door closes downstairs. I think nothing of it for the next twenty minutes, and happy the bedroom looks clean and dust free, I take a few bits downstairs to put them away in the cupboard beneath the sink.

It’s only as I reach downstairs that I notice the door to our study closed. My eyes narrow in confusion as I reach for the handle and open the door and peer in. I watch him, a slight frown creases his forehead. There’s something off about his demeanour, a tension in his shoulders that sets me on edge.

“What are you doing?” I ask, surprised by my abruptness. The question hangs in the air for a moment as Paul leans forward in the chair, the leather creaking under his weight.

Paul avoids eye contact as he types. His fingers fly over the keyboard with an urgency that’s unsettling. “Just need to check something,” he snaps without averting his gaze.

I frown, confused by his behaviour. It’s not like him to be so curt, so dismissive, but he’s been like that more in the past few days. We’ve always shared everything. “But... you’ve got your own computer in the garden office. Why use mine?”

He shrugs, his eyes fixed on the screen. The blue light casts shadows across his face, making him look older, harder somehow. “This was more convenient. Faster.”

I watch as he clicks through various tabs, his expression darkening with each one. The tension in the room grows thicker by the second, almost suffocating. He looks up at me, the chair squeaking in protest at the abrupt movement. His eyes are blazing, his jaw clenched. “What the hell have you been up to, Lisa?” he shouts.

I gasp. My heart drops and plummets, reaching somewhere near my feet. A cold sweat breaks out on my palms as my cheeks redden. “What do you mean?” I try to keep my voice steady, but it comes out high-pitched and nervous. I can hear the guilt in my own words, and I know Paul can, too. He’s always been able to read me like a book.

My husband’s eyes narrow, his gaze boring into me with an intensity that it makes me want to shrink away. “Don’t play dumb. I can see your search history. My name, birth records, death certificates, Facebook, LinkedIn, Companies House... What’s all this about? Why are you digging into my past?”

Shit. I forgot to clear the browser history. How could I have been so careless? So stupid? I draw in a long breath, as I gather my thoughts. The room feels small and too warm. “I... I want to know more about you. Is that so wrong?”

“My past?” Paul’s voice rises and echoes off the walls. There’s a hint of panic in his tone, masked by anger. “We’ve been married for years. Why the sudden interest? What’s changed? Who’s been putting ideas in your head? There was nothing wrong with us! But now you’ve gone behind my back because you what? Don’t trust me? Think I’ve done something to someone?”

Panic prickles my skin. “Maybe because you never tell me anything! And when you do, it doesn’t add up. Like with Lottie. You barely remembered her, but Charles knew all about her. How does that work, Paul? How can your best friend remember more about your ex than you do?”

Paul’s face contorts with rage, a vein pulsing in his forehead. His hands clench into fists at his sides. “So, you’ve been snooping behind my back? Digging into my life? What gives you the right? Do you not trust me? Is that what this is about?”

“I’m your wife!” I shout back, my temper flaring. The words burst out of me as I find my voice. “I should know these things about you! We’re supposed to share everything. But there’s a part of your life that’s... blank. Don’t you see how odd that is? Don’t you understand why that makes me curious? Worried, even? When a stranger turns up and tells me she thinks my husband is hiding the truth about what happened to her best friend, don’t you think that will alarm me? And that another ex fell off a cliff on a weekend with you!”

Paul’s eyes widen.

Did I hit a raw nerve? Hit upon the truth?

Visibly shaken by my outburst. He steps towards me, his voice low and dangerous. There’s a coldness in his eyes, a stillness that’s more frightening than his anger. “You have no idea what you’re saying, Lisa. No idea at all. Drop it. Now. Or I swear...”

He doesn’t finish the threat, and I want to step back, but I’m frozen to the spot, my body rigid with fear. For the first time in our marriage, I feel afraid of him. “Or what, Paul?” I challenge, even as fear grips me. My voice wavers, revealing my nervousness. “What will you do?”

For a moment, I see something flash in his eyes. Then it’s replaced by a mask of fury, his features hardening into something unrecognisable.

“Jesus, Lisa. You’re out of order. Don’t piss me off any further. I will never forgive you for going behind my back. I’m done with this conversation,” he snarls. Paul storms out of the study, brushing past without looking at me. He grabs his car keys from the hallway. The metal jingles in the tense silence. “And you’d better be done with this... whatever it is... by the time I get back. I won’t tell you again. I mean it, Lisa. Let it go. Some things are better left in the past. For everyone’s sake.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Before I can respond, he storms out. The front door slams with enough force to rattle the windows. The roar of his car engine follows, growing fainter as he speeds away.

I sink into the chair, my legs weak. Tears streak my face. The room spins, and I grip the desk to steady myself. What just happened? In all our years together, I’ve never seen Paul like that. Never felt afraid of him. As the shock wears off, anger and frustration well up inside me. I screwed up. I should have been more careful, should have cleared my history like I usually do. Rookie mistake. I bang my fist on the desk, furious with myself for being so careless.

But beneath the anger, there’s a part of me that’s glad he knows. Glad it’s out in the open. Because now the pretence is gone. Now I’m certain there’s something he’s hiding. Something big enough to make him threaten me. My legs still shake as I walk to the lounge window. I can see tyre marks on the driveway where Paul sped off. The neighbourhood looks so normal, so peaceful. Everyone cocooned inside the safety of their houses, and yet my house doesn’t feel safe anymore, and nor do I. I turn back to the computer, staring at the screen Paul was so engrossed in. Should I look? See exactly what he saw? But no. I know what I searched. I know what he found. And now I know how he reacted. Instead, I sit down in the chair and open a new tab. If Paul thought this would scare me off, he’s mistaken. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before I type. This time, I’m not looking for information. I’m looking for answers.

As I type, a plan forms in my mind. And I need to be smart about this. Be careful. Because now I know Paul is watching, I have a feeling that this is only the beginning.

22

LISA

I KNOCK on Alexis’s door; my chest feels tight. When she opens it, her eyes widen at my dishevelled state. I must look a right mess—hair wild, eyes red-rimmed from holding back tears.

“Lisa? What’s wrong?” She ushers me inside and throws an arm around my shoulder.

I stumble through the door, words tumbling out in a rush. “Paul and I had a massive row. He found out I’ve been searching about his past. He went bat shit, stormed off. I’ve never seen him like that before. It was like... like he was a different person.”

Alexis guides me to the sofa, her hand gentle on my arm. “Sit down. Take a few deep breaths. That’s it. Now, tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”

As I recount the argument, every harsh word and threatening glance, Alexis’s face grows darker. I tell her about Paul’s anger, his defensiveness, the way he glared at me, and what I discovered in the basement. When I finish, she sighs and covers her face with her hands. “Shit,” she mutters.

“I had a run-in with Paul, too. He was standing by my car when I got back. Someone vandalised it.

“What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but Lisa, I think Paul’s behind it. He was too... interested. Kept going on about how dangerous the area is, how we need to look out for each other. It felt like a warning. He mentioned how your friend Juliet was killed. It was... unsettling.”

A wave of nausea twists through me. Juliet was a friend who I’d grown close to. We’d hit it off straight away in the gym when we both made a beeline for the same piece of equipment and, feeling awkward and embarrassed, kept telling each other to go first. It was comical. From then onwards, our friendship blossomed. It was perhaps fate. She moved to the area after a disastrous relationship where her boyfriend of two years stole her credit cards and went on a shopping spree before scarpering. Left her battling the credit card companies.

It was soon clear that she’d suffered a similar fate to me. I’d been through a string of failed relationships, broken promises from boyfriends, and an engagement that was called off when my fiancé, Anton, turned out to be a con artist who fleeced me of fifteen grand with his fake pleas for help to clear his debts. When Paul came along, he was everything my exes weren’t.

“This can’t be him. It can’t be happening,” I say.

“Can’t it? Think about it, Lisa. The man you saw today, angry and threatening—is that the Paul you know? We need to find out what he’s hiding. There must be evidence in his office.”

Fear creeps in. “It’s always locked. He never leaves it open. I’ve never even been inside.”

“There must be a spare key somewhere. We need to search your house. Every nook and cranny. Paul’s careful, but everyone slips up.”

“I don’t know... This is so wrong. He’s my husband. We’ve built a life together. What if we’re jumping to conclusions?”

“Lisa, not this again. Listen to yourself. Why have all his relationships ended in such tragic circumstances? Three women, and he’s the common denominator. We need answers. Now. If we’re mistaken, then fine, I’ll admit I was wrong. But if we’re right... we can’t ignore this anymore.”

She’s right. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Back at my house, Alexis positions herself by the front door, peering out the window. “I’ll keep watch here. You search the house. If I see Paul come back, I’ll warn you. Be thorough, but quick.”

I nod and race upstairs. My hands shake as I rifle through drawers, wardrobes, even under the mattress. Nothing. Each space appears to be another dead end. I stand in our bedroom and scan my surroundings imagining where would I hide a key? The least obvious spots. That still doesn’t help. I search behind picture frames, inside old shoeboxes, and anywhere a key might be hidden. Downstairs, I search the kitchen, checking every pot, pan, and rarely used appliance. Still nothing. The futility of the search is weighing on me.

In the garage, I root around the paint tins on the shelf, giving each one a shake. The toolbox next. Nope. A box of car cleaning bits. Nope again. I spot a dusty box on a top shelf. I grab the two-step ladder and stretch for it. It takes a bit of effort to reach it, and when I do, I nearly drop it. Inside, I find a jumble of old keys, a few rusty, others shiny, none labelled. My heart leaps. This could be it.

“Alexis! I might have something!” I shout as I race back inside.

Together, we rush to Paul’s office, the box of keys clutched in my hands. My heart gallops as I try key after key. Alexis hands each one to me to speed things up. “Come on! Come On!” I plead. Each wrong key amps up my anxiety. Suppose none of them work? What if Paul comes back? Could this all be for nothing?

One key slides in. I shoot Alexis a look of surprise. I hold my breath as I turn it, hearing the lock click open. The sound seems loud in the quiet garden. I freeze, a mix of terror and excitement coursing through me. What will I find? What secrets has Paul been keeping all these years? So much of me wants to slam the lock shut, pretend we never got this far. But I know it’s too late for that.

“Well?” Alexis says. “Open it!”

“Ok,” I reply, scared of what I might find next.

23

LISA

“HURRY,” Alexis whispers behind me. She pokes me in the back.

I slide the lock away and pull the door open, wincing at the soft creak. We step into Paul’s secret world. The room smells of leather and paper, with a faint undertone of Paul’s aftershave. It’s familiar, yet alien. Like stepping into a parallel universe where everything is slightly off. A space that’s always been off-limits to me. It feels different.

The office is immaculate, every surface gleaming in the dim light filtering through the blinds. A large mahogany desk dominates the room, Paul’s sleek computer and laptop sitting atop it. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with medical texts and journals. It all looks so normal, so innocuous. But there must be something here, evidence of the man I saw today—the man who exploded with rage when I dared to question his past.

“We need to be quick.” Alexis glances over her shoulder. “Where should we start?”

I move towards the desk, my fingers trailing over the smooth wood. “You take the bookshelf and the filing cabinet. I’ll check the desk drawers. Look for anything out of place, anything that doesn’t fit.”

We work in tense silence, the only sound the rustling of papers and the occasional creak of the floor. I search through drawer after drawer, my heart pounding so loudly that I can’t even hear my own thoughts. Nothing but boring paperwork, lanyards from the many conferences he’s attended, and office supplies. My frustration grows with each passing minute. There must be something here?

A loud car passes on the street outside, and I freeze. But it doesn’t slow down, doesn’t turn into our driveway.

“Found anything?” I ask.

Alexis replaces a book on the shelf. “Nothing suspicious. You?”

“Not yet.” I mutter as I pull open the bottom drawer. And then I see it. A small metal box, about the size of a shoebox, tucked away at the back. It’s heavier than I expect when I lift it out. My chest tightens. This has to be important.

“Alexis, look at this.”

She hurries over, her eyes widen. “Can you open it?”

“It’s locked,” I say. “But why would he keep a locked box hidden in his office?” I fumble with the keys we found, trying one after another. So far, none fit and there’s so many to work through.

“Bring it with us,” Alexis suggests. “We’ll figure out how to open it later. Whatever’s inside, Paul doesn’t want anyone to see it.”

As I’m about to agree, we hear the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up outside. Gravel crunches under tyres, and a car door slams. Panic floods through me, making my limbs feel heavy and clumsy.

“Shit. It must be Paul!” Alexis yells. “We need to go. Now!”

My mind goes blank with terror. If Paul catches us here, in his private space, there’ll be no explaining it away. No chance of salvaging our marriage—not that I’m sure I want to anymore. But the consequences of being caught make my blood run cold.

“Take the box,” she yells again as she makes for the door.

“No. We can’t take the risk of him finding it missing. It’s too dangerous.” We scramble to replace everything as we found it. I shove the box back in the drawer. Alexis does a last sweep, making sure nothing’s out of place.

We rush out, and I lock the door, the key slipping from my sweaty fingers. I push Alexis towards the side gate. “Go! I’ll hide the keys and meet you later.”

As Alexis slips away, I hurry to the garage, my heart in my throat. I can hear Paul’s footsteps on the path coming closer. With trembling hands, I replace the box of keys on the high shelf, almost knocking over a can of paint in my haste and falling off the small ladder. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s crazy. I’m crazy. This isn’t me.

I step out of the garage when Paul rounds the corner. He stops short, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my flushed face and jittery movements.

“Where have you been?” he asks, his voice calm.

I force a smile, hoping he can’t hear the tremor in my voice. “Just pottering around and looking for white sheen paint in the garage. There’s a huge scrape on my study door, so thought I’d brush over it.”

“Did you find any?”

“No luck. I assumed we had a spare tin. It must have been old, and we binned it. I’ll pick up another when I’m next looking for tester pots. At the moment, I need fabric swatches for the Winchester Gardens property revamp.”

Paul’s eyes bore into mine, searching for the lie. I meet his gaze, willing my face to betray nothing. After what feels like an eternity, he nods.

“To be fair, it’s a mess in the garage. We could do with having a clear out soon.”

He doesn’t reply, but I catch him looking towards his garden office. Has he spotted something out of place? I follow his line of sight. Nothing looks odd. Still, I’m shitting myself as we head inside, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife. In the kitchen, Paul turns to face me, his expression hardening.

“You still look flustered. What’s going on, Lisa?”

The accusation in his tone makes something snap inside me. All the fear, all the doubts, all the suspicions of the past weeks come rushing to the surface.

“You want to know what’s going on? I want to know the truth, Paul. About Lottie. About April. Were you involved in their deaths?”

Paul’s face contorts with anger. “How can you suggest something like that? Is this what you’ve been doing behind my back? Digging into my past, listening to that woman’s lies?”

“Are they lies?” I challenge. “Then explain it to me. Make me understand.”

He raises his voice as he flaps his arms. “There’s nothing to explain! Lottie overdosed. April had an accident. I had nothing to do with either of them! And both deaths hurt like hell.”

“Then why are you so defensive? Why all the secrecy?”

Paul’s eyes narrow. “You want to talk about secrecy? What about your new friend Alexis? I’ve made a few enquiries of my own. She’s not who she says she is. Did you know she stalked her client’s husband and got fired from that last job? Alexis made sexual advances towards him?”

I feel like I’ve been slapped. “What? No, that can’t be true.”

“It is,” Paul insists. “She’s a threat. Have you considered that maybe she had something to do with Lottie’s death? That she’s here trying to pin it on me because she’s worried I might know something?”

My mind reels. Could it be true? Has Alexis been manipulating me this whole time? But then I think of the damning evidence in the basement, the locked box, of Paul’s explosive anger, of all the inconsistencies in his stories.

“I don’t believe you,” I say, but I can hear the uncertainty in my voice.

Paul’s expression softens. “I know this is confusing, Lisa. But you need to trust me. Alexis is dangerous. She’s trying to come between us. For crying out loud, after I met her by her car and we inspected the damage, she asked if I’d like to come up for a drink as a thank you for looking out for her.”

“Rubbish,” I spit.

Paul laughs. “Ask her. She’ll deny it for sure. Like she denied everything in Manchester before getting fired. The look in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t interested in inviting me upstairs for a drink. Alexis walked off and said she’d leave her door on the latch.”

I’m torn between doubt and determination. “I need time to think. This is all too much.”

Paul nods, reaching out to touch my arm. I flinch away. Hurt flashes across his face. “Of course. Take all the time you need. But please, be careful around Alexis. I’m worried about you.”

As I head upstairs to our bedroom, my mind is a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Who can I trust? Paul, my husband of years, the man I thought I knew? Or Alexis, this virtual stranger who’s turned my world upside down with her accusations? Whatever is inside that locked box could hold the key to all of this. But how can I get to it? And what will I do with the truth once I have it?

No sooner than I reach our bedroom, I’m reminded of something. I forgot to check one spot when I searched our room for keys. I head back to our door and poke my head out to see if Paul is on the landing. Seeing the coast is clear, I hurry to his wardrobe and rummage through his suits. The grey double breasted one. Shit! The suit is there, but the pale blue scarf tucked inside the jacket is missing. How? I didn’t imagine it, did I? When did Paul remove it?

Resigned, I lie on our bed, listening to Paul move around downstairs. Tomorrow, I’ll open that box. Because this has to end. I need the truth.

SLEEP ELUDES me for hours as I know Paul is in his garden office. Every creak of the house and the rustling of bushes outside sets me on edge. Is it Paul coming in to confront me again? Is it Alexis sneaking around outside?

When I drift off, my dreams are a tangled mess of locked boxes, accusing faces, and dark secrets lurking out of reach. I wake with a start in the early hours, drenched in sweat. Paul’s lying on his side awake and staring at me.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his tone cold and monotone.

I swallow hard and nod before turning over.

Has he been watching me for hours?

24

LISA

I WATCH a squirrel scamper up a nearby oak tree, its bushy tail twitching as it disappears into the branches. The park is alive with the sound of children playing. Their laughter carries on the gentle breeze that rustles through the fallen leaves at my feet. It’s a beautiful sunny day, but I’m not here to appreciate it.

Alexis walks beside me, her stride purposeful. Her eyes dart around, as if checking for anyone who is watching us, but of course I don’t see anyone, and perhaps she’s over cautious. “We need to get back into Paul’s office. That locked box could hold all the answers.”

I hesitate, kicking at a small pile of leaves. The crunch under my feet is oddly satisfying. “I don’t know, Alexis. After yesterday...”

“What happened? You seem off. Did Paul say something?”

I stop walking and turn to face her. A group of mums pushing prams pass by, their chatter a stark contrast to the tension between us. “Paul mentioned things about you. About your past in Manchester.”

Alexis frowns. “What things?”

“He said they fired you for stalking a client’s husband. That you made sexual advances towards him.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief, then narrow with anger. “That’s ridiculous! None of that is true. I can’t believe he’d say shit like that.”

“I’m not sure. He seemed pretty certain. Said he’d made enquiries. Paul mentioned you made advances towards him after your car was damaged. Something about leaving your door on the latch for him?”

Alexis lets out a harsh laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. Lisa, think about it. Why would he say that? And me, interested in Paul? Please. He’s trying to turn you against me because we’re getting close to the truth. Can’t you see that?”

Confusion swirls in my mind. A child’s cry pierces the air as a little boy tumbles off the mini roundabout. His mother rushes to comfort him. I wish someone could comfort me. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Everything’s such a mess. This is my marriage, Alexis. It’s gone to shit. Everything was fine…”

“Until I turned up… right?”

I hold my tongue. But she’s right on that point. We were the picture of domestic and successful bliss. How can I be certain that she isn’t after Paul and wants me out of the picture? Then there was the comment he made about her pinning Lottie’s death on him to divert attention away from herself. All of these things echo around inside my brain, scrambling my thoughts.

“I understand you’re confused, but we can’t stop now. We’re so close to uncovering what really happened. Don’t you want the truth?”

“Of course I do, but at what cost? My marriage? My sanity? My whole life feels like it’s unravelling. It’s killing me.” I at once regret my choice of words.

Alexis grabs my arm and turns to face me. Her eyes bore into mine, intense and pleading. “Listen to me. Paul is manipulating you. He’s always been manipulating you. Remember all the stuff you found in the basement, the records he’d kept on you before you and after you met him? What normal person does that? He’s a bloody fruitcake, but he’s making it seem like I’m the unhinged one. We need to get into that office and open that box. I need, I mean, we need to.”

I pull away, torn between my suspicions about Paul and my growing doubts about Alexis. We pass a park bench, and I slump on to it, exhausted. “And what if you’re the one manipulating me? How can I trust you?”

Alexis sits beside me, her voice softening. “Because I’m not the one with a history of dead girlfriends. Or the one keeping locked boxes full of secrets. Think, Lisa. Really think about everything that’s happened since I arrived. Does it all add up to Paul being innocent?”

Her words hit home, as my resolve weakens. I watch as a father teaches his daughter to ride a bike, his hands steady on the seat as she wobbles along. When did my life become so unsteady? “No, it doesn’t. But breaking into his office again... it’s risky. If he catches us...”

“It’s scary, but we need to do this. Don’t you want to discover the truth, once and for all? If you know, you can make an informed decision about your life. And where you want it to go from here.”

I take in the trees and dense carpet of grass that extends for as far as the eye can see, wishing I could stay here to enjoy the stillness. I watch as a mother pushes her laughing child on a swing, the picture of normalcy. “What if we find something terrible? What if Paul is... a murderer or something? I’m not sure I could handle that.”

Alexis places a hand on my shoulder, her touch gentle. “You can’t live your life in doubt and fear. You deserve better than that. You can get away from him before it’s too late.”

We sit in silence for a moment, watching the world go by. A jogger passes, earbuds in, oblivious to our turmoil. An elderly couple walk hand in hand, feeding the ducks by the pond. Their simple affection makes my heart ache.

“Okay.” I blow out my cheeks. “We’ll do it. But we need to be careful. If Paul catches us...”

“He won’t. We’ll be smart about it. Wait for the right moment. I have an idea about how we can get him out of the house.”

As we stand and continue our walk, planning in hushed tones, the park’s sense of tranquillity seems like a cruel joke now, serving as a reminder of the life I believed I possessed.

“What if we’re wrong about all this?” I ask. “What if we’re throwing away everything based on suspicion and coincidence?”

Alexis stops and turns to face me. Her expression is softer now, sympathetic. “Then we’ll have peace of mind. But deep down you know something’s not right. You’ve felt it for a while now, haven’t you?”

I nod. She’s right. Even before Alexis arrived, there were moments, little things that didn’t quite add up. I’d pushed them aside, not wanting to face the implications. But now, with everything that’s happened...

“When do we do it?” I ask, my voice stronger now.

“Tomorrow. I’ll call you. For now, act normal. Don’t let Paul suspect anything.”

As we part ways, I feel a mix of dread and determination setting in. As I walk home, my mind races. The park empties as the afternoon wears on, families heading home for tea. The shadows lengthen, stretching across the grass like long fingers. I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. What am I doing? Am I really going to break into my husband’s office again?

As I reach our street, I slow my pace. Our house looms ahead, no longer the sanctuary it once was. Now it appears as a bastion of secrets, with me as an outsider peering in. I put my key in the lock, plaster on a smile and step inside. “Paul? I’m home!”

His voice calls from the kitchen, casual and warm. “In here, love. Fancy a cuppa?”

For a moment, I’m tempted to confess everything. To beg him to tell me the truth, to make sense of all this. But Alexis’s words echo in my mind. Act normal. Don’t let him suspect.

“Sounds lovely.” I call back as I hang up my coat. This nicety between us feels so false. As I head towards the kitchen, I glimpse myself in the hall mirror. It’s a reflection I barely recognise. Paul stands by the kettle. He smiles at me, and for a second, I see Paul. Kind, caring, dependable. But now there’s a shadow behind his eyes. Or is that my imagination?

“How was your walk?” he asks, as he pours hot water into mugs.

“Fine,” I reply. “I needed a bit of fresh air, and I thought the colours of the park could give me some design inspiration. I’m still struggling to get the right contrasts for the soft furnishing on the Winchester project.”

He nods, stirring the tea. “You seem tired. Everything okay?”

“Work stress. You know how it is.”

Paul hands me my mug, his fingers brushing mine. Once, that touch would have sent sparks through me. Now, I have to resist the urge to pull away. “If you say so,” he says, his tone light but his eyes searching. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I really don’t want this business with our neighbour affecting us any more than it has. I didn’t like her the minute I clapped eyes on her. She’s out for trouble, believe me. Sooner she’s gone, the better.”

I nod. If only that were true. If only I could pour out all my fears and doubts and have him reassure me it’s all a misunderstanding. But the locked box looms in my mind, a tangible symbol of all the secrets between us.

We sit at the kitchen table, the silence stretching between us like a chasm. I sip my tea, barely tasting it. Paul chatters about his day, about a difficult surgery he performed, about plans for the weekend. I nod in all the right places, but my mind is elsewhere.

As night falls, I lie awake in bed, Paul’s steady breathing beside me. Once, that sound comforted me. Now, it sets me on edge. I stare at the ceiling. My mind races with possibilities. If my worst fears are confirmed, what will I do?

The hours tick by. Sleep eludes me. I rehearse tomorrow’s plan in my head, over and over. Get Paul out of the house. Meet Alexis. Break into the office. Open the box. Simple steps that could shatter my world.

25

LISA

I WAKE WITH A START, my hand reaching out for Paul. The bed beside me is cold and empty. Silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of bird song beyond my window. My heart rate quickens as I glance at the time—seven fifteen a.m. Paul should be here, getting ready for work. The shower should be on, or the buzzing of his electric shaver should have woken me.

“Paul?” I call out, my voice echoing through the eerily quiet house.

No response. The silence that follows is deafening.

I slip out of bed and pad barefoot across the cool wooden floor. Every step feels like I’m walking through a stranger’s home. The hallway and spare rooms are empty, and the door to the study is wide open. As I search the rest of the house, he’s nowhere to be seen. Paul’s briefcase still sits by the door where he left it last night. The sight of it, so normal yet so out of place this morning, makes my stomach lurch. He can’t have gone to work. But where is he?

A quick glance out of the window shows his car still in the driveway. The garden office stands dark and silent, a looming presence that seems to mock me with its secrets. This isn’t like Paul at all. He’s always so predictable, so routine-oriented. Paul would never vanish without a word.

I grab my phone and dial Charles’s number as I pace up and down the hallway, the cool tiles a welcome relief from the heat I feel within. It rings several times before he answers, his voice groggy.

“Lisa? Everything alright?”

“Is Paul with you?”

“No, why? What’s going on?”

I explain the situation, words pouring from me in a frantic stream. “I have no idea where he is. It’s not like him to disappear and say nothing. His car’s still here, his briefcase too. It’s like he... vanished.”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. Have you tried calling him?”

“Of course I have. It goes straight to voicemail. I’ve tried texting too, but nothing. It’s like he’s dropped off the face of the earth.”

“It’s possible that he simply went for an early morning walk or something. Try not to worry. Paul can often get lost in his own thoughts.”

I pace the kitchen, anxiety gnawing at my insides like a hungry rat. “This feels different, Charles. With everything that’s been happening. Or maybe I’m reading into it a bit too much.”

“What do you mean? Has something else been going on?”

I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. Alexis has told him a fair bit. The weight of the past few weeks—the suspicions, the arguments, the growing doubt—threatens to crush me. “It’s... complicated. Paul’s been acting strange lately. Secretive. And then there’re the things Alexis has been saying...”

“Alexis?”

The decision I’m about to make is monumental, like stepping off a cliff into the unknown. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m going to search the house again, break into his office if I have to.”

“Whoa, hang on a minute. That’s extreme, don’t you think? There must be an easier way to get answers. Breaking into his private space... that’s crossing a line.”

“I’m out of options. I’m going out of my mind here. You don’t understand what it’s been like, living with all these questions, these doubts. It’s eating me alive. Then there’s the constant arguing. The veiled threats. The more I hear, the more I doubt the man I married.”

“Let me come over. Talk you out of this crazy idea. At least let me be there for you? You could do with a friendly face, and if you need a reassuring hug, then I’m your man.”

“No. Thanks, but... I need to do this myself. Or rather, with Alexis. She knows things about Paul’s past that don’t add up.”

“Lisa, please be careful. You have no idea what you might find. And trusting Alexis... are you sure that’s wise? What’s her agenda?”

“That’s why I have to look. And right now, even though I don’t trust Alexis, she’s the only one giving me answers, even if they’re not the ones I want to hear.”

“Promise me you’ll call if you need anything, okay? And Lisa? Whatever you find, remember that Paul loves you. I’ve known him for years. He’s not a bad person.”

His words, meant to be comforting, only intensify the ache in my chest. “I hope you’re right. I really do. But I’m not sure who Paul is anymore.”

I end the call, and with my mind made up, I dial Alexis’s number.

“I need you to come over. Now. Paul’s gone, and we need to search the house.”

A few minutes later, Alexis and I stand outside Paul’s garden office, a jumble of keys between us. The morning sun casts long shadows across the lawn, the world carrying on as if my life isn’t about to change. Birds chirp in the nearby trees, oblivious to my dilemma.

“Are you sure about this? What if Paul comes back again?”

I nod, unable to trust my voice, as I insert the key into the lock. We enter, and I’m at once drawn to the photos on his desk. I hadn’t noticed them before. My mind was elsewhere when I stood in this exact spot for the first time. Us on our wedding day, grinning at the camera. A candid shot of me laughing at something out of the scene. The sight of my own happy, unsuspecting face brings a lump to my throat. How naïve was I. How trusting.

I open the drawer, retrieve the box, and place it on Paul’s desk. It’s smaller than I remember, almost innocuous looking. How can something so small hold the power to turn my life upside down?

One by one, we try the keys. My heart races with each attempt, a mix of anticipation and dread coursing through my veins. What if we can’t open it? What if we can? Which outcome terrifies me more?

Click.

The lock springs open.

We stare at each other for a moment frozen with surprise. Alexis nods and I lift the lid.

Inside, we find three white envelopes, each bearing a name in Paul’s neat handwriting. Wendy. April. Lottie. Shit. Seeing those names makes everything feel so much more real. So much more horrifying.

“Do it, and hurry,” Alexis prompts as she takes a peek through the blinds for any sign of Paul.

I open Wendy’s envelope first. A pale blue scarf slips out, the initials ‘WS’ embroidered in one corner. The material is soft, expensive looking. I run my fingers over the initials. I remember Paul’s hands; how gentle they could be. Did these same hands...? I can’t finish the thought.

“Oh god,” I whisper. Tears blur my vision. “This is happening, isn’t it? It wasn’t all in my head. Paul... he really...”

Alexis rests her hand on my shoulder, her touch both comforting and unsettling. “We need to look at the others, Lisa. I know it hurts, but we need to know everything.”

I nod, reaching for April’s envelope. Inside, we find a pair of simple silver earrings. They’re beautiful, delicate things. The jewellery a boyfriend might give as a gift. I think of all the presents Paul has given me over the years. Were they genuine tokens of affection, or part of his manipulation? The thought makes me feel sick.

But it’s the contents of Lottie’s envelope that draws a sharp gasp from Alexis.

“That’s... that’s Lottie’s necklace. I’d recognise it anywhere. She never took it off. It was a gift from her grandmother.”

I stare at the items spread before us, my mind reeling. The scarf, the earrings, the necklace. Tangible proof of lives touched—and possibly ended—by my husband. Each item seems to pulse with dark energy, with unspoken tragedies.

“What does this mean?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Why would Paul have these things? Tell me there’s an innocent explanation. Please.”

Alexis’s face is grim, her eyes full of sympathy and something harder—determination, maybe. Or anger. “Deep down I was right all along. These aren’t mementos of past relationships. These are trophies. I’ve got him!” Alexis punches the air, but I’m still focused on the items and don’t acknowledge what she’s said.

The word ‘trophies’ hits me as hard as a physical blow. I sink into Paul’s chair, my legs no longer able to support me. The leather is cool against my skin, and I’m struck by a sudden, hysterical thought. How many times has Paul sat here, looking at these ‘trophies’, while I slept in our bed?

“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. Denial rises in me, a last desperate attempt to cling to the life I thought I had. “No, there has to be more. We need concrete proof. Something that explains all of this. Paul couldn’t be capable of what you’re suggesting. He couldn’t.”

Alexis hisses through gritted teeth. “We need to find it.”

There’s nothing else in the box, or in the drawers. A thought strikes me, cutting through the fog of shock and disbelief. “The basement. There are more boxes down there. We haven’t checked those yet. He has all this stuff on me. Maybe there’s more on them?” I say, pointing at the envelopes.

Alexis nods, her brow furrowed. “Let’s go. But Lisa... Whatever we find down there... it might change everything.”

As we make our way back to the house, the weight of what we’ve discovered settles over me like a shroud. Each step feels like I’m walking further away from the life I thought I knew, towards a truth I’m not sure I’m ready to face. The garden, once a source of pride and joy, now seems sinister. How many times has Paul walked this path, carrying his dark secrets?

The basement door creaks as we open it, the sound echoing in the silent house. I flick on the light, illuminating the cluttered space. Boxes are stacked in neat rows. Years of our life together packed away and forgotten. Or hidden on purpose?

“Where do we start?” Alexis asks, surveying the scene.

The air down here is musty, thick with dust and forgotten memories. “Anywhere. Everywhere. We don’t stop until we find something.”

We begin our search, rifling through box after box. Old clothes, holiday souvenirs, forgotten books—the detritus of a shared life that now feels like it belonged to someone else. With each item we uncover, I feel like I’m excavating the ruins of my marriage, searching for the truth buried beneath years of lies and secrets.

A photo album falls open, spilling pictures across the floor. Paul and me on our honeymoon, his arm around my waist, both of us grinning at the camera. The sight of his face—so familiar, so loved—sends a fresh wave of pain through me. How could the man in these photos, the man who’s held me and loved me for years, be the same person who kept those horrifying ‘trophies’?

As we continue our frantic search, a nagging question lingers: where is Paul now? And what will happen when he returns to find his world torn apart?

26

ALEXIS

I RUMMAGE through another musty box in Lisa’s basement. The dust makes me sneeze, but I barely notice. After what we found in Paul’s garden shed, I’m more determined than ever to uncover the truth. Every item I touch might hold the answer to unravel Paul’s web of lies.

“Anything yet?” Lisa calls from across the room. Her voice is strained.

“Not yet. But we can’t give up. There’s got to be something here. We need to keep looking.”

I glance at Lisa, her face pale and drawn. She’s been through so much, but she doesn’t know the half of it. The weight of my own secret presses down on me, making it hard to breathe in the stuffy basement. I turn back to the box, my mind in turmoil. Those ‘trophies’ we found—Wendy’s scarf, April’s earrings, Lottie’s necklace—they’re proof of what I’ve suspected all along. No one believed me before, but now we’re so close to clearing Lottie’s name and making Paul pay for what he’s done. He’s a nasty weirdo.

As I sift through old papers, my thoughts drift back to that night fifteen years ago. The night that changed everything. It’s like a film playing in my head, every detail crystal clear despite the years that have passed.

The pub, the Pinnacle, a popular spot just off the high street, bustles with a crowd. The air is thick with smoke and laughter, the sticky floor a testament to spilled pints and good times. “Dip it low” by Christina Milian plays on the sound system—it’s ironic. The lyrics serve as a painful reminder of what’s to come.

Lottie’s voice cuts through the noise, slurred, but bright and excited. “Lex! Come meet Paul!”

I weave through the crowd heavy footed, drink in hand, to where Lottie stands beaming next to Paul. My stomach drops again when my eyes drift over his body. Lottie thinks this is the first time I’ve seen him. She’s wrong. I’ve seen him a few times. Mainly with Lottie, but they never cottoned on to my presence. I followed them out of curiosity. Perhaps I was a tad jealous, But I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And on first impressions, he was certainly worth fussing over. Fit and bloody sexy. Why did he pick Lottie? Why not me? I certainly wouldn’t have kicked him out of bed.

And here he is again. Tall, dark, handsome—and there is something in his eyes that makes me uneasy as he spots me approaching. A predatory glint that Lottie, in her infatuation, can’t even begin to see.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, his hand lingering on mine. He leans in and kisses my cheek softly. His touch and hot breath sends a shiver through me—part attraction, part warning. His aftershave, something expensive and musky, seems to envelop me. It feels reassuring and sexy. Why on earth am I thinking these things? Maybe I’ve had too much to drink already on an empty stomach. In a single heartbeat, I feel reckless. Willing to just throw caution to the wind.

“Same,” I reply, forcing a smile for Lottie’s sake.

We chat for a while, Paul’s arm draped possessively around Lottie’s waist. His charisma is undeniable, and his humour could light up a room, but the way he looks at me makes me uncomfortable but also curious. I smile back on more than one occasion. It’s weird, but each time our eyes meet, it’s as if unspoken words are exchanged, and we both find it hard to break the stare and look away. He drones on about his work, his eyes lighting up as he describes complex procedures. Lottie hangs on his every word, smitten.

“Isn’t he amazing?” she whispers to me at one point, her lids drooping in her drunken state.

I nod and sway, not trusting myself to speak. There’s something about Paul, something I can’t quite put my finger on. But Lottie’s happier than I’ve seen her in years, and who am I to ruin that?

But I do anyway.

After Paul picks up the last few rounds for us all, I excuse myself to the loo, needing a moment to clear my head, to shake off the unsettling feeling Paul gives me. I steady myself against the wall with my hand as I stumble along the corridor, my vision blurry, my head thumping. My limbs feel loose and wobbly. I’m sure I haven’t had too many drinks. Maybe it’s the shots. The cool air in the corridor is a relief after the stuffy bar.

But then I hear footsteps behind me.

“Alright?” Paul asks, his voice loud to be heard over the music.

I nod, very aware of how close he’s standing. “Yeah, I needed air and the loo.”

“Me too,” he says, stepping closer. “It’s hot in there, isn’t it?”

And then, before I’m able to react, he kisses me. Hard, urgent, nothing like the gentle way I saw him kiss Lottie earlier. I should push him away, should slap him, scream. Anything. But the alcohol clouds my judgment, and a traitorous part of me responds to his touch. My hands claw at his clothes, my hips push into him, and I can’t stop myself. I don’t want to stop myself.

“I need you,” I gasp.

He nods as he leans in to kiss me harder, his breath ragged and fast.

We stumble into the ladies and seek the nearest cubicle, all frantic hands and stifled moans.

“Fuck me,” I moan. Paul doesn’t need asking twice as he tugs at my jeans and pins me to the wall. With my jeans around my ankles, I’m lost in a blind moment of erotic desperation and desire.

Paul, spent and panting, wipes his sweaty brow, pulls his jeans up, and straightens himself out, before running his hands through his hair to tidy up his appearance. It’s over in minutes and leaves me feeling dirty, ashamed, and completely unfulfilled as I stare at the piss-stained floor. The harsh fluorescent light of the toilet seems to highlight every mistake, every betrayal.

I thought I wanted this. But I was wrong. Shit. What have I done?

“This never happened,” Paul says afterward. “For Lottie’s sake.”

I nod, unable to speak. He leaves first, almost falling out of the door to the cubicle, and I stay, lingering, unable to process what I just did, trying to pull myself together. I want to scream or cry. I’m not sure, but there’s a tidal wave of emotions threatening to drown me. When I finally emerge, my lipstick smudged and my hair a mess, Lottie’s waiting.

“There you are!” she exclaims, oblivious. “I was worried. You okay? You look a bit flushed.”

“Fine,” I lie, the first of many lies to come. “I had a bit too much to drink. Thought I was going to throw up or pass out. Those bloody shots. Lethal!”

Over the next few weeks, I watch as Lottie falls deeper under Paul’s spell. She cancels plans with other friends, changes her appearance to suit his tastes, and speaks of little else but their future together. It’s like watching her disappear before my eyes.

It’s hard to look Lottie in the eyes as my guilt grows. If I could only turn back time.

Not long after, I corner Paul outside Lottie’s flat. The street is quiet. “I’m going to tell her,” I say, my voice shaking. “Lottie deserves to know. I can’t keep lying to her. I feel like shit. It’s killing me. I was drunk. It should never have happened.”

His face goes hard, all charm vanishing in an instant. “Don’t be stupid, Alexis. It’ll only hurt her. You were drunk and not in control. You wanted it as much as I did. It meant nothing. It was a mistake. Why ruin what Lottie and I have over a stupid mistake?”

“Because she’s my best friend,” I argue, my voice rising. “And I can’t live with this lie. It’s eating me alive, Paul. Don’t you feel guilty at all?”

Paul’s eyes turn cold then. “Think carefully about what you’re doing, Alexis. Some truths are better left unsaid. You tell her, and you’ll lose her. Is that what you want? Lottie is mine and I won’t let you take her away from me.”

His words hit home, playing on my deepest fears. But I can’t shake the feeling that Lottie is in danger, that Paul is bad for her. “I have to tell her,” I insist. “She needs to know who you really are.”

“And who am I, Alexis?” Paul asks, his voice dangerously soft. “Who are you to judge me? We’re both guilty here. Remember that. You came on to me, remember?”

“Fuck you! She needs to know.” I yell before storming off.

The guilt of what happened in that cramped cubicle has never left me. The heat, the urgency, the wrongness of it all. Paul seemed to brush it off after a while, but I couldn’t bear it. Every time I looked at Lottie, saw her smile and talk about Paul, it was like a knife twisting in my gut.

But I couldn’t live with the lie. I set a date to confess to Lottie, to beg for forgiveness. I rehearsed what I’d say a thousand times, imagining every reaction. And then...

She died days later. An overdose, they said. But I’ve never believed it. Not for a second.

“He drugged her,” I mutter now, in Lisa’s basement, clenching my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms. “To keep her from finding out. To keep his secret safe.”

“Did you say something?” Lisa looks up, frowning.

I shrug, hating myself for keeping secrets from her, too. “Nothing. Talking to myself. This is frustrating work.”

I can’t tell Lisa the whole truth. How can I? ‘By the way, I had sex with your husband years ago in a grotty pub toilet, and I believe he killed my best friend to cover it up.’ It sounds mad, even to me. She’d never believe me, and I’d lose the only ally I have in this fight.

But now, with the evidence we found, it all makes sense. The trophies, the secrets—it’s all part of a larger, darker picture. And I’m the only one who can bring it all to light. I have to be, for Lottie’s sake. For all the women Paul has hurt.

“Alexis, look at this.” Lisa’s voice breaks through my thoughts, higher pitched than usual with excitement or fear.

I hurry over, my heart racing. In her hands are two small books.

“Are these...?” Lisa’s voice trembles.

I nod, unable able to breathe. “I think so. This could be everything we need, Lisa. All the answers we’ve been looking for.”

As Lisa opens the first diary, I recognise this at once. “That’s Wendy’s diary,” I say, my voice hushed with awe. “The one her mother mentioned when I’d contacted her some time ago. Diane, her mum, said Wendy had kept a diary most of her life, but following her disappearance, the diary went missing.”

“Where did it go?” Lisa asks.

I shrug. “No one knows. The police never found it after they searched her room. Is the diary complete?”

Lisa nods, her eyes scanning the pages. “It’s all here, Alexis. Her thoughts, her fears... her suspicions about Paul.”

I lean in, reading over her shoulder. The words leap out at me, each one a damning piece of evidence against Paul. Wendy’s growing unease, her fear, her desperate attempts to break free from Paul’s control. It’s all laid bare in black and white.

“What’s in the other one?” I ask, reaching for the second book.

Lisa hands it to me, her face pale. “I think it’s Paul’s. It’s his handwriting.”

I open it. Cryptic entries—dates, times, locations—fill the pages. At first, it makes little sense, but then I see a pattern emerge.

“Lisa,” I say, “I think these are surveillance notes. Look, there’s Wendy’s name, and... and yours.”

Lisa leans in, her eyes widen in horror as she realises the truth. “He was keeping tabs on her. On all of us. Like he did with me before we got married.”

The implications of this discovery hit us both like a physical blow. Paul hasn’t only been concealing his past—he’s also been stalking and manipulating women for years.

27

LISA

I SIT on the cold basement floor, my hands trembling as I open the inner sanctum of Wendy’s diary. Alexis leans in close, her breath warm on my cheek as I read aloud.

“I can’t shake this feeling. He’s always there, always watching. It’s like I can’t escape his gaze, even when I’m alone.”

“Go on,” Alexis urges.

I flip through the pages, each entry more distressing than the last as I absorb Wendy’s words. How could someone live with this constant fear?

“He won’t take no for an answer. I’ve told him I’m not interested, but he keeps pushing. It’s like he can’t hear me or doesn’t want to. It doesn’t matter what I say or do, I can’t get through to him. He’s not being aggressive or forceful, just creepy and, well, too nice.”

The words blur as tears fill my eyes. Pushing through, I blink them away and continue on.

“I gave in last night. Succumbing to the pressure, I agreed to have a drink. It was only one drink, but I ended up so drunk. I can’t remember much of what happened, but I woke up in his bed. I’m so sore. What did he do? I feel so ashamed, so dirty. How could I do this?”

Alexis gasps. I glance up to see tears escape from her eyes. My own cheeks are wet.

“There’s more,” I say softly, turning the page. My voice cracks as I read on. “It’s like I’m drowning in my own thoughts. I can’t tell anyone what’s happening. They wouldn’t understand. They’d think I was crazy. Maybe I am and it’s all in my head. But in the days that followed he acted like we were lovers. Kind, funny, caring, and doing anything to make me happy. But there was nothing he could ever do to make me happy. He made my skin crawl.”

The raw emotion in Wendy’s words hits me like a physical blow. How many times had I smiled at Paul, laughed with him, shared a bed with him without knowing that before I met Paul, women like Wendy had suffered in silence?

“Who I am now? He’s taken everything from me—my confidence, my peace of mind, my sense of self. I feel like I’m disappearing, piece by piece. And the worst part is, I don’t know how to stop it. It’s like a disease in my brain that’s slowly poisoning my thoughts. I hate life, I hate him, and I hate myself.”

Alexis lets out a strangled sob. “I should have known and seen the signs. Lottie was going through the same thing, and I didn’t see it. I failed her. Why didn’t I stop him?”

I reach out, grasping Alexis’s hand. It’s cold and clammy, or maybe that’s my own. “You couldn’t have known. Wendy hid it so well, as did Lottie.”

How was I so blind to what was happening right under my nose? The man I married and loved now seems like a monster. I turn back to the diary, my eyes scanning the pages for any mention of a name, any clue to the identity of Wendy’s tormentor. But there’s nothing. Just “he” and “him”, repeatedly. Each reference feels like an accusation. A damning finger pointed at Paul.

“He bought me flowers today,” I read. “Everyone at work thought it was so romantic. If only they knew. What worried me more was that I’d never told him where I worked. So how did he know? Did he follow me? He must have.”

The words swim before my eyes, and I pause to collect myself. He did the same with me.

“I saw him outside my flat last night,” I continue, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat. “Just standing there, watching. I called the police, but by the time they arrived, he was gone. They told me there was nothing they could do as no threat to life had been made, and he wasn’t being a nuisance. I’ve never felt so helpless. I’m thinking of ending it all,” I read, my voice no more than a whisper. “It seems like the only way out. He’s everywhere, in everything. I can’t escape him. Maybe this is the only way to be free. I hate him, and I hate life.”

A chill runs down my spine as the realisation dawns. “This is my Paul?”

Alexis nods, her face a mask of grief and anger. “It fits. The timeline, the behaviour... it’s all him.”

I close the diary and feel as if I’ve intruded on someone’s deepest, darkest secrets. The weight of this knowledge settles on my shoulders like a lead blanket. My mind reels, trying to reconcile the Paul I know with the monster described in these pages.

“What do we do now?” I ask, my voice sounding small and lost. I feel like a child again, scared and uncertain, longing for someone to tell me it’s all going to be okay.

Alexis wipes her eyes. “We keep digging. We find more evidence. And then we make Paul pay for what he’s done.”

I nod, trying to ignore the voice in my head screaming that this can’t be real. However, the proof is right here in my hands, undeniable and damning.

As we continue our search, I feel more of my life slip away. Every happy memory, every tender moment, every loving word Paul ever spoke to me now feels tainted, poisoned by the knowledge of what he’s capable of. I think of all the times I defended him to others, praised him, loved him. How could I have been so wrong?

As Alexis and I sift through more boxes, my mind races with questions. What will happen when Paul finds out what we’ve discovered? Will he try to explain it away? Will he threaten us? Or worse?

I stand up, my legs shaky and numb. “We need to tell the police. This is evidence. Real, solid evidence.”

Alexis nods, but I sense hesitation in her commitment. “You’re right,” she says. “But first, we need to make copies of everything. If Paul realises these are missing...”

“Agreed.” I reply as I gather up the diaries and the other evidence we’ve found. “We’ll go to my office. We can use the scanner there.”

As we’re about to leave, Alexis calls my name again as she retrieves something from the bottom of a storage box.

I turn to face her. In her hand is a small white box. As I take a closer look, I gasp. It’s a box of Anafranil. The same meds found in Lottie’s tox reports. I glance at Alexis.

Alexis nods, a knowing sadness filling her eyes.

As we gather the evidence and prepare to leave the basement, I take one last look around. This room, once nothing more than a storage space for forgotten things, now feels like the birthplace of a new chapter in my life. A chapter where I’m no longer Paul Campbell’s loving wife, but his worst nightmare.

I pause at the top of the stairs, my hand on the doorknob. The house above feels different now, alien and threatening. Every corner could hide a secret, every shadow a potential threat.

“Lisa?” Alexis’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Are you okay?”

I turn to her, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “No,” I admit. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”

As we step into the kitchen, the normality of it all hits me. The dishes from this morning’s breakfast are still in the sink. Paul’s favourite mug sits on the counter, half-full of cold coffee. How can everything look so normal when everything is falling apart?

I collapse into a chair at the kitchen table, my legs unable to support me. Alexis sits across from me, spreading out the diaries and other evidence we’ve collected.

“We need a plan,” she says, her voice low and urgent. “We can’t confront Paul. It’s too dangerous. But we can’t sit on this information either.”

I nod, my mind racing. “The police,” I say again. “We should take this to the police.”

Alexis hesitates. “Are you sure? Paul’s well-connected. What if they don’t believe us?”

The doubt in her voice mirrors my own fears. But what choice do we have? “We have to try,” I insist. “If we don’t, and he hurts someone else... I couldn’t live with myself.”

As we’re about to head to the study, a sudden noise from outside makes us both freeze. A car door slams. Footsteps on the gravel driveway.

28

LISA

ALEXIS JUMPS up and gathers up the evidence. “We need to hide this,” she hisses.

We scramble to shove everything into a nearby drawer as the front door opens. Paul’s voice calls out, cheerful and oblivious.

“Lisa?”

I look at Alexis, panic rising in my chest. How do I face him now, knowing what I know? How do I pretend everything is normal when nothing will ever be normal again?

“In the kitchen!”

Alexis squeezes my hand, her eyes conveying a silent message. Be strong. Play along. We’ll figure this out.

I take a deep breath, plastering on a smile that feels like it might crack my face.

“Hi darling, look who I found wandering the streets!” Paul strolls in, Charles right behind him. The sight of my husband, looking so normal, so innocuous, sickens me.

“There you are,” Paul says, crossing the room to give me a hug and a kiss. His touch, once comforting, now makes my skin crawl. “Sorry if I worried you. I went for a long walk and ended up having breakfast in town. Needed to clear my head after our... discussion yesterday.”

I smile, aware of how fake it must look. “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Charles pipes up, his eyes darting between us. “When Lisa called saying she was worried, I thought I’d better track this wayward husband down. Can’t allow the neighbourhood’s golden couple at odds, can we?”

Paul laughs, moving to flick on the kettle. “My hero. Tea, anyone? Or something stronger, given the hour?”

The ordinary nature of it all—Paul brewing tea, Charles casually leaning on the counter—feels surreal considering the recent discovery Alexis and I have made. I catch Alexis’s eye, willing her to stay calm. She looks as terrified as I feel.

“Actually, I should go,” Alexis says, her voice higher than usual. “I have photos that need an edit from a recent shoot. Thanks for having me over. We’ll catch up soon about that... yeah?”

I nod, relieved at the excuse to escape from the kitchen. “Of course. I’ll see you out.”

As we reach the front door, Charles joins us. “I should head off, too. Got a busy afternoon ahead. Money doesn’t grow on trees, eh, Paul?” he shouts.

Paul calls back from the kitchen, “Don’t I know it. Thanks for checking in, mate.”

At the doorstep I keep my voice low as I turn to Charles. “We found something. Diaries. They say terrible things.”

Charles’s eyebrows shoot up, his interest piqued. “Oh? What things?” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to match my whisper.

I’m aware of Paul pottering in the kitchen feet away. “I can’t go into it now. But it’s bad. Really bad. It’s about Paul, and Wendy, and... others.”

He nods, his expression unreadable. “We’ll talk later? Don’t do anything rash, Lisa. I’d like to see them. These things are often more complicated than they seem.”

As I close the door behind them, I lean against it. The enormity of what’s happened crashes over me. I’ve lied to my husband’s face. I’m hiding evidence of his crimes. And now, I have to go back in there and pretend everything is normal.

I can do this. As I push off from the door and head back to the kitchen, Paul stands by the window, mug in hand, gazing out at the garden. Then he turns, and I see the coldness in his eyes as he stares at me.

“Everything alright, love?” he asks. “You seem a bit off.”

I force another smile, hating how easily the lies now come. “I’m tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Paul sets down his mug and approaches me, concern etched on his features. “Is this about our argument? I’m sorry if I overreacted. You know how I feel about my past. It’s not something I like to dwell on.”

His hands come to rest on my shoulders, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to flinch away. “I know,” I say. “It’s okay. Let’s move past it.”

He smiles, relief clear in his expression. “That’s my girl. How about a quiet night in? I’ll cook your favourite; we can open that bottle of red we’ve been saving. What do you say?”

The thought of spending an entire evening alone with him, pretending everything is fine, makes me want to scream. But I nod. “Sounds perfect.” I think of the diary hidden in the drawer and of Wendy’s anguished words. The weight of this knowledge is crushing, but I know I can’t show it. Not yet. What worries me more is that Paul is within touching distance of the diaries, and I need him out of the kitchen so I can hide them elsewhere.

The evening stretches ahead of me, a minefield of potential slip-ups and revelations. I’ll laugh at his jokes, eat the food he prepares, perhaps even endure his touch. All the while knowing what I now know. But I can do this. Because the alternative—Paul discovering what Alexis and I have learned—is too terrifying to contemplate.

“Can I help with anything?”

“Sure, love. Why don’t you chop the vegetables while I get the meat ready?”

And so begins our dance of normalcy. As I pick up the knife, I question—how long can I keep this up? The knife feels heavy in my hand as I sneak glances at Paul as he marinates the meat, his movements fluid and practiced.

“So,” Paul says, breaking the silence, “what did you and Alexis get up to today? Girl talk?”

“Oh, you know,” I say, keeping my voice light, “just catching up. She’s still settling into the neighbourhood.”

Paul nods, his back to me as he works. “Nice. You two seem to spend a lot of time together since she arrived. Are you sure you have time for me and us?”

There’s an undercurrent in his tone that makes me pause. Is it my paranoia, or is there a hint of suspicion there? I force a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as hollow as it feels. “Well, it’s nice to have a friend nearby. You’re always saying I should socialise more.”

He turns to me, his expression unreadable. “True. I’m glad you’re making friends. Be careful, alright? We don’t know her that well yet. I don’t want her taking advantage of your kindness. You have a habit of taking in all the waifs and strays. Always happy to lend an ear when people want a moan. Don’t be taken in by her.”

The irony of his words—him warning me about Alexis when he’s the real danger—is almost too much to bear. As we continue to prepare dinner, the silence between us grows heavy with unspoken words. Is he on to us? Does he suspect anything?

The evening drags on, a torturous exercise in pretending. We eat dinner, drink wine, even laugh at some shared joke about a neighbour. But underneath it all, I’m screaming.

As we clean up after dinner, Paul’s hand brushes against mine. I flinch, the touch sending a jolt of fear through me. Paul notices, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Lisa? Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been jumpy all evening.”

“Just tired, like I said. And maybe coming down with something. I think I might turn in early tonight.”

Paul nods, but I can see the doubt in his eyes. “Alright, love. I’ll be up soon. Maybe we can have a cuddle? All this wine has left me feeling...”

I could throw up. His skin against mine. No. His eyes fixed on me while I’m second guessing what’s hidden behind them as he pushes into me.

“Maybe,” I reply. As I climb the stairs to our bedroom, I feel Paul’s eyes on my back. I close the bedroom door behind me and lean against it, allowing the tears I’ve been holding back all evening to fall. How did I get here? How did I end up in this situation?

I change into my pyjamas, my mind racing. I’m desperate to fall asleep before Paul gets here, but I need to talk to Alexis, to figure out our next move. But how? Paul will be suspicious if I sneak around, making secretive phone calls. As I slip into bed, I hear Paul’s footsteps on the stairs. I wipe my eyes and pretend to be asleep. The bedroom door opens, and the bed dips as Paul gets in beside me.

His hand reaches out, stroking my hair before sliding down my back and working round to between my legs. “Lisa?” he whispers.

I try not to recoil from his touch. I keep my breathing steady, feigning sleep, as my mind screams in terror. This is my life now. Lying next to a killer, pretending everything is fine.

I hear Paul sigh before he rolls off the bed and leaves the bedroom. I wait until I hear him reach the last step on the stairs before I open my eyes and let the tears fall onto my pillow.

29

LISA

I SIT at the kitchen table. Beside me a mug of coffee I haven’t touched. The diaries are now hidden in my study upstairs. My body goes rigid as I hear Paul’s footsteps on the stairs. This is it. No turning back now.

He walks in, yawns, and stretches. “Morning, love. You’re up early. Are you feeling better?”

My chest rises as I take in a deep lungful of air. “We need to talk.”

He pauses, his hand halfway to the kettle. “Oh? What about this time? Haven’t we done enough talking recently? More tripe from Alexis?”

“I know everything. About Wendy. April. About all of it.”

The change is instant. His face hardens, his eyes turning cold. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t lie to me. Not anymore. I found Wendy’s diary. It’s all in there about what you did.”

Paul’s laugh is hollow. “You don’t know anything. You’ve misunderstood.”

“Have I? Misunderstood how you stalked her? Terrorised her?”

He curls his hand into a fist. “Lisa, you don’t understand! All I ever did was try to protect her!”

“Protect her so much that she disappeared?”

Paul’s voice softens and takes on a pleading tone. “Lisa, please. You need to believe me. I’ve never hurt a soul. Someone’s trying to destroy me and drive a wedge between us. I can’t believe you’re listening to this crap from Alexis. I asked you to stay clear of her.”

Tears sting my eyes. “Stop it. Just stop lying.”

“I’m not lying!” He runs his hands through his hair, looking desperate. “Wendy was unstable. She was seeing things that weren’t there. I was trying to help her.”

“And April? Was she ‘unstable’ too?” I throw up some air quotes.

His face crumples. “That was an accident. We were arguing, and I walked off. I left her there crying. I have no idea what happened after that. She may have slipped, tripped, or someone could have pushed her. I don’t know.”

“You were the only one there! You were the last to see her alive! How do you think that looks?” I yell. “She just fell off a bloody cliff?”

Paul kneels beside me and grasps my hands. I flinch, but don’t pull away. “Lisa, please. I love you. I’ve only ever loved you. These women, they were mistakes. But you, you’re my life.”

For a moment, I waver. He looks so sincere, so heartbroken. But then I remember Wendy’s words, the fear in her writing.

“No,” I say, as I pull my hands free. “No more lies or manipulation. I want the truth, Paul. All of it.”

His face changes, a coldness creeps into his eyes. “You want the truth? Fine. I’ve never laid a finger on any woman. Yes, I’ve made mistakes. Really fucking stupid mistakes. Yes, I’m obsessive. I’m insecure and terrified of losing those I love. But that’s it. We’ve built a life together now. And if you think you can walk away…”

“Are you threatening me?”

He stands, towering over me. “I’m warning you. Think about what you’re doing. About who you choose to believe.”

I stand too, refusing to be intimidated. “I believe the evidence.”

“People can fake evidence and lie. But what we have is real.”

“Was any of it real, Paul? Or was I another conquest?”

Pain flashes across his face. “How can you say that? After everything we’ve been through?”

“Then why have you got Wendy’s diary? Her mum said it went missing after her death.”

“Okay, I took it. One night when she was in the shower, I read some of it. I don’t know who she was talking about, but it wasn’t me. I swear. And after she died, I could see how that would look if it ended up in the hands of the police.”

“So, you stole it after her death?”

Paul nods and stares at the floor.

The man I once adored looks like a stranger. “I don’t know who to believe anymore.”

Paul reaches for me, but I step back. “I’m the man who loves you. Who would do anything for you. Lisa, please. We can work this out. We can start over.”

My tears flow now. “No, Paul. We can’t.”

His face hardens. “You’re making a mistake. A big one.”

“The only mistake I made was trusting you.”

We stand there, the kitchen feeling too small. The man I loved, the life I thought I had, it’s all crumbling around me. But beneath the pain, there’s a spark of something else. Determination. Strength.

“I want you to move out. I need space,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Today. And if you try to contact me, if you come near me or Alexis, I’ll go to the police with everything I know.”

Paul’s laugh is bitter, menacing. “You reckon the police will listen?”

“Maybe not. But I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

Paul’s face contorts with rage. “You ungrateful… After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

His words cut through me like a steel blade, but I stand my ground. “Everything you’ve done for me? You mean lying to me? Manipulating me? Possibly killing innocent women? Spending hours in that garden office and waiting until I’ve gone to bed before you come back in?”

“I never killed anyone!” He shouts, advancing towards me. “You’re twisting everything. Just like Wendy did. Like April did.”

I back away, my heart thunders in my chest and I fight to breathe. “Stay away from me.”

He stops, his hands clenched into fists. “You want the truth? Fine. Wendy was obsessed with me. She couldn’t handle it when I tried to end things. She’s the one who was stalking me, not the other way around.”

“And the diary? Was that all in her head too?”

Paul scoffs. “She was delusional. Wrote her fantasies and tried to pass them off as reality. I was trying to help her, to get her the treatment she needed.”

“And April? Did she slip, or did you push her?”

His eyes narrow. “I told you; it must have been an accident. Yes, we argued about how I wanted to know where she was all the time. I told her it was because I cared for and wanted to protect her. She was being unreasonable. Despite my attempt to hold her in my arms, she resisted and pulled away. I said I was done with this and walked off.”

I shake my head, disbelief and disgust warring within me as I think of his diary and cryptic notes. “How can you stand there and lie so easily? How many others were there, Paul?”

“I’ve hurt no one!” He shouts, his face red with anger. “I’m the victim here. Can’t you see that? I’m being set up, framed. And you’re falling for it hook, line, and sinker. All I’ve ever done is love you. I’ve built a world around us. A perfect one where we want for nothing.”

“Who would want to frame you? And why?”

Paul shrugs and throws his arms up in frustration. “No idea. Jealous colleagues? Ex-patients with grudges? There are plenty of people who’d love to see me fall.”

“Or maybe you’re now facing the consequences of your actions.”

He looks at me for a moment and sighs. His shoulders drop.

“Lisa,” he says, his voice soft, pleading. “Please. We can work this out. I’ll explain everything. I’ll prove to you I’m innocent. Don’t let them win.”

For a heartbeat, I waver. But stand my ground.

“No,” I say, my voice firm. “No more chances or lies. I want you out of this house, and out of my life for good.”

Paul’s face darkens. “You’ll regret this, Lisa. When the truth comes out, when you realise what a mistake you’ve made, don’t come crawling back to me.”

“The only mistake I made was not seeing you for what you were sooner. Now get out.”

He glares at me. Then, without another word, he turns and storms out of the kitchen.

I listen to his footsteps pound up the stairs, hear drawers yanked open and slammed shut. What have I done? What’s going to happen now?

I hear Paul coming back down the stairs. He appears in the kitchen doorway, his face a mask of cold fury.

“I’m not leaving. This isn’t over,” he says, his voice low. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. Alexis has filled your head with poison.”

I meet his gaze, determined to show him I won’t back down. “Leave now, Paul.”

He opens his mouth as if to say more, then seems to think better of it. With one last glare, he turns and walks out. The front door slams shut behind him, the sound echoes through the empty house. I sit there for ages and listen to the silence. Tears stream down my face, but I don’t wipe them away.

As I stand and move to lock the door behind him, I’m filled with a strange mixture of terror and exhilaration. The future is uncertain, filled with potential dangers. The house feels different now, emptier yet somehow lighter. I walk through each room, seeing it with new eyes. Our bedroom, once a sanctuary, now feels tainted. I strip the bed, bundling the sheets into the bin. I can’t bear the thought of sleeping on them again.

In Paul’s study, I pause. Should I search for it? Would I find more evidence of his crimes? But the idea of touching his things and delving deeper into his lies sickens me. I close the door, deciding to deal with it later. Back in the kitchen, I pour my cold coffee down the sink and start a fresh pot. The familiar routine is comforting, grounding me amid this upheaval. As the coffee brews, I grab my phone and dial Alexis’s number.

“Lisa.”

“I told Paul. He’s gone.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath. “I didn’t expect you to confront him so soon. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine. Just... shaken. Can you come over?”

“Of course. I’ll be there in a sec.”

As I wait for Alexis, I hover round the kitchen, a fresh mug of coffee in hand. My thoughts replaying the confrontation with Paul. His anger, his denials, his threats. Was I right to confront him? Did I act too soon? But deep down, I know I did the right thing. I wouldn’t have been able to endure another day with him, pretending everything was normal despite knowing the truth.

The doorbell rings, startling me from my thoughts. I hurry to let Alexis in. Relief washes over me at the sight of her concerned face.

“Oh, Lisa,” she says, pulling me into a hug.

We sit in the kitchen, and I tell her everything. Paul’s denials, his accusations, his threats. Alexis listens, her face growing darker with each word.

“We need to go to the police,” she says when I finish. “He’s dangerous. Who knows what he might do now?”

“You’re right. I hope they listen?”

Alexis reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “It’s a start. We can’t let him get away with this.”

I take one last look around the house. The home I shared with Paul, the life we built together, it all seems like a dream now. A beautiful, terrible dream that I’ve finally woken up from.

30

LISA

I GRIP THE STEERING WHEEL, my knuckles turning white as we drive towards the police station. Alexis sits beside me, her eyes darting between me and the road ahead. The silence in the car is heavy, filled with unspoken words and mounting tension.

“Are you sure about this?” I mutter.

Alexis turns to me, her face a mixture of concern and frustration. “Lisa, we’ve been over this. It’s the right thing to do. You can’t go back to him.”

I nod, but doubt gnaws at me. Paul’s pleas echo in my mind, his desperate words tugging at my heart. “What if we’re wrong? What if I’m making a big mistake?”

“A mistake? You saw the evidence. The diaries and trophies. What more do you need?”

“I know, I know. But we built a life together. After everything I’ve been through, all the failed relationships... Paul was the one. He had to be.”

“I get it, I do. But you can’t ignore what’s right in front of you. A man who could do what Paul has done is definitely not the one.”

She’s right, of course. Even so, a small part of me clings to hope. “Maybe there’s been a mix-up. A misunderstanding we haven’t figured out yet.”

There is a hint of hysteria in Alexis’s laugh. “A mix-up? Lisa, wake up! This isn’t a mistake. This is who Paul is. I’ve been trying to prove it for years. I needed the evidence so I can shut him up for good. Bastard.”

I flinch at her tone and glance over to witness her eyes wild, her hands shaking. “Alexis, are you okay?”

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I’m fine. It gets to me sometimes. I just... we’ve come so far. We can’t back down now. I can’t.”

As we approach the police station, My resolve wavers. Images flash through my mind. Can I throw all that away?

“Perhaps we should consider this further,” I suggest, as I slow the car. “What if—”

“No!” Alexis shouts, making me jump. “We’re not turning back. Don’t you see? This is our chance to stop him, to get justice for Lottie. He has to pay for what he did, and I won’t rest until he does. I can do it with or without you. You choose.”

I pull into a parking space and turn off the engine. As I gaze at Alexis, I notice a desperation in her eyes and a franticness in her movements that I’ve never seen before. Her lids are flickering as she stares ahead, and there’s a slight tremor in her fingertips. I’m rather unnerved by it.

“Alexis, what’s really going on here? This isn’t about helping me, is it?”

She turns away and stares out of her passenger window, her shoulders shaking slightly. When she speaks, I can barely hear her. “You don’t understand. Nobody does. If we don’t stop him now...”

“If we don’t stop him now, what?”

Alexis turns back to me, her eyes brimming with tears. “He’ll do it again. And again. And it’ll be our fault for not speaking up. I must stop him because the guilt has been eating away at me for over fifteen years.”

I reach out, nudging her arm. “Alexis, I—”

But before I can finish, she’s out of the car, striding towards the police station entrance. I sit there for a moment, torn between following her and driving away. Everything I thought I knew has turned upside down, and now I’m not sure which way is up anymore.

I close my eyes. As I sit there, paralysed by indecision, a memory surfaces. It’s from early in our relationship, a moment I almost forgot. Paul and I were at a birthday party, and I saw him talking to a young woman. There was something in his manner, a glint in his eye that upset me. As she walked away, I noticed how his eyes followed, looking her up and down. But when I asked him about it later, he laughed it off, made me feel silly for even noticing. Was that the first red flag I missed?

With a deep breath, I open the car door. As I walk towards the station, each step feels like I’m moving further away from the life I knew and towards an uncertain future. I catch up to Alexis at the entrance. She paces back and forth, her movements jerky and agitated. When she sees me, relief floods her face, followed by determination as her hands curl into fists.

“You’re doing the right thing,” she says, her voice urgent. “We have to stop him.”

I nod, still not convinced. “Let’s go.”

As we enter the station, the stillness of the lobby and reception desk contrasts with the turmoil in my mind. We approach the front desk, and Alexis speaks before I can gather my thoughts. “We need to report a crime. A historic crime. Multiple crimes. It’s about Paul Campbell.”

The officer behind the desk looks up, his expression neutral. “Alright, can you give me further details?”

As Alexis gesticulates wildly, throwing her arms in the air to push home her points, I spot the officer’s brow furrow in confusion.

As the officer leads us to an interview room, a peculiar sense of tranquillity washes over me. There’s no going back now. As we sit down, I catch Alexis’s eye. She nods, a silent encouragement. Despite my doubts and fears, I know I’m not alone in this. And for now, that has to be enough.

The officer who enters introduces himself as DC Thompson. His face is kind but serious as he takes a seat across from us. “Now, I understand you wish to make a serious allegation. Can you start from the beginning?”

I look at Alexis because I’m unsure of where to start. How do you sum up years of suspicion, of fear, of love turned to doubt?

“It’s about my husband, Paul Campbell. We... we think he’s been involved in very serious crimes.”

DC Thompson leans forward, his pen poised over his notebook. “What crimes are we talking about here?”

“Murder,” Alexis interjects, her voice hard. “We believe he’s responsible for at least two deaths, maybe more.”

The detective’s eyebrows shoot up, but he maintains his professional approach. “That’s a serious accusation. What evidence do you have to support this?”

As we recount our story, laying out the diary entries, the medication, the suspicious circumstances, the patterns we’ve noticed, I think it all must sound so pie in the sky and ludicrous. But as we talk, I notice something changing in Alexis. Her words become more frantic, her gestures wilder. She’s connecting dots that even I can’t see, spinning a web of suspicion that seems to encompass every aspect of Paul’s life.

“And then there’s his garden office,” she adds, her eyes wide. “He spends hours in there. I’ve stood watching from my rear window every night until the early hours. I’ve got times and dates noted. You must agree it makes little sense. It’s odd, right? It’s not normal. Who knows what he’s doing? Planning his next victim? Covering his tracks? He’s even left his garden office and slipped out of the garden in the dead of night. I followed him to see where he went but lost him. That’s odd, right?”

I stare at Alexis in bewilderment as the torrent of words tumble from her lips without a breath. Until this moment, I didn’t know she’d mounted a surveillance operation on Paul.

DC Thompson holds up a hand. “Ms Johnson, slow down. These are serious allegations. Do you hold any tangible evidence to support them?”

Alexis falters for a moment, then rallies. “The diary. Wendy’s diary. It’s all there, in black and white.”

The detective turns to me. “Mrs Campbell, is this true? Do you have this diary?”

“Yes. I take the diaries from my bag and slide them across the table.

“And you’re willing to turn it over to us as evidence?”

“Yes. Of course.”

As the interview continues, I watch Alexis. There’s a feverish gleam in her eye, a desperation in her voice that’s becoming more pronounced and worrying. It’s as if she’s unravelling before my eyes, all her carefully held secrets spilling out. Now I’m not so sure anymore. Not about Paul’s guilt or innocence, but about Alexis herself. What if she’s playing her own game? What if this obsession with proving Paul’s guilt has led her down a path of delusion? She sounds nuts and I wonder what the officer must think. There’s nothing in his face to suggest he believes us. And, based on Alexis’s behaviour, I wouldn’t.

I feel a strange mix of relief and dread as DC Thompson wraps up the interview, promising to look into it. As we leave the station, the bright sunlight feels harsh after the fluorescent lights of the interview room. Alexis is practically vibrating with nervous energy beside me.

“We did it, Lisa,” she says, her voice high and tight. “He can’t hide anymore.”

I nod, unable to share her enthusiasm. The weight of what we’ve done settles over me like a heavy blanket. I dread to think what will happen next and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it as we head off to see Wendy’s mother.

31

LISA

A DEEP SENSE of sadness engulfs me as I stand on Diane Stone’s doorstep. This isn’t easy for either of us, and despite everything we have to say, it can never take away Diane’s pain. The door opens, and the woman’s weary face appears. Her eyes, lined with years of grief and unanswered questions, widen at the sight of us. I wonder how many times she’s opened this door, hoping for news about her daughter, only to be disappointed.

“Mrs Stone, I’m Alexis. We spoke a while back. May we come in? This is Lisa Campbell. We’d like to talk to you about Wendy.”

She gazes at Alexis for ages and then me for what feels like an eternity, and I can see the internal struggle playing out on her face—the sense of hope warring with the fear of more pain.

“Come in, please.”

We follow her into the living room and take a seat when offered. The room feels loved and cosy. I wonder how many times Wendy curled up on the sofa on a Saturday night in front of the TV, perhaps in the same spot I’m sitting now.

“What’s this about?” Diane asks, perching on the edge of an armchair. Her hands twist in her lap. She looks so fragile and weak, as if a gust of wind could knock her over.

“We found Wendy’s diary,” I say.

Diane gasps, a hand covers her mouth. “How? Where? It’s been missing for years. The police searched everywhere.”

“It was in my husband’s possession. He’s Paul Campbell.” The weight of words presses upon me, laden with implications that I’m still struggling to accept. Even now, a piece of me wants to defend Paul, to find some innocent explanation. But I know there isn’t one that I can wholeheartedly stand behind.

“Paul? But why would he...?” Diane trails off and she shakes her head, as if trying to make sense of it all. “I don’t understand. Paul was always so kind, so helpful after Wendy... after she...”

“There’s more, Mrs Stone. The diary isn’t easy to read. Wendy was scared. Terrified, even.”

“Of what?” Diane leans forward, her eyes search my face.

“Of Paul. She wrote about the sense of being watched and controlled. She mentioned arguments, pressure to do things she didn’t want to do. It’s... it’s quite disturbing.”

Diane’s face crumples. Years of suppressed pain bubble to the surface. “Oh, my poor girl. My poor, sweet Wendy. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t know it was this bad. She always seemed so strong. So determined.”

“There’s something else,” Alexis interjects. “We found notes, lists of Wendy’s movements. It looked like Paul was monitoring or following her. Tracking her daily routine, her friends, even her work schedule. He wanted to know where she was day and night.”

Diane shakes her head in disbelief. “This can’t be happening. Wendy never said a word about any of this. How did I miss it? I’m her mother.”

“She was probably too scared,” I say as I stand from my seat and walk over to the armchair. Reaching out, I gently touch Diane’s hand. It’s cold and trembling under my fingers. “The diary entries... they’re heart-wrenching. She felt so alone, so trapped. She wrote about wanting to reach out but being afraid of the consequences or of upsetting Paul.”

Tears stream down Diane’s face. “Why did I stand by and let all this happen? What does it say about me?”

“It’s not your fault. Paul was very good at hiding his true identity. He fooled everyone, including me. Including Lisa.” Alexis says.

I nod, guilt washing over me. How many times did I defend Paul, praise him, love him, while he caused so much pain in the past to others? “We also found the same medication that showed up in Lottie’s toxicology report.”

The colour drains from Diane’s face. “You think he...?” She can’t finish the sentence.

“We can’t be certain,” I say, not wanting to jump to conclusions. “But it doesn’t look good. The presence of these pills, the diary, and the surveillance notes, paints a disturbing picture.”

Diane stands and paces the room. Her movements are jerky, agitated. “I always knew there was more to Wendy’s disappearance. She had so much to live for. But this... it’s worse than I ever imagined. It’s like a nightmare I can’t wake from. How can I live with myself?”

“We’ve been to the police and told them everything. About the diary, the pills, the notes. They are going to review the information.”

Diane looks at Alexis and nods. “Good. That horrible man.”

She pauses by a large photo of Wendy on the mantlepiece and touches the glass. “She had so much life in her. So many dreams. And he took it away. I’m sorry, darling, I should have been stronger.” She turns to face us. “There’s something I need to tell you both. Something I’ve told no one.”

Alexis and I exchange a glance, bracing for what’s to come.

“Paul... he didn’t simply hurt Wendy. He tore our whole family apart,” Diane continues, her words slow and filled with pain. “For years, he was driving a wedge between us. Little comments here and there, twisting our words, playing on our insecurities. I didn’t see it then, but now...”

“What do you mean, Mrs Stone?” I ask.

“He would tell Wendy I’d said things I never did, make her doubt my love for her. And to me, he’d hint that Wendy was keeping secrets, that she didn’t trust me anymore. That’s she fallen pregnant and had a termination without telling me. I was so confused, so hurt. I didn’t realise he was manipulating us both. How much of that was lies?”

I cover my eyes and let out a sigh. Hearing this only saddens me more.

“By the time Wendy disappeared,” Diane continues, her voice breaking, “I was so tangled in Paul’s web of lies that I didn’t realise I’d helped cover for him.”

Alexis gasps. “You what?”

Diane nods, tears stream down her cheeks. “I’m so ashamed. But he had me convinced that it was for the best, that Wendy had run away and needed space. I told the police the stories he fed me, backed up his alibis when they interviewed him. I was so deep in denial, so afraid...”

“But why?” I ask, struggling to comprehend. “Why would you do that?”

Diane’s eyes meet mine. “Nancy,” she whispers. “My younger daughter. Paul grew close to her, being her ‘friend’, her confidante. Being the sick, twisted father figure or dream boyfriend. Nancy adored him and was jealous of the attention Wendy received from Paul. Because of my fear of losing another child, I decided to go along with what Paul said and not rock the boat to ensure Nancy’s safety. I could protect her.”

The thought of the psychological torment Diane endured makes me feel sick.

“Oh, Mrs Stone,” I say, reaching out to take her hand. “I’m so sorry. What Paul did to you, to your whole family... it’s monstrous.”

Alexis nods, her face pale. “He didn’t just hurt Wendy. He poisoned your entire family dynamic. It’s a classic abuser tactic, but taken to such an extreme...”

Diane breaks down, her body shakes with sobs. “I failed her. I failed both my girls. How could I have been so weak? In the hours and days after Wendy went missing, Paul was here all the time, saying the right things, consoling Nancy. He cried with us, sat alone in Wendy’s room for hours and hugged her pillow because it smelt of her. Paul looked heartbroken. He kept saying that he couldn’t believe she’d disappeared.”

I move to sit beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders. “You weren’t weak, Mrs Stone. Paul is... he’s skilled at manipulation, either that, or mentally unwell. He fooled everyone, including me.”

“But I’m her mother,” Diane wails. “My job was to protect both of them. Instead, I became complicit in hiding the truth about what happened in my daughter’s life.”

The room falls silent save for Diane’s sobs.

Diane wipes her eyes. “I’ve wanted to tell someone for so long. I was so afraid of what people might think, of what might happen to Nancy. But I can’t live with the guilt anymore. Wendy deserves justice.”

I squeeze her hand. “And she’ll get it. We’ll make sure of it.”

As we prepare to leave, the weight of Diane’s confession hangs heavy in the air. The depth of Paul’s manipulation, the way he corrupted an entire family, is beyond anything I could have imagined. I can’t shake the image of Diane’s devastated face, the sound of her heart-wrenching sobs.

“We need to stop him Alexis and make sure he never does this to anyone else.”

“We will, Lisa. We will.”

32

LISA

WE COME BACK TO MINE, both weary and drained. The visit to Wendy’s mum left both of us reeling, our minds struggling to process everything we’ve learned. I go through the motions of making tea, my hand loosely holding the kettle as I fill it up. The familiar routine feels oddly comforting, a small slice of normality after everything I’ve been through in recent days. The clink of mugs and the bubbling of the kettle are almost soothing, anchoring me in the present.

“What do you think the police will do?” The words hang in the air. I think about Paul being arrested, our neighbours watching, the scandal that would follow. It’s almost too much to bear.

Alexis shakes her head, her eyes distant as she stares through the rear doors to our garden beyond. She looks as exhausted as I feel. “I don’t know. Is it too late? Will they take us seriously?”

“God, I hope so. After everything...” I trail off, unable to finish the thought. The enormity of what we’ve done and set in motion overwhelms me.

Alexis shrugs. “They have to. There’s too much evidence to ignore. The diaries, the pills, the surveillance notes. It all points to Paul. They can’t brush this under the rug. It’s whether they can make anything stick. I can’t imagine Paul holding up his hands in surrender.”

We fall silent, sipping our tea. The quiet is oppressive, but I strain to hear something, anything, to break the silence. I too stare at the lush green garden. With double glazed doors, I can’t even hear the soothing sounds of birds chirping in the trees, or the rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze nudges the branches. Then I hear it. A noise. Coming from within the house. Did I imagine it? I strain to pin point it’s source. I hear it again.

The basement. Rats?

It’s faint, barely audible, but unmistakable. A thud followed by what sounds like shuffling.

I look at Alexis. She looks up from her mug. We freeze, eyes locked. My breath quickens. I grip my mug tight as fear spreads through me.

“Did you lock the doors?” Alexis whispers, her face pale. Her eyes dart to the kitchen door, as if expecting someone to burst through at any moment.

I nod. “Front and back. And nobody has broken any windows. I checked when we came in. Force of habit.”

“Then who...?” Alexis doesn’t finish the question. We both know there’s only one person it could be. The realisation sends a wave of panic through me. We creep towards the basement door, every step feeling like it’s taking ages. I reach for the handle, my palm clammy with sweat. The thought crosses my mind to call the police, but what would I say? “My husband is in the basement? Well I think it’s him, I haven’t checked yet!” or “My husband who I’ve reported to the police might be in our basement!”

“Shall I call the police?” I whisper.

Alexis shakes her head. Her jaw stiffens as she nudges me in the back.

The stairs creak as we descend, giving us away. Each sound feels amplified in the tense silence, a countdown to confrontation. The air grows cooler as we move deeper into the basement, and I catch a whiff of that distinct musty scent that always lingers down here. The light’s on, casting long shadows across the cluttered space. Boxes loom into view, their contents having already revealed hidden secrets. And there, emerging from the gloom like a figure from a nightmare, is Paul.

He’s frantic, rifling through boxes, papers strewn across the floor. The basement looks like a tornado of biblical proportions has hit it. Books are scattered, old photo albums lay open, their contents spilling out. Old clothes lay in tangled heaps. Paul doesn’t notice our presence at first, so intent is he on his search, that he mumbles incoherently. They sound like the rantings of a mad man.

“Where are they?” he demands, not even looking at us. His voice is rough, desperate. I’ve never heard him sound like this before. “The diaries, the notebooks. I need them. They’re mine. No one else’s. Mine, you hear. My life. I need them to make sense. To prove I’m not mad. It’s love. I loved them. I was making sure they were safe. Protection. They’re not where I left them.” His voice rises in pitch with each word.

“Why?” Alexis’s voice is hard, cutting through the tension like a knife. She stands tall, arms crossed, determination tightening her features. “Trying to get rid of the evidence?”

Paul whirls to face us, his eyes wild. For a moment, I don’t recognise him. This isn’t the man I married. This is someone else. His hair stands dishevelled, and his clothes are crumpled. He has a wild, cornered look on his face.

“No!” he shouts, his voice echoes in the confined space. I flinch at the volume, at the raw emotion in his voice. “You don’t understand. I need to prove I’m innocent. This is all a mistake, a misunderstanding. If I can find those diaries, I can explain everything.”

“It’s too late,” I say, my voice shakes despite my efforts to stay calm. I plant a hand on the wall for support, feeling like I might collapse at any moment. “The police know everything.”

Paul’s face contorts with rage, then crumples into something like despair. The transformation is startling, like watching a mask slip away. “You went to the police? How could you? After everything we’ve been through? I thought you loved me. I thought you trusted me.”

His words hit me like a physical blow. I stagger back, tears pricking at my eyes. The hurt in his voice is raw, and for a moment, I almost forget why we’re here. Almost. “How could I not? After what we found out about Lottie, Wendy, April... Paul, they’re dead. Or missing. And you... you’re connected to all of them. How can you explain that?”

“I never hurt them!” Paul shouts, his voice breaking. He looks so lost, so desperate, that I almost believe him. He moves closer to me, hands outstretched pleadingly. “I swear, I never gave Lottie any medication. I didn’t hurt any of them! Believe me, Lisa. Please.”

“But they all came to harm,” Alexis counters in an aggressive tone. She moves to position herself between Paul and me. “Bit of a coincidence? Three women, all connected to you, all met tragic ends. What are the odds, Paul?”

Paul tugs at his t-shirt, his eyes darting between us. He looks cornered, trapped. The basement now feels claustrophobic, the walls inching towards us from all sides. “I know how it looks. I’m not stupid. But I swear, I would never... Lisa, please. You know me. You know I could never do something like that. We’ve built a life together. How can you throw that away based on suspicion?”

“Don’t listen to him.” Alexis growls and grabs my arm. Her grip is tight, grounding me in the moment. “He’s manipulating you, like he did with all the others. This is what he does. He twists things, makes you doubt yourself. Remember what we found, what we know. He needs to pay.”

Paul takes another step towards me, his hand outstretched. There’s something in his eyes, a desperation that scares me. “Lisa, please. I love you. I’ve only ever loved you. You’re the only one who matters. The others... they were mistakes, complications. But you, you’re my life. I’m not a bad person, just a bit intense sometimes. I don’t like losing those I love, so I do things to protect them. The notes are my way of checking to make sure there’s no threat in their lives. Believe me. Give me a chance to explain.”

I back away, tears streaming down my face. The man before me is a stranger, yet achingly familiar. It’s Paul, but not Paul. The dissonance is dizzying. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” I choke out. “I never knew you at all. You kept too many secrets, and I’m only discovering them now.”

“We should go,” Alexis says, tugging at my arm. Her voice is gentle but firm. “We’ve said all we need to say. Let the police handle it from here. It’s not safe.”

As we turn to leave, he calls out one last time with a broken, pleading voice. It’s the voice of a man who’s lost everything. “Lisa, please. Don’t do this. Don’t throw everything away. Please give me a chance to explain. I’m begging you.”

My heart breaks as I pause at the foot of the stairs. Part of me wants to turn back, to hear him out. The part that still loves him, still wants to believe in the life we built. But the rational part of my brain, the part that’s seen the evidence, knows better.

Without turning around, I say, “I’m sorry, Paul.” I can’t bear to see his face. If I were to look into his eyes, I’m afraid of what I might do. “But I can’t unsee what I’ve seen. I can’t forget what I’ve heard. It’s over. Whatever explanation you have... it’s too late.”

33

LISA

WE’RE HALFWAY up the basement stairs, Alexis a step behind me, when Paul’s voice makes me jump.

“Please, Lisa, wait. Let me explain. You’ve got it all wrong.”

I turn on the step. “We haven’t Paul. I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes.”

Paul brings his hands together as if to pray. “It’s not how it looks. I haven’t killed anyone. I swear. You need to believe me.”

“It’s exactly how it looks, Paul. I really wish it wasn’t the case and this was a horrid dream, but there’s no other explanation.”

“There is.” Paul takes a step towards us, his palms still pressed together.

Tears sting my eyes. Paul, our marriage, our life together, even this house, all seem to be crumbling away in front of me.

“There isn’t, Paul. You murdered three women. What scares me is, were there others? Others who fell into your trap of coercion and control, and when they tried to leave or question you, you killed them. Who are you Paul?”

Paul shakes his head. “I’m your husband, the same Paul you fell in love with.”

“No. You’re not!” I shout.

Alexis pokes me in the back. I glance at her before turning to head up the stairs.

“Stop!” Paul yells.

We freeze, my foot hovering over the next step. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. There’s something in his tone that scares me more than any shouting could. I can feel Alexis tense beside me.

“I know what you’ve been doing. Prying into my life, sneaking around behind my back. Did you truly believe I wouldn’t discover it?” Paul continues. His words are measured and precise.

I turn on my heels. Paul’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, his face half in shadow. But I can see his eyes, and they’re blazing with fury.

“What are you talking about?” Alexis asks.

Paul’s laugh is humourless, a harsh bark that echoes in the confined space. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you, Alexis. You are both on video.”

“What?” I say.

“That’s right. My garden office. Ring any bells.”

Alexis gasps beside me. I can’t breathe. How? We were so careful. We checked for cameras, made sure no one was around. Paul wasn’t at home. My mind races, trying to figure out where we slipped up. Did we miss something?

As if reading my mind, Paul continues with a smile. “I set up motion sensing cameras both outside and inside my cabin. I always leave my computer and monitor on. The webcam’s set to record when it detects motion. Neat little security feature, don’t you think?” There’s a cruel satisfaction in his voice, like a cat that’s cornered a mouse. He’s relishing our discomfort, our fear.

He pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times. The blue glow illuminates his face, casting eerie shadows that make him look almost ghostly. Then he holds it up, and I see us. Me and Alexis approaching his office, us inside Paul’s office, rifling through his drawers. The image is clear, unmistakable. There’s no denying it. I watch myself on the tiny screen, my face a mask of concentration as I search through Paul’s belongings. The betrayal of trust is right there in high definition.

“I don’t like people prying into my things,” Paul says. His voice is quiet now, almost conversational, but there’s an undercurrent of menace that makes my blood run cold. “I really don’t like it at all. In fact, you could say it’s one of my pet peeves. I told you that my office was off bounds. But I’ll give you credit for your perseverance. And I don’t like it when people annoy me.”

The threat is implicit, hanging in the air between us. I think of the women in Paul’s life. Is this how it started for them, too? The more they tried to uncover about their perfect boyfriend, the more danger it put them in?

“Paul,” I start, but he cuts me off as hand slices through the air, and I flinch.

“Save it. I’m not interested in your excuses.” He takes a step towards the stairs. “What I want to know is, what were you looking for? What do you think you know?”

Alexis straightens beside me, defiant. I can feel her gathering her courage, steeling herself for confrontation. “We know what you did.”

Paul’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenches. A muscle twitches in his cheek, the only sign of his tightly controlled rage. “You know nothing and are jumping to conclusions based on half-truths and misunderstandings. You’re seeing monsters where there are only shadows.”

“Then explain it to us. Help us understand. If we’re wrong, tell us why. Make us see,” I plead.

For a moment, I think I see a flicker of something in Paul’s eyes—regret, maybe? Pain? But then it’s gone, like shutters coming down.

“I don’t owe you any explanations,” he says, each word dripping with disdain. “Things aren’t how they seem, Lisa. I wish you could have seen that from the start. You need to stop this now, or …”

“You can’t threaten us. We’ve been to see the police,” Alexis says.

“Did you tell them you broke into my office? Twice? That you’ve been stalking me and following me late at night. Or that you’ve spent hours during the nights watching me from your window? Oh, yes, I’ve seen you.” He laughs. “Go ahead. See how that works out for you. Think they’ll take your claims as credible?”

On the face of it, his threats and accusations sting, but my actions weren’t illegal. I’ve done nothing wrong other than search for answers. This a property we share together, and that includes his garden office. I’m not backing down now.

As Paul’s words hang in the air, a cold realization dawns on me. I might not just be hunting down the truth, but cornering a monster.

34

LISA

“CALL THE POLICE,” Alexis urges as she pushes me up the stairs, her eyes never leaving Paul. She checks her phone and then stuffs it into her back pocket. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on him. There might be other incriminating evidence down here that we’ve not found and can’t let him destroy it.”

I hesitate, my hand grips the banister so hard the tips of my fingers burn. “I don’t know if I can...”

“Lisa, go. Now.” Alexis’s tone is forceful. Her face is set, determined, but I can see fear flickering in her eyes. It’s that fear, more than anything, that spurs me into action.

I turn to leave, my legs shaking like they might give out at any moment. But a commotion breaks out behind me. I spin around, almost losing my balance on the narrow staircase.

Paul lunges at Alexis, his face contorted with rage, eyes are wild, his teeth bared in a snarl. “You’re not going anywhere!” he shouts, his voice echoing off the basement walls. The sound reverberates through me, chilling me to the bone.

“Run!” Alexis screams.

I scramble up the stairs, my throat tight as I gasp for air. Behind me, I hear the sounds of a struggle, things crashing to the floor. Grunts of exertion, the thud of bodies colliding. A cry of pain, though I can’t tell who it’s from. I burst into the hallway and head for the door. My hands shake as I fumble with my phone hoping I have a signal. The screen blurs before my eyes, and I have to blink hard to focus. My fingers hover over the screen. Indecision paralyses me. As I open the front door, a scream rips from my throat. Charles is there on the doorstep, hand raised as if about to ring the doorbell. I don’t have time to process why he’s here, but instead, grab his arm and haul him in.

“Paul, he’s gone mad. He’s attacking Alexis in the basement!”

“Shit!” Charles yells as he races past me.

I follow him back to the basement, his bulk filling the narrow stairway. The scene that greets us is one of utter chaos. Paul and Alexis are grappling, both breathing hard. There’s a bruise forming on Alexis’s cheek, angry and purple. Paul’s lip is bleeding, a thin trickle of red running down his chin. They’re locked in a desperate struggle, neither willing to give ground.

“Stop it! Please, just stop!” But they don’t notice me, locked in their brutal battle as Charles launches himself between Paul and Alexis, using his size to separate them. His face is grim, determined.

“That’s enough!” he bellows, his voice echoing in the confined space. The authority in his tone cuts through the tension. “Paul, mate, calm down. This isn’t the way.” He’s struggling to hold Paul back, muscles straining with the effort.

Paul struggles against Charles’s grip, his eyes wild. Spittle flies from his mouth as he shouts, “Let me go! You don’t understand. She’s ruining everything! She’s destroying my life!” He’s like a man possessed, barely recognisable as the husband I thought I knew.

“Who, Lisa?” Charles asks, confusion clear on his face. He looks between us, trying to make sense of the situation. His gaze lingers on me, concern clear in his eyes.

“No,” Paul spits, glaring at Alexis with such venom my jaw drops in shock. “Her. She’s not who you think she is. Tell her, Alexis. Tell her how long you’ve really known me. I told you not to come here, but you didn’t listen.”

Alexis pales, shaking her head. “Paul, I told you I wouldn’t drop it!”

“What’s he talking about?” I ask, turning to face Alexis.

“Go on. Tell my wife how we had sex behind Lottie’s back. Tell her how you’ve been lying this whole time about why you’re here.”

His words are like barbs, each one cutting deeper into my skin. I stagger back and grip the banister for support. “Is this true?” I whisper, not sure I want to hear the answer.

Alexis’s face crumples, tears fill her eyes. “Lisa, I... I’m so sorry. It was a mistake. One stupid, horrible mistake and I’ve felt the guilt every day since. I never meant for any of this to happen. Believe me. I was drunk, and Paul... he took advantage of that.”

“You’re not here for justice for Lottie or the others,” Paul snarls, still struggling against Charles’s iron grip. His words come out in a rush, laden with anger and accusation. “You’re here out of guilt. Your vendetta against me is you trying to ease your conscience for betraying your best friend. You’re pathetic, Alexis. A drunken slag who couldn’t say no! You couldn’t stand that Lottie had found happiness, could you? Like you’re attempting to destroy my life now, you had to destroy it.”

“You came on to me!” Alexis lets out a scream of pure rage, a sound so primal it makes me flinch. Before anyone can react, she launches herself at Paul. Her fists fly, connecting with Paul’s face and chest in a flurry of blows. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes in the small space.

Paul stumbles back under the onslaught, his head connecting with the wall with a sickening thud. The sound echoes in the basement, followed by a moment of terrible silence. He crumples to the ground, dazed and conscious, a marionette with its strings cut.

“Paul!” I cry, rushing to his side. I kneel beside him on the cold concrete floor. “Paul, can you hear me? Call for an ambulance!” I scream.

I look up at Alexis. She’s frozen in place, horror etched on her face. Her hands, which moments ago were weapons, now hang limp at her sides. “I didn’t mean... I just... Oh God, what have I done?” Her voice is soft, shock laced in every word.

But I can’t bear to hear her excuses. The betrayal cuts deep, leaving me raw and exposed. I thought we were in this together, united by a common cause. But it was all built on lies, a house of cards that’s come crashing down around us. “I trusted you,” I whisper, my voice shaking as anger and confusion swirl together in a toxic mix that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

35

LISA

I KNEEL BESIDE PAUL, my mind reeling. Alexis sobs by the stairs, her earlier rage replaced by horror at what she’s done. The atmosphere is tense, heavy with secrets and lies.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I whisper, unable to look at her. “Charles, please, call for an ambulance.”

“We don’t need to call anyone,” He replies coldly.

“What? Charles, call now! Paul could die!”

A low chuckle breaks the tense silence. I raise my gaze to see Charles, his face twisted in a smile.

“Oh, Lisa. If only you knew how misplaced that trust was.”

“What are you talking about?”

Charles moves closer, looming over us. “It wasn’t Paul. It was never Paul.”

“What wasn’t Paul?” I narrow my eyes as confusion clouds my thinking.

“Lottie. April. Wendy. All of them. It was me.”

The words make little sense at first. I shake my head, trying to clear it. “No, that’s not... You can’t mean...”

“Oh, but I do. Your darling husband is innocent. Well, mostly. He’s still an insecure, controlling, obsessive bastard. Always has been, But a killer? He doesn’t have it in him. That’s all me.”

Paul stirs beside me and groans. I grip his hand, anchoring myself as the room seems to spin.

“Why?” It’s all I can say.

Charles paces, his eyes gleam with a manic energy. “Why? Because he had everything. Always. Since uni, it was Paul this, Paul that. Mr Popular. Mr Perfect. And the women... God, they flocked to him like moths to a flame.”

“So you killed them? Out of jealousy?”

He laughs, the sound harsh and bitter. “Not at first. I wanted to show them there were better options. That not all men were like Paul. But they didn’t want me. Even after they’d seen Paul’s true colours, and his obsessive and controlling nature, they weren’t interested. As soon as they questioned or explored his background, Paul would end it with them. He needed to be in control. They’d be heartbroken, but they still threw my offers back in my face.”

Alexis speaks up, her voice hoarse. “Lottie... did you...?”

Charles nods. “Sweet, naïve Lottie. She was so eager to confide in me about her troubles with Paul. Those times when she cried on my shoulder, metaphorically speaking of course. I tried to tell her I’d be there for her. She was beautiful, funny, cute. What more could a man want? I told her I would treat her so much better than Paul, but she brushed me off. Silly little girl. Too consumed by her own grief. The more she drowned her sorrows and searched for answers at the bottom of a wine bottle, the easier it was to slip her the pills. To make it appear like she couldn’t handle the pressure.”

“You bastard,” Alexis sobs.

“And the others?” I ask, needing to know but dreading the answer.

“April was an accident. I followed Paul there. He told me about their weekend. I watched from afar as they argued. Pretty heated to be fair. April screamed at him. Paul shoved her. She slapped him and Paul stormed off. I watched as she stood close to the edge, arms wrapped across her chest, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. I arrived. Of course, she was surprised and confused by my presence. I guess she hoped it was Paul returning. I saw it in her eyes.” Charles stops for a moment, his eyes fixed on the floor as if recalling the scene play out.

He carries on. “I tried to tell her that Paul was no good for her and then I told her I was in love with her. But she didn’t feel the same. We argued on the clifftop. She was going to go back to Paul. Can you believe it? I grabbed her, tried to make her see reason. Tried to pull her into an embrace. She pushed back from me and slipped. Lost her footing as she fell back.” Charles falls silent for a moment; a dark shadow spreads across his face.

He shrugs, as if discussing the weather rather than a woman’s death. It scares me how he’s so calm explaining everything, while my insides are twisting in agony and fear. I can’t believe I’m down here listening to this and surrounded by three people who all have their own secrets and lies.

“Wendy... she fought. Screamed. I hadn’t planned it, but once I started... well, I couldn’t stop myself. Something inside took over. She didn’t suffer for long. I left it so you and everyone would think that she simply disappeared.”

Paul struggles to sit up and reaches for the back of his head. He winces from the touch. “Charles... how could you? I thought you were my friend.”

“Friend?” Charles spits the word. “I lived in your shadow for years. Watched you get everything I ever wanted. And even when these women saw what you were, they still chose you. Every. Single. Time.”

The realisation hits me like a physical blow. “You framed Paul. All of this... the evidence, the diaries...”

Charles nods, a sick pride in his eyes. “Easy when I’m here so often. Easy enough to sneak down here. Clever, wasn’t it? I knew someone would start digging. Alexis here played right into my hands. And you, Lisa... oh, you were perfect. The loving wife uncovering her husband’s dark past. It would have been the final nail in Paul’s coffin.”

“You won’t get away with this,” I say, but the words sound hollow even to my ears.

Charles smiles, reaching into his pocket. “I already have.”

The glint of metal makes my blood run cold. A scalpel. What else? He probably has a box of them at his surgery.

“Now,” he says, his voice eerily calm. “The question is, how does this story end?”

Silence falls over the basement, broken only by our ragged breathing. My mind races, trying to make sense of this new reality. All this time, we were chasing shadows, pointing fingers at the wrong man. And the real monster was right in front of us, hiding behind a mask of friendship.

“It doesn’t have to end like this, Charles,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You can still walk away. Do the right thing. Turn yourself in.”

He laughs, the sound echoing off the brick walls. “Turn myself in? After all the work I’ve put into this? No, I don’t think so.”

Paul groans beside me, struggling to focus. “Why, Charles? We were friends. Brothers, almost.”

“Brothers?” Charles sneers. “Is that what you thought? You never saw me as an equal. I was always your sidekick, your less attractive, less successful friend. Do you know what that’s like?”

“I never meant to make you feel that way,” Paul mumbles.

“Of course you didn’t. Everything came easy to you. The career, the women, the perfect life. While I scraped by, always in your shadow.”

Alexis speaks up. “So, you killed innocent women for what? Prove a point?”

Charles shifts his gaze towards her, his eyes cold. “You’re one to talk about innocence, aren’t you, Alexis? Shagging your best friend’s boyfriend. Some friend you were.”

“I made a mistake,” Alexis says. “But I didn’t kill anyone.”

“No, you drove Lottie into my arms. She was so upset after finding out about you two. It was almost too easy.”

Alexis gasps as her eyes widen in disbelief. “I never told her.”

“No, Alexis, you didn’t. But I did, after Paul admitted it.”

“And the trophies?” I ask, remembering the scarf, the earrings, the necklace.

Charles shrugs. “Paul. All Paul. No malice behind them. He wanted a keepsake of his girlfriends. If it had been me, I would have kept their underwear. Used… underwear.” He rolls his eyes and lets out a deep sigh.

I feel sick as I listen to Charles.

The level of manipulation is staggering. I look at Paul, seeing the shock and betrayal written across his face. Despite everything, my heart aches for him. He may not be a killer, but he’s lost his best friend, his reputation, and his marriage all in one fell swoop.

“What now, Charles?” I ask, trying to buy time, though for what, I’m not sure. “You can’t kill us all and expect to get away with it.”

He tilts his head, considering. “Can’t I? It would be easy enough to make it appear like a murder-suicide. Paul, driven mad by the revelation of his crimes, killed his wife and the nosy neighbour before turning the knife on himself. Best friend turns up and discovers the tragic scene. It’s almost poetic, don’t you think?”

“You’re insane,” Alexis spits.

“Maybe,” Charles shrugs. “But I’m also the one holding the knife. I suggest you all shut up.”

As he paces, muttering to himself, I catch Paul’s eye. Slowly, imperceptibly, he shifts his weight, preparing to move but slumps to the floor again. My eyes widen in fear, praying Charles doesn’t notice.

“You know,” Charles says, turning back to me. “I almost wish it was different. In another life, maybe we could have—”

I close my eyes and look away.

36

LISA

I FEEL SICK; the pieces falling into place. “The diary... Wendy’s diary.”

I open my eyes and stare at Charles in disbelief. The truth hits me like a sledgehammer again—I still can’t believe we’ve been chasing the wrong man all along. Charles. The friend. The confidante orchestrated everything, starting fifteen years ago. He’s the one who’s been here all along, waiting and watching us tear ourselves apart.

“You’re the ‘Him’ from Wendy’s diary,” I whisper, the realisation leaves me frozen in shock. My mind races, recalling every interaction we’ve had with Charles, every moment he was there, subtly guiding our suspicions towards Paul. The friendly advice, the concerned looks, the seemingly innocent questions—it was all part of his manipulative game.

Charles nods, a twisted smile playing on his lips. “Clever girl. I’ve been desperate to find that diary. When you two dug it up, I thought I could destroy it. It’s why I’m here.”

“Too late. We handed it to the police,” I spit, a surge of defiance rising in me despite the fear coursing through my veins.

His face contorts with rage. “You stupid bitches! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” His hands clench into fists, and for a moment, I think he might lunge at me. I brace myself, ready to defend against an attack that doesn’t come.

Alexis, battered but defiant, lets out a harsh laugh. “Looks like your perfect plan’s falling apart, Charles. How’s it feel to be the one backed into a corner?” Her voice is raw, filled with a mixture of triumph and fear.

Charles’s eyes snap to her, filled with a fury that makes me recoil. In an instant, he’s across the room, his hands wrapping around Alexis’s throat. I scream, frozen in horror as Alexis struggles against him, her face turning red, then purple as she gasps for air.

“Shall I tell you something, Alexis?” Charles hisses, his face inches from hers. “Lottie suspected about you and Paul. She confided in me. Said she noticed how quiet you were after that night at the Pinnacle. How you and Paul couldn’t even look at each other. She begged me not to confront you. Said she couldn’t bear it if her best friend had betrayed her.”

Alexis goes limp in his grasp, shock written across her face. Her eyes widen, filled with a mix of disbelief and dawning horror. I can see the memories flooding back, the guilt she’s carried all these years threatening to overwhelm her.

“That’s right,” Charles continues. “You destroyed your best friend and with Paul’s admission, I had what I needed. I helped her end the pain. You killed Lottie as surely as if you’d slipped her those pills yourself.”

Something snaps in Alexis. A primal scream punctures the air as she lashes out, her nails raking across Charles’s face. He staggers back, blood streaming from the scratches, momentarily stunned.

“You bastard!” Alexis shrieks, launching herself at him again. Her eyes are wild, filled with a mixture of rage and despair. “You’re lying! Lottie would never—”

Charles recovers, dodging her attack with a grace that surprises me. His fist connects with her temple, the sound of the impact making me flinch. Alexis’s head snaps back, and she hits the ground hard. A sickening crack echoes through the basement as her head meets the concrete floor.

“Alexis!” I cry out, finding my voice. I start towards her, but Charles’s menacing glare stops me in my tracks, waving his scalpel in my direction.

She struggles to her feet, blood matting her hair. Her eyes are unfocused, glazed with pain. She lurches towards the stairs, her movements unsteady.

Charles is on her in an instant, grabbing her ankle as she tries to climb. “Oh no, you don’t,” he snarls, his voice unrecognisable as a human.

They grapple on the stairs, a tangle of limbs and fury. I watch in horror, unable to intervene, as Alexis loses her balance. Time seems to slow as she tumbles down the steps, her body twisting in the air before landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom, unmoving.

Charles descends, his eyes fixed on Alexis’s still form. There’s a calmness to him now that’s more terrifying than his rage. “Such a waste,” he murmurs, almost tenderly. “But then, you always were more trouble than you were worth.”

He reaches for her, ready to run the scalpel across her throat, and something in me snaps. The paralysis that’s held me breaks. I reach for an old, rusty iron poker leaning against the stairs. It’s heavy in my hands, cool metal against my sweating palms. I’ve never considered myself a violent person, but at this moment, I’m filled with rage.

“Charles!” I shout, wanting to see the whites of his eyes.

He turns. Surprised, his jaw drops. I don’t give him time to react. The poker arcs through the air, my whole body behind the swing. It connects with the side of his head with a sickening thud. Charles crumples to the ground, blood pooling beneath him, spreading across the concrete like a macabre inkblot.

The poker clatters from my grip. I stare at Charles’s motionless body, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. What have I done? Is he dead? The thought should horrify me, but all I feel is a numb sort of relief, chased by a wave of guilt.

I stumble towards Alexis and drop to my knees. She’s breathing, but her eyes are closed. A nasty gash on her forehead oozes blood, matting her hair and staining the concrete beneath her. Her phone lies beside her, the broken glass screen resembling a spider’s web.

“Alexis,” I whisper, shaking her shoulder. “Alexis, wake up.”

She doesn’t stir. I look between her and Charles, panic rising in my throat, threatening to choke me. What do I do now? Call an ambulance? The police? How do I even explain this mess?

As the reality of what’s happened sinks in, I sink to the floor, my back against the cold basement wall. A soft groan pulls me from my thoughts. Alexis stirs, her eyelids fluttering as she regains consciousness.

I reach for my phone stuffed in my pocket and swipe at the screen. One bar of signal, which drops in and out. Dialling 999, my eyes fall on Charles’s prone form. Is he dead? I don’t know. I didn’t know what else to do. In a garbled and frantic state, I make a call to the ambulance services before hanging up.

“Help will be here soon,”

Alexis nods, her gaze distant. “Lottie,” she whispers, her voice filled with pain. “Did she know?”

“I’m not sure, Alexis. Charles could be lying. He’s manipulated all of us from the start.” But even as I say it, I can see the doubt in her eyes, the guilt that’s eating her alive.

A solitary tear squeezes from the corner of her eye. “But what if it’s true? What if I destroyed her?” The anguish in her voice is heart-wrenching.

Before I can respond, a noise from upstairs makes us both freeze. Sirens. Lots of sirens. Getting closer. Louder.

Footsteps. Coming closer.

“Lisa? What…” Paul’s voice calls out. His words cut off abruptly as he takes in the scene before him. Me, crouched next to a bloodied Alexis. Charles, motionless on the floor, lying in a pool of his own blood. The iron poker lying where I dropped it, its end-stained red.

“Oh my God,” Paul groans. “What have you done? Is he...”

“I don’t know.”

As the basement door bursts open and police officers flood in, their shouts fill the space. The truth is out. The nightmare is over. However, I know that this is merely the start of a fresh chapter.

37

LISA

I STAND on the pavement outside my house watching the chaos unfold around me. Police cars line the street, their lights flashing in an eerie rhythm. All our neighbours emerge to gawk, whisper, and point. I never expected to witness a scene like this outside my home. But as I glance at them, my body seems disconnected, my mind operating on autopilot.

Mrs Patel from number 23 catches my eye. She looks away, but not before I see the mix of pity and morbid curiosity on her face. I want to scream at her, at all of them. Don’t they have anything better to do? But I remain silent, my throat tight with unspoken words.

Across the street, the Butlers gather on their front lawn, their faces displaying a mix of shock and disbelief. I remember how Paul used to stare at their house, his fingers twitching. Was he planning something for them too? The thought makes me shudder.

Paul sits in the back of an ambulance, a paramedic tending to him. I can’t bring myself to go over there. Is this the man I’ve shared my life with? Reflecting on our wedding day, I remember how dashing he appeared in his navy suit, how his eyes glowed with affection as he spoke his vows, and the excitement that filled me as my stomach fluttered. Was it all a lie? Every moment, every tender touch, every whispered “I love you”—was it all part of his manipulation?

Another ambulance has driven off with Alexis inside. As they wheeled her in, she called out to me, her voice desperate and pleading.

“Lisa, please! Listen to me!”

I almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic she sounded. I turned away, unable to look at her. Hatred and betrayal overwhelm me. Her words echo in my head, a constant reminder of her deception. How could she do this to me? To us? She came here with one aim in mind. To destroy Paul, or worse.

I recall the day Alexis moved in next door. How excited I was at the possibility of gaining a new friend, someone who shared my interests. We bonded over art and coffee, shared secrets and dreams. And all the while, she was hiding this massive secret. Did she laugh at me behind my back? Did she and Paul share knowing glances when I wasn’t looking?

They took Charles away moments ago in another ambulance. His injuries looked serious and needed further examination. I try not to think about what I did to him. The weight of the iron poker in my hands, the sickening thud as it connected—these memories threaten to overwhelm me if I dwell on them too long. The sight of blood makes me queasy. But in that moment, in the basement, something in me snapped. I saw Charles lunging for Alexis, and I reacted. Does that make me as bad as them? Or was it justified? Self-defence? The lines seem so blurry now.

I have already provided a brief statement to DC Thompson. He’s taking it seriously now. Funny how things change when the truth comes out. His face was grim as I recounted the events in the basement, each revelation seeming to age him before my eyes. I’m sure the prospect of opening up a few cold cases doesn’t appeal to him.

“Mrs Campbell,” he had said, “I want you to know that we’ll be investigating and leave no stone unturned.”

I nodded, numb. What else could I do? The words spilled out of me. The discovery of the diaries, arguing with Paul, Charles’s confession. It all seemed so surreal, like I was describing the plot of a movie rather than events from my life.

I stand at the doors of Paul’s ambulance. As I stare at him, I realise I feel nothing. No anger, no sadness, no sense of loss. Only a numbing void. It feels as though someone has drained away all my emotions, leaving me as a hollow shell.

“Lisa, please,” Paul says. There’s a desperation in his eyes as his voice breaks. “I never planned for any of this to happen.”

I tut and step back. “Don’t. Just don’t. You lied to me. You went behind my back. And when all I asked for was the truth, you threatened me!”

“But you don’t understand. I love you. Everything I did, I did for us.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand. And I don’t want to. I can’t be with someone like you, Paul. You’re not the man I married. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“Lisa, wait…”

The paramedic cuts him off. “Time to go buddy.” He closes the ambulance doors. I watch as it drives away. Is this the last time I’ll see him? The idea should devastate me, but I feel nothing.

I’m left standing alone in the street, arms wrapped around myself. The neighbours are still watching, but I barely notice them. I’ve never felt so isolated, so alone. Their whispers reach me in fragments—‘always seemed so normal’, ‘can you imagine?’, ‘poor Lisa’. I want to scream at them; to tell them they know nothing, but I stay silent. They do not know what’s happened, what I’ve been through.

We hosted dinner parties and summer barbecues, invited everyone round for Christmas drinks. All those times we played the perfect couple, the envy of the neighbourhood. Was it all a performance that I was not privy to?

A police officer approaches me. His face is kind, but there’s a wariness in his eyes. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. A victim? A suspect? Both?

“Mrs Campbell? We’re going to need you to come down to the station for a formal statement. Are you up to it?”

I nod. As I follow him to the police car. How did I end up here, in this nightmare? Just a few weeks ago, I believed I had the perfect life—a loving husband, a beautiful home, and a successful career. Now it’s all turned to shit. I watch over my shoulder as my house disappears. It feels like I’m leaving behind more than a house. I’m leaving behind the life I thought I understood. I’m leaving behind a part of me. I shut my eyes and rest my head on the window pane. The gentle hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the police radio are the only sounds breaking the silence. I try to process everything that’s happened, but my thoughts are a jumbled mess.

Alexis’s betrayal cuts deep. We were friends and allies in uncovering the truth. But she had her own secrets, her own agenda. The memory of her confession in the basement saddens me. She held that secret all this time while pretending to help me? I remember all the times we sat in that cafe, plotting and planning. How earnest she seemed, how determined to uncover the truth. Was it all an act? Or was she trying to make amends for her past mistakes? And does it even matter now? Probably not. I couldn’t care a shit about her.

And Paul... How could I have been so blind? All those nights in his garden office. All those evasive answers about his past—how did I not see it? What does that say about me? I think back to the early days of our relationship. How attentive he was, how he seemed to anticipate my every need. I thought it was romantic, but now I see it for what it was—a desperately insecure man doing his utmost to not lose his partner. How many other women had fallen for the same act that I don’t know about?

And then there’s Charles. A good friend to us who turned out to be a monster. The lives he destroyed, the pain he caused—it’s almost too much to comprehend. I reminisce about all the times Charles joined us for dinner, recalling how he and Paul would share laughter and jokes over bottles of beer. Charles was Paul’s saviour, a man who stood by his side and was his rock when times were hard. Dependable and reliable, but he did a number on Paul too.

As we approach the police station, I try to remind myself of the evidence we found—the diaries, the trophies, Charles’s confession. But doubt creeps in. What if it’s not enough? It has to be. Wendy, April, and Lottie aren’t here to make sure Charles pays.

The car comes to a stop. The officer opens my door, his face impassive.

“This way, Mrs Campbell,” he says, guiding me to the rear door of the station.

I’m led to an interview room, stark and impersonal. The walls are a dull grey, the table, and chairs utilitarian. A far cry from the warm, inviting home I left behind. Is this my new reality? As I settle in, anticipating the arrival of the detectives, I ponder what lies ahead. Will there be a trial? Will I have to face Charles in court, recount everything that happened?

A few minutes later, the door opens, and two detectives walk in. Their faces look kind but serious. They both smile as they take a seat opposite me and open their notepads. The female detective does the formal introductions for the benefit of the recorder. My hands feel clammy, and I feel an invisible weight press against my chest.

“Mrs Campbell,” one of them says, “we need to ask you some questions.”

I nod, taking a deep breath. This is it.

38

LISA

SIX MONTHS LATER.

I stand at the window of my small Welsh cottage, watching the rain patter against the glass. The rhythmic sound is soothing, a far cry from the constant noise of London traffic I once knew. Barney, my white Jack Russell rescue dog, snoozes contentedly on the window seat, his soft snores barely audible over the mellow rainfall. He’s such a gentle and joyful soul. When I heard about how he was mistreated by his previous owners, I knew I had to have him. His limp becomes more pronounced when he’s tired, a reminder of the horrors he faced. But now, he gets nothing but cuddles and treats from me and my customers. In fact, I think most of my customers visit the shop only to see Barney, and he loves the attention.

It’s hard to believe how much my life has changed in the space of a few months.

The air is distinct—crisp and clean, tinged with the scent of damp earth and blooming wildflowers. Even on rainy days like this, there’s a vibrancy that rejuvenates me, making me experience a greater sense of vitality than I ever did in the city. The lush green hills that surround the village seem to cradle us, offering a sense of protection and peace I never knew I craved. Up on the gentle hills beyond, I see small white balls of cotton wool. Well, that’s what sheep remind me of when I see them. My eyes drift to the village green and my shop across the way. The florist shop I now own sits quiet, its cheerful blue facade a splash of colour against the grey sky. It’s a far cry from my glamorous interior design career in London, but there’s a satisfaction in this simple life that I never found in the world of high-end decor and demanding clients.

The shop itself is a haven of scents and colours. Each morning, as I arrange fresh bouquets and tend to potted plants, I’m surrounded by the sweet fragrance of roses, the spicy aroma of carnations, the delicate perfume of lilies. It’s a sensory experience that grounds me, reminding me of the beauty that still exists in the world, even after everything I’ve been through. Barney loves it as much when he’s there. Head down, sniffing around, intrigued by the scents.

My mind drifts, as it often does, to the events that led me here. The divorce papers, signed and filed, ending a chapter of my life I once thought would last forever. Paul fled to France, running from the wreckage of our life together. And Alexis...

I close my eyes, the betrayal still fresh, but it eases as each day passes. I open my eyes, forcing myself back to the present. The past is the past; I remind myself. I can’t change it, can only move forward. The cottage helps with that. Its thick stone walls seem to absorb my pain, offering solace and shelter. The creaky wooden floors, the crooked doorframes, the quaint fireplace with bread oven—they all speak of history, of lives lived and stories told. It’s comforting to know that life goes on, that healing is possible.

My thoughts turn to Charles, that monster masquerading as a friend. I remember the day I learned of his formal arrest, the relief that flooded through me.

“We’ve charged him, Mrs Campbell,” Detective Thompson had said. His voice sounded pleased over the phone. “The recording on Alexis’s phone was the nail in his coffin.”

I had laughed then, a sound bordering on hysteria. “He didn’t know about that, did he?”

“No, he didn’t. His face when we played it for him... well, let’s say he won’t be denying anything anymore.”

But even as relief washed over me, a nagging question remained. “What about Wendy Stone? Did he say anything about her?”

The detective’s sigh was heavy with regret. “I’m afraid not. He’s keeping that secret close to his chest. We’re still looking, but...”

He didn’t need to finish. We both knew the chances of finding Wendy alive were slim to none. Another life destroyed by Charles’s twisted games. Charles confessed, with a hint of bitterness, to his obsession with me as well as the chilling truth that he slaughtered Juliet, my friend, out of envy for our bond.

Barney stirs, stretching and yawning. His simple, unconditional love is a tonic to me. I reach down to scratch behind his ears, smiling as he leans into my touch. His fur is soft under my fingers, a tactile comfort that soothes me.

“What do you say we go for a walk, boy?” I ask. His tail starts wagging, thumping against the cushion. The rain has petered off to nothing more than a light drizzle. As I clip on his leash and step out into the damp Welsh afternoon, I think about how different my life is now. The hustle and bustle of London seems like a distant dream. Here, surrounded by rolling hills and friendly faces, I’m piecing myself back together.

The air is thick with moisture, tiny droplets clinging to my skin and hair. But it’s refreshing rather than uncomfortable. The village streets are quiet, save for the occasional bleat of sheep from nearby fields and the distant bark of a farm dog.

I’m pleased with how far I’ve come. With each day that passes, each customer I serve in my little shop, each walk with Barney, I feel a little more like myself. Not the Lisa who was Paul’s wife or Alexis’s friend, but a new Lisa. Stronger, wiser, and finally, truly free.

The drizzle has eased off now as Barney and I make our way through the village. Droplets cling to the colourful flowers in cottage gardens. A few locals wave and call out greetings, their Welsh lilt warm and welcoming. I wave back, a genuine smile on my face. This, I realise, is what moving forward feels like. It’s not about forgetting the past, but about not letting it define my future.

As we round the corner back towards home, I spot a ‘For Sale’ sign on a nearby cottage. Its stone walls are half-hidden behind climbing roses, the windows reflecting the grey sky. I imagine it won’t be long before someone snaps it up. A fresh face to welcome to our little village. As Barney and I climb the path to our cottage, I breathe in, savouring the scent of rain-washed earth and blooming flowers. This place, with its gentle rhythms and natural beauty, is more than simply a refuge. It’s become home, a place where I can heal, to rediscover who I am beyond the pain and betrayal.

Smoke curls from the chimney—I left a fire burning low before our walk. Probably not the best move, but everyone seems to do that round here. The thought of settling in front of it with a cup of tea and a good book, with Barney on my lap fills me with a contentment I almost forgot. As I unlock the door, Barney bounds inside ahead of me, jumping on to the armchair in readiness.

The door closes behind us, shutting out the damp and the chill. And as I move to stoke the fire, Barney sits up, tail wagging. I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time: hope. It’s a small flame of hope, flickering and fragile, but it’s there. And for now, that’s enough.

Ready Barney!

39

LISA

THE KNOCK

1 week later.

The sharp rap on my cottage door startles me from doing my accounts. Barney’s ears perk up, a low growl rumbling in his throat. I frown, not expecting anyone.

“It’s okay, boy,” I say as I rise from my dining room chair and give him a stroke behind the ears as I pass. I open the door to find a woman in her mid-thirties standing on my doorstep.

“Lisa Hartley?” she asks, using my maiden name. It’s a name I’m still getting used to hearing.

I nod, a flicker of caution crossing my features. “Yes, that’s me. Can I help you?”

The woman hesitates, her gaze flicking over her shoulder before settling back on me. “I’m Emma Walsh,” she introduces herself, her voice laced with a tension that seems to press down on her shoulders. She takes a small breath, as if bracing herself to dive into deep waters.

“I’ve been looking into Paul Campbell,” she finally continues, her words deliberate.

I interrupt, a mix of confusion and alarm in my voice. “Paul? Why? What about him?”

Emma shifts uncomfortably, her eyes searching mine. “It’s complicated, and I know this might be hard,” she begins, her voice faltering slightly. “God, I’m so worried what I’m about so say will…”

“Just tell me,” I press, the anxiety building inside me.

She exhales, steeling herself. “There’s something you need to know about him. Something serious.”

At the mention of his name, a chill runs down my spine, and my heart begins to thump wildly against my chest. My muscles tighten involuntarily, the past threatening to claw its way back into my present. “I’m sorry, but I’ve put all that behind me—”

Emma cuts me off gently but firmly. “Ms. Hartley, Paul wasn’t who he claimed to be. He wasn’t innocent. I have evidence that he was responsible for the deaths of five other women.”

The blood drains from my face. I step back involuntarily, my mind reeling.

“Are you a journalist?”

“No.” Her face is serious, and there’s a hint of sadness in her eyes, and not the edginess I’d expect in a reporter or journalist.

“I really don’t want to hear what you have to say. Paul and I are divorced. He’s no longer my concern, so please leave,” I demand.

Emma continues, “Please, just a few minutes of your time and then I’ll be gone if you want me to. But there’s more you need to know. I’d rather not discuss it out here. May I come in?”

I glance over her shoulder and scan my surroundings. There’s no one lurking on the green, no one sitting in a car watching my house. I nod numbly, allowing Emma to enter. I’ve already decided that I don’t want to offer her a seat, so make it clear that the clock is ticking as I fold my arms across my chest. Emma turns to me with a pained expression.

“There’s something else,” Emma says, her voice strained. “Paul and I were… a couple. We have two children together.”

“What? How?” I stare at Emma, my world crashing down around me once again.

Emma’s lower lip trembles. “We live in London. Close to his practice.”

“I think you’d better leave.” Are the only words that spill from my lips as I feel my legs go weak. Another woman? Two children?

“Another family? Is this some kind of fucking sick joke,” I growl through gritted teeth. “You need to leave now before I throw you out.”

Sensing the tension in my voice, Barney growls.

Emma pulls out a photograph from her handbag. “These are my children,” she says softly. “Our children. Paul’s and mine.”

I take the photo, recognising Paul’s features in the young faces. It’s like looking at ghosts of the future I once thought I’d have with Paul.

She hands me another photo that sends acrid bile racing up my throat, searing my mouth. “It’s the four of them in a restaurant, celebrating a birthday for one of the kids.”

This can’t be happening. No. My head feels like it’s going to explode.

“How long were you and Paul...?” I manage to ask.

“We met ten years ago,” Emma replies. “We married eight years ago. I know now that he was with both of us at the same time for a while.”

I feel a surge of nausea again. “How did he manage...?”

Emma shakes her head. “He was incredibly clever about it. Always had excuses for being away. I believed every word.”

“So did I,” I whisper.

For the next hour, Emma shares the details of her life with Paul. I listen, alternating between disbelief and a strange sense of relief. I wasn’t crazy for suspecting Paul’s behaviour; I just hadn’t imagined the extent of his deception.

“When did you start to suspect something was wrong?” I ask.

“About two years ago, maybe less. It’s a bit of a blur,” Emma replies. “I found discrepancies in his schedule. Then I started finding things. Items that didn’t make sense. Then the police knocking on my door after the incident at your home.”

“What kind of items?”

“Jewellery that wasn’t mine. A scarf I’d never seen before. And then... I found newspaper clippings about missing women.”

Emma pulls out several police reports and news articles. “Five women, all murdered in London over the past decade. The police never connected them but look.”

I lean forward, scanning the documents. My eyes widen as I begin to see the pattern. All the women were in their thirties or early forties, all successful in their careers. And all had some connection to Paul’s world of private medicine and charity work.

“Oh my God,” I breathe. “But how did the police miss this?”

“Paul was careful,” Emma says grimly. “He never left any obvious evidence. And his reputation protected him.”

“And the police?”

“They know all about it now and have reopened the cases.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I ask. “Why come here?”

“Because I needed you to know, and I wanted to meet the other woman.”

I stand up abruptly, pacing the small room. “This is too much. I can’t just dive back into all that darkness. You don’t know what it was like, what I went through.”

“I think I do,” Emma says softly. “Because I went through it too. Different, but the same.”

Our eyes meet, and in that moment, I feel a connection with this woman I’ve only just met. We’re bound by the same pain, the same betrayal.

Emma reaches into her folder one last time. “There’s one more thing you need to see.” She pulls out a wad of photocopies, and from their appearance, they appear to have come from a small, leather-bound book. “I found this hidden in a safe at our house. It’s Paul’s diary. I copied it before handing it into the police.”

I stare at the innocuous-looking prints. “Have you read it?”

Emma nods, her face grim. “Parts of it. It’s not easy reading. But it’s all there, Lisa. Everything he did, everyone he hurt. It’s the proof I needed to close the door on the past. Maybe it will help you too.”

With sweaty hands, I take the copies and scan the pages. My eyes fall on the neat, familiar handwriting. The first entry is dated fifteen years ago.

As I begin to read, my eyes widen in horror. The Paul I thought I knew disappears with each word, replaced by a monster I can barely comprehend.

“Oh, Paul,” I whisper. “What have you done?”

CURRENT BOOK LIST

Hop over to my website for a current list of books:

https://aaronquinnbooks.com/books/

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I live in Essex in the UK and love spending time people watching and wandering the fields and forests of my county.

Before my writing career, I worked in HR within the Financial Services Sector, and then retrained as Mind Coach, before becoming a full-time author in 2015. I’ve always been fascinated by people, how the mind works, and the raw emotions that drive us to do the things we do.

I write dark, gripping, domestic thrillers about ordinary people in extraordinary situations. In fact, the very same people who live next door to you, or you say hi to every day. Have you ever wondered what goes on behind closed doors? Well perhaps I can enlighten you through my books.

A few to get you started are The Perfect Nanny, The Ex-Husband, and The Surgeon’s Secret.

When I’m not writing, at the gym, or playing with the 4 Yorkies in our family, you’ll find me people-watching and imagining what kind of life they really lead.