Chapter 3 - The Last Supper
I arrived home an hour before Julian usually got back from work.
The house was quiet, filled with the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows my father had installed.
I walked into the kitchen, tied an apron around my waist, and began to cook.
Julian loved roasted chicken with rosemary and garlic potatoes.
It was the meal I always made for his birthdays or special milestones.
I wanted tonight to feel exactly like every other night.
I chopped the vegetables with rhythmic precision, the heavy chef’s knife thudding against the cutting board.
I imagined it was Julian’s carefully constructed lies I was dicing into tiny, irreparable pieces.
At 6:30 PM, the front door unlocked.
“Elena? I’m home!” Julian’s voice echoed through the hallway.
It sounded so normal, so bright and cheerful.
It disgusted me.
I wiped my hands on a towel and walked out to greet him.
He was taking off his jacket, placing his precious leather briefcase carefully on the console table.
“How was work?” I asked, keeping my tone light and breezy.
“Exhausting,” he sighed, kissing my cheek.
I had to force myself not to flinch.
I could still smell a faint trace of the airport on him, masked heavily by his expensive cologne.
“Just endless meetings. Nothing exciting.”
“Well, I made your favorite,” I said, gesturing to the dining room.
We sat across from each other at the oak table.
He poured us both a glass of wine, acting like the perfect, loving husband.
“To us,” he said, raising his glass. “And to the future.”
I tapped my glass against his.
“To the future,” I echoed, knowing full well my future did not include him.
As he ate, I watched him closely.
I looked for any sign of guilt, any hesitation in his eyes.
There was none.
He was entirely consumed by his own arrogance and greed.
“You know,” Julian said casually, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I have an early meeting with the bank tomorrow.”
“Oh?” I asked, feigning mild interest. “Is everything okay with the business?”
“Perfectly fine,” he smiled, a chilling, predatory smile. “Just finalizing some restructuring. Moving some assets around to maximize our tax benefits.”
“That sounds complicated,” I said softly. “I’m so glad you handle all the boring financial stuff.”
Julian chuckled, taking a large sip of his wine.
“That’s what I’m here for, sweetheart. To take care of you.”
The audacity of his lie was almost impressive.
He truly believed I was a naive fool who couldn't comprehend a balance sheet.
After dinner, he claimed he needed to review some files in his office.
I knew he was preparing the forged documents for the bank.
I cleaned the kitchen, the sound of running water drowning out my raging thoughts.
Later that night, we lay in the same bed.
He fell asleep quickly, his breathing deep and even.
I stayed awake for hours, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
I felt a strange mixture of profound sadness and cold, calculating anger.
Ten years of marriage, completely erased by his greed.
But as I listened to him sleep, the sadness slowly faded away.
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Tomorrow, the war would officially begin.
And I was already holding the winning hand.
