Part 5: The Journal of Lies
Part 5: The Journal of Lies
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Margaret stood in the doorway.
Her perfectly styled hair was slightly out of place.
Her expensive pearls were no longer a symbol of elegance.
They looked heavy.
Like a burden.
But it was the object in her hand that held my attention.
The black leather journal.
Ethan’s journal.
The one Lucas told me could destroy everything.
The one Ethan thought nobody would ever find.
My eyes moved from the journal to Margaret.
“Where did you get that?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she stepped inside and closed the office door behind her.
That small action made my heart race.
Not because I thought she would hurt me.
But because it reminded me of Ethan.
The habit of controlling space.
Controlling moments.
Controlling people.
“Claire,” she said softly.
I waited.
Her fingers tightened around the journal.
“There are things you need to know before you open this.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
Her eyes filled with sadness.
“Because once you know everything, there is no going back.”
I almost smiled.
“No going back?”
I looked around Ethan’s office.
“My husband hit me yesterday because I asked where he had been.”
My voice became colder.
“I think we passed the point of no return a long time ago.”
Margaret lowered her head.
She knew I was right.
Slowly, she walked toward the desk.
Then she placed the journal on top.
“I found this three years ago.”
I froze.
“Three years?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t know what it was.”
My eyebrows pulled together.
“You found Ethan’s secret journal three years ago and you did nothing?”
The pain on her face told me the answer before she spoke.
“I was afraid.”
That shocked me more than anything.
Margaret Blackwood?
Afraid?
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Of him.”
The room became silent.
For years, I thought Margaret was cold because she was powerful.
Now I wondered if she was cold because she had survived.
“What was inside?”
She looked at the journal.
“At first, business notes.”
A pause.
“Then names.”
My stomach tightened.
“Names?”
“People he used.”
I stepped closer.
“What people?”
Margaret opened the journal carefully.
The pages were filled with Ethan’s handwriting.
Neat.
Precise.
Almost beautiful.
That was what terrified me.
Monsters rarely look like monsters.
Sometimes they look like successful men in expensive suits.
Sometimes they write perfect handwriting.
Sometimes they bring flowers after hurting you.
Margaret turned a few pages.
“He wrote everything.”
She pointed.
“Payments.”
Another page.
“Dates.”
Another.
“Conversations.”
My hands became cold.
“Why would he keep evidence against himself?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Because Ethan never believed he could lose.”
That sounded exactly like him.
“He didn’t keep this because he was careless.”
She closed the journal halfway.
“He kept it because he thought he was untouchable.”
I remembered his words.
You’ll regret this.
Even after being exposed.
Even after losing everything.
He still believed I was the one who would suffer.
“Show me.”
Margaret hesitated.
Then opened to a marked page.
My eyes scanned the handwriting.
At first, it looked like a normal business entry.
Then I saw my name.
Claire.
My breath stopped.
The page said:
“Claire continues to believe the marriage can be repaired.”
I looked at Margaret.
“What is this?”
She didn’t answer.
I kept reading.
“She is emotional but predictable. She still wants to believe there is a good man beneath everything.”
My fingers trembled.
I turned the page.
Another entry.
“Her loyalty is useful.”
A cold feeling moved through my body.
Another page.
“Her family connections may become valuable if needed.”
My vision blurred.
He didn’t love me.
Not the way I thought.
Maybe he never did.
Margaret reached toward me.
“Claire…”
I stepped back.
“Don’t.”
She stopped.
Because I wasn’t angry at her.
Not yet.
I was trying to process the fact that the person I built my life around had studied me like a problem to solve.
A weakness to exploit.
I turned more pages.
Then I found something unexpected.
A date.
Six months ago.
The exact time Ethan started changing.
The entry was different.
Shorter.
More emotional.
“Claire is becoming suspicious.”
I swallowed.
Another line.
“She is noticing patterns.”
Then:
“She may become a problem.”
A problem.
Not a wife.
Not a partner.
A problem.
My chest tightened.
Margaret quietly said:
“There is more.”
I looked up.
“What?”
She pointed to the bottom of the page.
A sentence written darker than the rest.
As if Ethan pressed the pen harder.
“Prepare the accident plan.”
My blood turned cold.
“What accident?”
Margaret didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
Because she looked terrified.
“Claire…”
The office door suddenly shook.
Both of us froze.
A loud sound came from downstairs.
The front door.
Someone had entered.
Again.
But this time...
Margaret hadn’t invited anyone.
I looked at her.
“Who is that?”
Her face went pale.
Because she knew.
And when she finally spoke...
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Ethan.”
My heart stopped.
“That’s impossible.”
“He was released?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
She gripped my arm.
“He wasn’t arrested yet.”
The realization hit me.
The police didn’t take him.
Not really.
They only questioned him.
And if Ethan was here...
It meant he had come back for something.
The journal.
The evidence.
Or me.
The footsteps moved closer.
Slow.
Calm.
Confident.
The same way he walked every night.
Like the house belonged to him.
Like I belonged to him.
Margaret looked at me.
For the first time in my life...
She looked like she wanted to protect me.
“Hide.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She stared at me.
“Claire, please.”
I closed the journal.
My fear was still there.
But something else was stronger.
The woman who spent years staying quiet was gone.
I opened the office door.
And walked toward the footsteps.
Margaret followed behind me.
We reached the staircase.
And there he was.
Ethan.
Standing in the entrance hall.
His shirt was no longer perfectly pressed.
His face was tense.
His eyes were furious.
He looked at the two of us.
Then his gaze landed on the journal in my hand.
Everything changed.
Because for the first time...
Ethan Blackwood wasn’t looking at me like his wife.
He was looking at me like his greatest threat.
And he smiled.
May you like
A dangerous, quiet smile.
“You found it.”
