It was like I was frozen in place. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. What should I say? Should I say anything? Maybe if I pretended that I couldn't hear him, then I could put this all off until I formed some kind of a plan.

However, Phil took care of that for me.

"Sweetheart, are you in there?" He called from the other side of the door.

Never again did I think I would ever be comforted by the sound of Phil's voice, but I'll be damned if miracles don't happen. My heart started to slow to a normal rhythm and the feeling returned to my body.

By this point in our marriage, I knew every one of Phil's fake ass personalities. With nothing but the tone of his voice or the way he twitched an eyebrow, I could read him like a book. Which is why I knew in an instant exactly who this was:

The "Cassanova" Phil. Trying his best to romance me for one ungodly reason or another. But whatever his reason, he seemed to have no clue about what I did today. If he did, I doubt even he would have been able to disguise it this well.

That said, it didn't mean that I was completely in the clear either. It would be safest to play along with this little game of his for now. Better to have him being his bullshit version of "romantic" than pissed off and on high alert. I might need that leniency later.

"I'm here, Darling," I called sweetly. "Is everything okay? You're home early. I haven't even had the chance to start dinner yet."

"Don't worry about it. I brought some food home anyway," he explained. "We can reheat it for dinner later. Did you just get in?"

"A minute ago. I'll be out in a little while. Why don't you go relax for now?"

"Alright, I'll see you in a bit."

I strained to hear over the sound of the pattering water for his footsteps retreating. Luckily for me, he closed the bedroom door behind him on his way out. My body seemed to deflate as a huge sigh of relief exited from it. I slumped to the floor, covering my head with my hands.

God, that was close. Too close. If I hadn't heard his car door...

I shook my head as if trying to shake away all those negative "what ifs." No, I didn't need to worry about that. Because I did hear him.

That's right, everything was fine. I heard him, I made it into the bathroom in time, and nothing happened. There was no point in dwelling on the things that might have gone wrong when nothing actually went wrong. No point in getting stressed out over nothing.

I gave another small sigh and stood up, letting the water wash over me.

That's right, no point worrying about problems that didn't exist. Instead, I should be worrying about the problems that did exist. Like, for example, whatever had Phil playing the romantic all of a sudden.

I grimaced as I recalled the fake, cheesy pet name he called me. Sweetheart? What the hell was that about?

It didn't make any sense. Not after a fight like this morning, at least. Something like that would typically leave him in a bad mood for the rest of the day. If he came home at all, it would usually be long past midnight. And even on the rare occurrence that he did come home on time after a fight, he would always be very snappy and standoffish.

So, what in the world made him not only come home early but also feel as if he needed to romance me in some way? It was suspicious at best and worrying at worst. What was he buttering me up for? Was today the day he finally snapped and killed me like one of those true crime shows?

Nah. He had an event next weekend that he needed me at. Even with murderous intent, I doubt he would risk his public image by having his wife go missing before something like that. Especially since people always suspect the spouses first.

I snickered a little at the thought. A bit of dark humor, but it helped to clear away the last of the residual panic from my head.

Alright, so it probably wasn't anything that serious, but he definitely had some kind of motive for acting the way he did. We already had a vague agreement about things like that charity event he mentioned, so it's not like he needed to sway me for that. He wouldn't be stupid enough to bring up anything about Eli, so I doubted that it had anything to do with him. So what could it be? The only other thing I could think of was...

I let out a small noise of disgust and shook my head. God, I hope it wasn't that again...

Well, whatever it was, there was only one way to find out. I finished washing up and turned off the shower. As I toweled off, I didn't notice anything that reminded me of Mason's scent. Although, I'm not sure if I was more pleased or disappointed by that fact.

I could make out the faint sounds from the TV in the living room as I stepped into the bedroom. Part of me wondered how long I could hide in here before he finally came to hunt me down. On a normal day, I could probably get away with staying here until he got hungry, but today...

I sighed as I recalled his sickly sweet tone earlier. No. I'd be lucky to get thirty minutes before he came to check on me today. It was clear he had something up his sleeve that required my presence.

As reluctant as I was to do so, I knew I'd have to face the music sooner or later. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. Especially since attempting to do so might make the situation worse than if I'd just gone along with it in the first place.

Still, I decided to take some precautions going into all this. In case it was what I feared, I certainly wasn't going into battle unarmed. Luckily, I had an unknowing accomplice in all this:

Phil's mom.

Of course, me being the lowly peasant girl that I was, I was nowhere near good enough for her precious son. However, much like Phil, she made an effort to keep up her appearances as the doting mother-in-law around others. Which meant that she had to find more subtle, passive-aggressive ways to show her dislike for me.

One of her favorites had always been criticizing my fashion sense. Nothing that would be too noticeable to other people, but things I'd learned to pick up on during the years. One of the most common was gifting me clothes at holidays. Specifically, clothes that she liked wearing.

She always played it off as the whole "wanting us to match because she loved me like a daughter" thing, but really, it was her way of saying that the clothes I liked were trash and hers were the proper choice that I should be making.

Naturally, I wore them sometimes to family events to keep up the pretense of a good relationship, but most of them ended up shoved to the back of my closet never to be seen again. They were all designer labels, of course. But that was the beginning and the end of what was good about them.

Plain, uncomfortable material, no real shape to them whatsoever. I hated them.

But Phil hated them more.

He hated the clothes his mother gave me with a passion. Not only did they make his "young, beautiful trophy wife" look like a frumpy, old hag, but they also served as a constant reminder of his mother as well. Which, in certain situations, is the last thing any man wants. Especially in his bedroom.

As a result, her little "gifts" were the perfect intimacy blockers when I was in a pinch. I even went so far as to buy bras and panties in the same style she wore to match them. If that didn't send Phil's scrotum running for the hills, then nothing would.

I smiled to myself as pulled one of the shapeless, beige monstrosities over my head. It was kind of funny. Every time we saw her, she always pestered me about why I hadn't popped out any grandchildren for her yet. I wondered how she'd react if I told her that she actually had a huge helping hand in all of that.

I gave myself a once-over in the mirror. Yup, I looked exactly like what would happen if the postal service started designing clothes. As the cherry on top, I added a couple of spritzes of the perfume she gave me a couple of years ago. Her scent, of course. The smell instantly brought to mind images of overly pretentious modern art, empty bottles of imported wine, and a really bad shade of blonde.

Perfect.

With my body securely armored, I took a deep breath as I forced myself out of the bedroom and towards the clamoring sounds of the TV. Of course, Phil was there waiting.

As unhappy as I was to see him, I will admit that I got a small satisfaction out of seeing his face contort with confusion and panic as he smelled his mother's perfume. Although, the look of both relief and annoyance that replaced it a second later wasn't exactly a bad one either.

"There you are, Sweetheart. I was just about to come check on you," he said in the same sickly sweet voice as before. "You look lovely."

Oh, God. It was worse than I thought. He definitely wanted something from me. Something big. Even at his fakest, he wouldn't compliment me about wearing his mother's clothes. At best, he'd make a half-assed comment about liking me the way I was or that they didn't suit me.

But this. He was outright ignoring it at this point. At least, as well as he could given how thick I'd laid it on.

This was dangerous. I still wasn't sure what exactly he wanted, but clearly, whatever it was was bad enough that he didn't even dare to imply a negative comment. There was no telling what scheme he had planned for tonight. Or how far he'd go to make it happen either.

It was nerve-wracking to be sure, the unknown always is, but I was sure that I could handle it. After all, this was still Phil we were talking about. As determined as he was, there was only so far he could push any agenda of his before it nudged into the area of "illegal."

Phil might have been a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He'd spent years doing everything he could to create the perfect public image for himself. The last thing he would ever do is risk it over a stupid scandal. Whatever he had planned tonight, I was safe.

That confidence firm in my mind, I forced a smile to my face. "What? In this old thing? Please. You've probably seen me wear this about a dozen times by now."

It wasn't a lie. By this point in our marriage, I think I had used it about that many times. If anything, I was starting to worry about it losing its potency as "birth control." Thank God Christmas was just a few months out.

"Maybe, but I swear it gets lovelier every time I look at you." He put on his cheesiest smile as he stood, a bouquet in his arms.

I had to fight back the urge to grimace as he walked over and handed them to me.

So, he was really doing this, huh? Dinner, flowers, complimenting my hideous outfit. Whatever was going on, he was definitely playing hardball tonight.

Honestly, I think the waiting was killing me more than whatever he actually had planned. Part of me just wanted to drop the whole charade right then and there. Tell him to cut the crap and just say what he was really after. That way, I could reject him outright and move on with the rest of my life.

But that method would only make my life harder in the long run. Either way he'd be pissed about me rejecting him, sure, but playing along granted certain long-term benefits that being blunt just couldn't offer.

For him, my "playing nice" was like a reassurance on his part. Sure, maybe I was stubborn and unbudgeable on certain things, but the fact that I played along with him up until that point meant that he still had some kind of control over me. That he could still use me for the necessities if nothing else.

A frustrating fact, but a helpful one. Although far from his "ideal" of a wife, he didn't consider me a threat either. Which meant he mostly treated me with indifference. He didn't call to check up on me, he was less demanding with how he wanted certain things done, and he went out at his leisure since he didn't need to stick around to monitor me. All things that would be to my advantage if I wanted to keep up this little affair with Mason.

So, I endured. I bit my tongue and smiled warmly as he handed me the overpriced flowers. I even sniffed them as an act of good faith.

"Oh, Phil, you shouldn't have! They're beautiful. Let me just go put these in some water. I'll be right back."

"I'll be waiting."

Gag. Still, I was glad he seemed to buy the excuse. At least, enough to give me a moment to myself.

I let out the biggest sigh as I half-tossed the flowers onto the counter. I rubbed my temples. Phil and his Cassanova bullshit could wait. I needed a moment to breathe. More than that, I needed a moment to think.

I glanced at the table. Looks like he'd brought home food from one of the nicer restaurants in town. A bottle of wine was resting in an ice bucket too. That told me two things:

Number one, he was really trying to pull out all the stops for a "romantic evening."

And number two, he didn't plan on waiting long to do it.

If he'd put the wine in the fridge, then that would be one thing, but the fact that he already put it in a bucket meant that he probably planned on cracking it open soon. I'm guessing that's when he was going to hit me with whatever he was building up to.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Alright, fine. If this was how he wanted to battle it out, then I was ready for the war.

Get ready, Cassanova. Mrs. Henderson was coming for you.