Chapter 3

I looked back toward the kitchen. On the counter sat the daily vitamin supplements.

Carter had told me they were custom-made organic vitamins he imported from Europe to help with my skin.

But I had always been skeptical of supplements, so I never actually swallowed them.

To keep him from getting suspicious, I had always pretended to take them and flushed them down the sink when he wasn't looking.

It turned out those were actually slow-acting poison.

Amber's voice rose, sounding annoyed now.

"So when are you going to make us official?"

"I'm telling you, Carter, I don't have patience. Plenty of guys are begging to take me out."

Carter chuckled wickedly. "Don't worry. I found a doctor who's willing to sign a fake depression diagnosis for Clara. I'm meeting him tomorrow morning."

"So what if she has depression?"

"So what? Have you looked at our apartment windows? The glass panels go all the way down to the floor, and the safety railing is barely knee-high."

"If she's standing by the window, and I give her a little push from behind... what do you think the police will say when they find the diagnosis?"

Silence fell over the room for a second, followed by their giggling.

My skin crawled.

So, he didn't push me out of the window in my past life just because I caught them.

He had planned to kill me all along.

My sudden interruption had just forced his hand before he could secure the fake medical files.

I crept back to bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark, my mind racing.

An hour later, Carter slipped back into bed. Seeing my eyes closed, he let out a quiet, dismissive snort.

Tomorrow morning, Carter was going to meet that corrupt doctor.

He would definitely take the suitcase with him when he left.

Now that I knew his entire plan, he wouldn't get another chance to hurt me.

But what should I do? Just get a divorce?

The memory of my body hitting the pavement echoed in my ears, giving me a splitting headache.

No. A divorce was way too easy on them.

I wanted them to rot.

Carter was exhausted. Within minutes, his heavy snoring filled the room.

I checked my phone. It was 4:00 AM.

Carter's appointment with the doctor was at 7:30 AM. He had mentioned the doctor warned him not to be late, or the clinic would be too busy to fake the files safely.

I quietly got out of bed and closed the bedroom door behind me.

I went to the walk-in closet, grabbed piles of clothes and shoes, and dumped them all over the living room floor. Then I threw all the sofa cushions and covers on top.

I went to the kitchen. I emptied the trash cans, spilled spices, flour, and rice, and scattered rotten fruits and vegetables from the fridge over the pile.

Finally, I went to the study. Ignoring the suitcase, I dragged dozens of heavy books off the shelves and scattered them across the floor.

Looking at the chaotic mess, I went down to the building's dumpster, dragged up three bags of actual garbage, tore them open, and scattered the filthy contents everywhere.

A horrific, nauseating stench immediately filled the apartment.

Once everything was ruined, I put on a face mask and sat right in the middle of the trash pile.

At 6:30 AM, the bedroom door opened.

Carter stumbled out, half-asleep. The moment he saw the living room, his eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

"Clara! What the hell are you doing?!"

"Jesus Christ, what is that smell? Did you take a bath in a dumpster?!"

I wiped some sweat from my forehead, looking exhausted.

"I woke up early and couldn't fall back asleep. I figured I'd do some deep cleaning."

"I wanted to empty the trash bins, but I tripped and spilled everything. Carter, I didn't realize summer trash could rot so fast..."

Carter grimaced, his eyes darting frantically from the study door to the front exit.

The pathway was completely blocked.

If he wanted to get the suitcase out, he would have to carry it.

But the piles of garbage and heavy books were over a foot high in some places.

There was no way he could carry a heavy, 110-pound suitcase over all that clutter by himself.