Dead on New Year's Eve

My husband hurls a glass of water at my face.

Droplets slide down my graying cheeks and soak the cashmere throw.

He snatches a bag of hot roasted chestnuts right out of my frozen hands.

He chucks my favorite food straight into the trash can.

Enjoy your solo performance, he sneers.

He walks his crying assistant out the door and leaves me on the couch.

Two days later, Dominic drops to his knees in our hallway.

He stares at a heavy black body bag holding my rotting corpse.

Chapter 1

The hostility drained from his features. He crouched beside the lounge, taking the bag of roasted chestnuts hed been guarding against his chest, and gently pressed them into my palm. "Stop being mad." His tone softened, coaxing me like a stubborn child. "I waited in line forever for these. They're still hot. From that little artisan shop downtown you keep talking about. Sit up and eat them before they get cold."

The paper bag radiated a comforting heat. A shame my nerve endings could no longer register the warmth.

Dominic frowned, noticing the icy chill of my skin. He stood and retrieved a thick cashmere blanket from the bedroom, draping it over my body with agonizing care. He tucked the edges around my shouldersa practiced, achingly gentle motion.

He turned and headed for the kitchen. The faucet flared to life. "Getting you some warm water for your throat," he called out, his voice slipping into a casual ramble. "After the holidays, I'll clear my schedule. We'll head down to Florida for a bit. The warm, humid air will be good for your lungs. If you want to see the ocean, we'll go see the ocean"

I hovered near the ceiling, staring at his broad back shifting around the kitchen counter. A phantom ache gripped my throat, but ghosts don't cry.

It's too late, Dominic.

Blaire lurked in the hallway. She glared at Dominic's back, a sick, suffocating jealousy rolling off her. She fully expected him to explode at my silent treatment. Instead, he was planning a beach getaway for me.

Taking advantage of his distraction, she crept over to the lounge. Her manicured fingers slipped into my cardigan pocket and slid my phone out. After a few failed attempts, she guessed the passcodeDominic's birthday, predictablyand tapped furiously, scheduling a delayed text message. Then, she dropped my phone straight into her designer purse.

A split second later, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the quiet apartment.

Blaire snatched the heavy crystal ashtray off the coffee table and slammed it directly into her own temple. Dark crimson instantly spilled out, trailing down her pale cheek.

"What happened?!" Dominic bolted out of the kitchen, water sloshing over the rim of the glass. He froze at the sight of Blaire collapsed on the rug, clutching her bleeding head and sobbing uncontrollably.

"Dominic oh my god!" She pointed a trembling finger at my lifeless body, hyperventilating. "Thalia threw the ashtray at me! She called me a homewrecker and said she'd kill me if I didn't get out!"

The blood drained from his face. He closed the distance in three long strides, his hand shooting out to grab my arm. "Thalia! Are you out of your mind? Blaire is just a kid! How could you do this?"

His fingers were mere inches from my shoulder.

A notification pinged from his pocket.

"Check your phone!" Blaire shrieked. "I bet she's texting you more threats! She was just typing on itshe's faking being asleep!"

Dominic halted. He pulled the phone from his slacks.

Chapter 2

A harsh glow illuminated his screen. The sender read: Thalia.

"If that bitch assistant doesn't get out, I'll kill myself!"

Dominic's knuckles turned stark white around the device. The veins in his forearm strained against his skin. He glared at my motionless body on the lounge, the last trace of tenderness evaporating from his eyes. A dark, volatile fury replaced it.

"Unbelievable." A harsh, bitter laugh scraped from his throat. "You're seriously weaponizing suicide just to kick Blaire out? Is this what I get for putting up with your tantrums, Thalia? You think you can pull this twisted manipulation and get away with it?"

He hurled his arm forward.

The glass of warm water crashed across my face. Droplets slid down my ashen, graying cheeks. The water plastered my eyelashes to my skin and soaked into the cashmere throw. I didn't flinch. I didn't breathe.

"Still playing dead?" The muscle in his jaw ticked.

He lunged forward. He snatched the warm paper bag of roasted chestnuts right out of my frozen palm and chucked them straight into the trash can.

"Fine. You want to play the victim? Enjoy the solo performance."

He pivoted, hauling a sobbing Blaire up from the floor. He didn't spare me a single backward glance. "Come on, Blaire. I'm taking you to the ER to get that checked out. We'll spend New Year's at the office. Let her throw her little tantrum alone."

The front door slammed shut. The crystal chandelier overhead shuddered from the impact.

I drifted near the ceiling, staring down at my water-logged face and the discarded bag of chestnuts.

I wasn't playing the victim, Dominic.

I was already dead.

Faint, purplish-black bruising had already started pooling beneath my pale skin. The blasting central heating only accelerated the rot. A magnetic, invisible force yanked my spirit straight through the walls, tethering me to Dominic's side.

Dominic gripped the steering wheel, his brows carved into a deep scowl as he navigated the traffic. Blaire sat in the passenger seat, a fresh gauze pad taped to her temple. She slyly swiped through my unlocked phone.

She peeked at Dominic's rigid profile. Opening my social media app, her thumbs flew across the keyboard. She crafted a manic post, deliberately tagged Dominic's account, and hit publish. Smirking, she slipped my phone back into her designer purse.

She twisted her features into a mask of fragile innocence. "Dominic Thalia seems really pissed off at me."

He scoffed, grabbing his own phone from the center console. His dark eyes locked onto my newest status update.

"If you walk out that door, I will end it right here in this apartment. I'll make you regret this for the rest of your life!"

He slammed his fist into the center of the steering wheel. The horn blared, echoing down the busy street.

"Absolute psycho!" he snarled, his teeth grinding together.

Earlier, his explosive anger had started to ebb. A sliver of guilt had crept in about throwing water on my face, considering my failing lungs. He had even debated turning the car around to bring me my medication.

This manipulative post instantly incinerated that thought.

Chapter 3

"Since you want to die so badly, don't blame me for not coming back." Dominic cranked the steering wheel hard. The tires screeched as he whipped the car around, abandoning the route to our apartment and speeding toward Blaire's place.

"Dominic is Thalia really mad?" Blaire asked. Her voice trembled with fake innocence, but a smug satisfaction glinted in her eyes. "Maybe you should go check on her. I'll be fine by myself."

"No." Dominic spat the word like venom. "She pulls this manipulative stunt all the time. The more I coddle her, the worse she gets. She needs to learn her lesson this time."

Inside Blaire's apartment, she pulled out every trick to keep Dominic hooked. She tied a ruffled apron around her waist and busied herself at the stove. Suddenly, a sharp yelp echoed from the kitchen.

Dominic had been stewing on the couch. He bolted up and rushed into the kitchen. Blaire cradled her hand, a patch of angry red blooming across her fingers from the boiling pasta water.

"Why aren't you careful?" Dominic frowned deeply. He snatched her wrist and thrust her hand under the cold running tap. His touch was incredibly gentle. Genuine, unfiltered concern melted his dark eyes.

The sight of it physically stung. Back when I sliced my finger open chopping vegetables and asked him for a Band-Aid, he didn't even look up from his laptop. "Handle that minor scrape yourself, I'm busy."

He was perfectly capable of showing empathy. Just never to me.

His phone vibrated against the marble counter. Dr. Wesley. My pulmonologist. Dominic glanced at the caller ID, let out a harsh scoff, and swiped to answer.

"Yeah?"

Dr. Wesley's voice bled through the speaker, frantic and breathless. "Dominic? Where is Thalia? She isn't answering her phone! Her lab results from yesterday just came back. It's critical. She needs to be admitted to the ICU right now! Put her on the phone!"

Dominic cut him off with a sarcastic sneer. "Dr. Wesley, did Thalia seriously drag you into this just to get my attention? You guys are putting on quite the performance."

"What are you talking about?" Dr. Wesley stammered. "Dominic, this isn't a joke! Thalia's lungs are"

"Enough!" Dominic snapped. "Tell Thalia that if her little suicide threat accidentally turns real, I'll gladly collect her corpse. Don't think teaming up with a doctor is going to gaslight me into running home. I'm not buying it."

He jabbed the end call button and immediately blocked Dr. Wesley's number.

I hovered inches from his face, screaming until my non-existent throat bled. I needed him to listen. But the silence in the room swallowed my desperate pleas.

The call only fueled his seething rage. Just to spite me, he leaned into Blaire's frame and posed for a selfie.

In the picture, Blaire held up a glass of red wine, flashing a sickly sweet smile. Dominic sat across from her. His jaw remained clenched, but the backdrop of flickering candlelight painted a picture of a cozy, romantic dinner.

Blaire instantly uploaded the photo to her story. The caption read: Thank you for spending the warmest New Year's Eve with me. Praying you'll be by my side for every year to come.

She restricted the privacy settings. It was only visible to exactly one person. Me.

Chapter 4

Midnight hit. Brilliant fireworks shattered the darkness outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Dominic stood silhouetted against the glass, staring at the fading sparks. A rare, unfocused look clouded his eyes.

He rubbed his thumb over his phone screen. Almost on autopilot, he pulled up our text thread and typed out a message.

"Are you done throwing a tantrum? Go heat up some leftovers. Don't starve yourself to death in my apartment just to prove a point."

He hit send. The screen stayed agonizingly still. No notification ping. No familiar typing bubble.

He glared at the empty thread for a long moment before chucking the phone onto the mattress.

He genuinely believed I was just giving him the silent treatment. He had no idea my lifeless body was quietly rotting on the chaise lounge.

Morning light filtered into Blaire's apartment. Dominic woke with a splitting, tequila-induced headache.

He blindly reached for his phone on the nightstand. The lock screen was completely empty. Zero missed calls. Zero texts.

In the past, my anger never lasted through the night. I would have already texted him to ask if his stomach was burning. I would have had painkillers and electrolyte water waiting on the counter.

The dead silence made his chest tight.

"She used to cling to me the second I pulled away. Look at her trying to play hard to get." Dominic shoved the phone away. A surge of irrational, defensive anger flared in his gut.

"Fine. You want to play the waiting game? Let's see how long you last."

Blaire strolled into the bedroom carrying a tray of avocado toast and black coffee. She studied the storm clouds in his eyes.

"Dominic, the weather is gorgeous today. Why don't we drive down to the coast? You've been so stressed lately."

He almost said no. Then he thought about my stubborn, ungrateful attitude back home. He gave a stiff nod.

They were just grabbing their coats when his phone rang. It was Bruce, the building manager at our high-rise.

"Sir. Phyllis from the unit directly below yours just called in an odor complaint. She said there's a terrible smell leaking from your vents. Like something rotting. Could you head back and check it out?"

Dominic's jaw clamped shut. A harsh crease formed between his brows.

His mind flashed to the spilled bag of roasted chestnuts he had knocked over, and my motionless figure on the lounge. He was convinced this was another one of my petty revenge tactics. I was deliberately letting the garbage rot just to spite him.

He pictured me throwing food all over the floors like a psycho. "My wife is just throwing another tantrum. She's letting the trash pile up to piss me off." Dominic's voice was frigid. "Ignore her, Bruce. She'll clean it up when she can't stand the stench anymore."

He ended the call. The pure disgust in his chest deepened.

The drive to the coast was a blur of highway lines. The harsh, biting winter wind whipped across the shoreline, stinging his face.

Dominic stood alone on a jagged pier, staring blindly at the crashing gray waves. The ocean breeze didn't clear his head. It only tangled his thoughts into tighter, heavier knots.

A memory suddenly pierced through the fog in his brain. Our second wedding anniversary.

I had tugged gently on his suit sleeve, my eyes bright with fragile hope. "Dominic, I want to see the ocean. When my lungs get a little stronger, can we go walk the beach and look for seashells?"

His response echoed in his ears. "I'm busy. Maybe next time."

Dominic stared down at a cluster of pale, broken shells near the toe of his expensive leather boot. A sudden, unexpected pang of guilt squeezed his chest.

He turned and walked over to a small artisan boardwalk stand. He picked out a delicate, woven seashell bracelet.

"Whatever. I'll just go home and smooth things over." Dominic rubbed his thumb over the smooth shells, muttering out loud to justify it to himself. "Her immune system is already shot. If she works herself into a panic attack, it's just going to be a massive headache for me."

Chapter 5

He walked into a seaside convenience store to grab a bottle of water. Pausing by the hot beverage station, he grabbed a cup of hot tea for me.

A few feet away, Blaire tracked his every move with spiteful, venomous eyes. Her hand slipped into her designer bag, pulling out my stolen phone. Her thumbs flew across the screen, loading a stock image of a slit wrist from the internet. She texted it directly to her own number.

Shoving my phone back out of sight, she contorted her features into sheer terror. She sprinted toward Dominic, shoving her screen into his face.

"Dominic! Oh my god, Dominic!" Blaire shrieked. Fake, breathless sobs wrecked her voice. "Thalia just texted me She cut her wrists! Look!"

The cashier handed Dominic his change. The coins slipped from his grip, clattering sharply against the linoleum floor.

He snatched Blaire's phone. His dark eyes locked onto the screen.

Brilliant, glaring red filled the display.

A violent, destructive rage contorted his features.

Another manipulative threat. First a hunger strike, now this. What's next? Jumping off the balcony?

"Absolute psycho!" A guttural roar ripped from his throat.

His arm whipped back. He hurled the delicate seashell bracelet over the pier. The trinket hit the churning, freezing water and vanished into the gray surf.

"She's unhinged!" His chest heaved with ragged, furious breaths. Bloodshot veins cracked the whites of his eyes. "She wants to die? Fine! Let her cut! Let's see how much blood she can actually drain!"

I drifted through the biting ocean wind, watching my bracelet sink into the abyss. It was the first gift he had ever bought me unprompted. He threw it away with his own two hands.

Dominic, it doesn't hurt anymore.

It really doesn't.

Dominic drove back to the city with lethal, simmering rage radiating from his skin. The tires violently slammed over the speed bumps entering our luxury complex.

His mind was made up. He wouldn't care if I sobbed. He wouldn't care if I dropped to my knees and begged. He was going to hand me divorce papers. He refused to live in this toxic cycle for one more day.

Blaire rode shotgun. A deeply satisfied smirk played on her lips. The second the ink dried on those divorce papers, she would finally become his wife.

The elevator numbers ticked upward, finally chiming at our penthouse floor.

The metal doors slid open. Dominic stepped out. His expensive boots froze mid-stride.

The usually pristine, silent corridor was swarming with chaos. Blinding yellow police tape blocked our front door. Uniformed officersBlake among themducked under the barrier. Victor, the medical examiner, stepped out carrying a heavy silver case. His face was grim.

The neighbors crowded the hallway. Phyllis clutched a tissue over her mouth and nose, her eyes wide with horrified disgust.

"God, the stench is unbearable! It smells like rotting meat!"

"I heard the body's been dead for days. What a terrible tragedy."

A high-pitched ringing pierced Dominic's ears. The world tilted. All the oxygen sucked right out of the corridor.

Blaire stepped out behind him. She clamped a hand over her mouth, feigning pure shock. "Oh my god! Do you think Thalia set the apartment on fire just to scare us?!"

That sentence acted like a lit match dropped straight into a powder keg.

Another manipulative stunt. She actually called the cops to force him to come home.

Chapter 6

"Thalia!" Dominic shoved through the gawking crowd of neighbors. He stormed toward the doorway, a roar ripping from his chest. "Get the hell out here! Are you addicted to playing the victim? Have you no shame? Are you finally satisfied now that the whole damn building is watching your stunt?!" He lunged forward, his hand swiping at the yellow crime scene tape.

"Step back!" Blake intercepted him immediately. The young officer planted himself in Dominic's path, his voice a sharp bark of authority. "Authorized personnel only! This is an active scene!"

Dominic violently slapped Blake's hand away. He pointed a shaking finger toward the master bedroom, a thick vein pulsing against his temple. "I'm her husband! This is my apartment! Tell that psychotic woman inside to drop the act! Tell her to get her coat so I can drag her to the hospital. I am done being publicly humiliated!"

A dead silence suffocated the hallway. Phyllis and the surrounding neighbors stared at Dominic. Their expressions shifted from disgust to stunned, horrified disbelief.

Victor, the silver-haired medical examiner, stepped out of the bedroom. He pulled down his surgical mask. Stripping off his latex gloves, he stepped aside and pointed a weary finger at the heavy, black body bag resting on the hardwood floor.

"Stop yelling." Victor's voice was low, carrying a heavy, chilling weight. "The deceased is Thalia. Cause of death is respiratory failure triggered by severe lung scarring, combined with extreme malnutrition. Based on the progression of lividity and rigor mortis, time of death is estimated to be at least forty-eight hours ago."

The air vanished from Dominic's lungs.

"Dead?" The word scraped out of his throat, disjointed and hollow.

His neck turned with mechanical stiffness. His eyes drifted from Blake's stern face to the heavy black zipper on the floor.

"That's impossible!" A harsh, manic laugh erupted from Dominic. "Just yesterday! She sent me a picture of her slit wrists! She was texting and cursing Blaire out! How the hell could she have been dead for two days? You people are idiots! She's gaslighting all of you!"

Blaire frantically dug into her designer purse. She shoved her screen right into Blake's face, the bloody image glaring brightly. "Officer! Thalia texted this to me yesterday afternoon! She isn't dead! This is just a sick joke!"

Victor's brow furrowed. He took the phone from Blaire's manicured hand. He studied the pixelated gore for a long second. Then, he lifted his gaze, staring dead into Blaire's panicked eyes with cold, clinical scrutiny.

He turned his attention back to Dominic. His tone dropped to freezing point.

"Sir, all vital signs ceased on New Year's Eve afternoon. How exactly does a corpse, dead for two entire days, send a text message yesterday?"

Dead for two entire days. That meant she had passed away on the afternoon of New Year's Eve.

A violent tremor ripped through Dominic's body