Chapter 3 The Trap
# Chapter 3: The Trap
Daniel was waiting when I returned home with Emily. He stood in the foyer, perfectly composed in his tailored weekend casual wear—a look I knew cost more than most people's formal attire.
"Where were you?" His tone was conversational, but I caught the edge beneath it. His eyes tracked my movements as I helped Emily with her coat.
"Breakfast. Emily wanted pancakes." I kept my voice neutral, my hands steady.
Emily slipped between us, her small body a momentary barrier. "Uncle Victor showed me pictures of Mom when she was a scientist," she announced, looking directly at her father.
I saw Daniel's jaw tighten. He'd never liked Victor, viewing my former mentor as a link to my independent past.
"Emily, go to your room. Daddy and I need to talk," I said softly.
She hesitated, glancing between us with those too-perceptive eyes. I gave her a reassuring smile that didn't reach my eyes. "It's okay, sweetheart. Just grown-up stuff."
After she'd gone upstairs, Daniel moved to the kitchen, expecting me to follow. I did, maintaining the compliant wife routine I'd perfected over years. He poured himself a scotch—Macallan 18, his favorite for intimidation conversations.
"Victor Ramirez," he said, swirling the amber liquid. "Interesting choice of company."
I busied myself with the coffee maker. "He's an old friend. Emily enjoys his stories."
"Stories about your former life?" Daniel leaned against the counter, studying me. "The life you were so eager to leave behind."
We both knew that was a lie, but contradicting Daniel when he was in this mood was never wise. I made a noncommittal sound.
"I noticed some discrepancies in our accounts," he said suddenly. "Care to explain?"
My heart stuttered, but I kept my expression placid. "What kind of discrepancies?"
"Forty thousand dollars, transferred last week." He sipped his scotch. "Money movements I don't recall authorizing."
I'd been careful, but not careful enough. Daniel monitored our finances obsessively—it was how he maintained control.
"The foundation donation," I said smoothly. "For the children's hospital gala. You signed the authorization last month." I turned to face him, coffee mug in hand. "Don't you remember? You said it was important for your firm's image after the Westlake settlement."
Doubt flickered across his face. I'd chosen my lie carefully—the children's hospital was his current favorite tax deduction, and the Westlake case had been particularly ugly, even by his standards. His memory of signing papers was continuous; I'd learned to exploit this.
"I don't recall it being that amount," he said finally.
I shrugged slightly. "The initial proposal was thirty thousand, but the naming opportunity for the new wing required forty." I took a careful sip of coffee. "I have the paperwork in my office if you'd like to see it."
The paperwork existed—I'd created it months ago, anticipating just such a need. One of many contingencies I'd prepared in the slow, methodical process of planning my escape.
Daniel studied me, searching for deception. I met his gaze evenly.
"Zoe," he said, his voice softening to the tone he used when shifting tactics. "Are we okay? You've seemed... distant lately."
I set down my mug. "Have I?"
"I know I've been busy with the Morton case. But things will calm down soon." He moved closer, reaching for my hand. "Remember our vows? 'Till death'?"
I allowed myself to smile. "Every word."
The moment stretched between us, a tightrope of tension disguised as intimacy. I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding, if he could sense the hatred beneath my practiced expression.
"The charity gala is tonight," I said, breaking the silence. "Should I have your tux ready?"
He nodded, finishing his scotch. "I'll meet you there. I need to stop by the office first."
The office. His code for the penthouse. For Natalie.
"Of course." I stepped away, maintaining the choreography of our marriage. "I'll have Emily ready by seven. The sitter can stay with her while we're out."
---
The Eastside Children's Hospital Annual Gala was everything Daniel loved—exclusive, ostentatious, and filled with people who could further his ambitions. I wore a midnight blue gown that had cost more than my monthly salary when I was working, my hair swept up in an elegant chignon.
"Mrs. Carter, you look stunning," gushed the hospital director's wife. "And so generous—Daniel told us about your suggestion to increase the donation for the naming opportunity."
I smiled politely, filing away this confirmation that Daniel had believed my lie. "The hospital does such important work."
I circulated through the ballroom, playing my role perfectly. Daniel worked the room separately, his charisma on full display as he charmed potential clients and intimidated competitors. From across the crowded space, we looked like the perfect power couple.
I was at the bar when I felt someone move too close behind me.
"He'll never leave you for me, will he?"
I turned to find Natalie Voss, her youth accentuated by a dress too tight and too short for the occasion. Up close, she looked younger than in the video—perhaps twenty-five, with the hungry ambition of someone who believed sleeping with the boss was a career strategy.
"Pardon?" I kept my voice pleasantly confused.
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't pretend. I know you've seen us together. Daniel said you checked his iPad the other day."
A mistake. I'd been careless, leaving digital footprints. But her statement confirmed something important—Daniel suspected, but wasn't certain.
"Natalie, is it?" I sipped my champagne. "You're Daniel's new junior associate."
"I'm more than that," she hissed, leaning closer. "We have something real. He's just waiting for the right time to tell you."
Poor girl. She actually believed it.
"Daniel is a brilliant attorney," I said calmly. "Calculating, strategic, always three moves ahead. Did you know he pursued me for months before we married? Convinced me to give up my career because he 'couldn't bear to share me with the world'?"
Confusion crossed her features.
"He'll never leave me," I continued softly. "Because I'm not a conquest to be won and discarded. I'm a possession. And Daniel doesn't surrender what belongs to him."
Her face flushed. "You're wrong. He'll never leave me," she sneered, misunderstanding entirely. "I know things about him you don't."
I smiled, genuinely amused. "Oh, I know."
She blinked, thrown off balance by my lack of jealousy or distress.
"Enjoy your evening, Natalie," I said, setting down my glass. "And perhaps reconsider your choice of perfume. Chanel No. 5 is lovely, but it lingers rather noticeably."
I walked away, leaving her staring after me. The perfume comment was calculated—it would make her wonder how I knew, would plant seeds of doubt about how much information Daniel shared with me. Small psychological warfare, but effective.
As the evening progressed, I tracked Daniel's movements while appearing absorbed in conversation with the city's elite. He checked his phone repeatedly, growing increasingly impatient. At 10:30, he approached me.
"I need to handle something at the office," he murmured, his hand possessive at the small of my back. "Don't wait up."
I nodded, dutiful wife that I was. "Be careful driving. The weather report mentioned fog near the river."
He was already turning away, his mind on the rendezvous ahead. He didn't see my small smile.
---
At 10:45, I slipped away from the gala, claiming a headache. By 10:52, I was parked a block from Natalie's building, watching Daniel's Audi pull up to the curb. He got out, straightening his tie, and entered the small tobacconist shop beneath her apartment—his ritual stop to buy the Cuban cigars he enjoyed after sex.
I gave him three minutes, then moved quickly. The service entrance required a key card, but the night maintenance worker recognized me from previous reconnaissance visits I'd made, posing as a concerned friend of Natalie's.
"Evening, Mrs. Wilson," he greeted me, using the false name I'd given. "Miss Voss isn't back yet."
"I know," I smiled. "I'm just dropping off a surprise for her birthday. Could I trouble you to let me up?"
Upstairs, I moved with practiced efficiency. The gas valve adjustment was minor—not enough to cause immediate danger, but sufficient to create a slow leak that would build over time. The timing was crucial—Daniel would arrive upstairs within minutes, and Natalie would return from the gala shortly after, frustrated and determined to confront him.
By the time I returned to my car, my phone showed 11:00 PM exactly. I pulled away, driving to the sitter's house to collect Emily.
She was waiting by the window, her small backpack already packed with the essentials we'd discussed—her favorite stuffed rabbit, the locket with her grandmother's picture, the journal where she wrote her secrets.
"All set, sweetie?" I asked as I buckled her into the car seat.
She nodded solemnly. "Is it happening tonight?"
I hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. But remember what we talked about? This isn't something we discuss with anyone."
"I know, Mom." Her voice was steady, too mature. "It's just an accident. Accidents happen all the time."
As I started the car, my phone lit up with a news alert that made my breath catch:
*BREAKING NEWS: Explosion reported in Financial District. Multiple injuries reported.*
