"Has it been delivered?" Sheila asked Martin. They were alone in the house, now that his wife was no longer around.
Ex-wife, he corrected in his mind.
"Yes. Our lawyer texted me—Sharlene already received it," Martin replied as he hugged Sheila close on their bed.
"Let that serve as a warning. She shouldn't cross me again," Sheila muttered.
"We're free now," he said, gazing at her.
"Yes. Finally free to do everything we want." She returned his smile.
All of Sharlene's belongings were already placed outside. Martin had made sure nothing of hers remained in the house.
Sheila walked over to the window, clearly watching something outside.
"She's here," she said.
Martin followed her gaze. Even in the dim evening light, he recognized the woman standing by the gate—Sharlene. She looked startled, probably not expecting her things to be left out like garbage.
It was almost nine. Martin checked his watch. He had placed her bag in plain sight, waiting for her to come and see it for herself.
He shook his head. Sharlene still had keys to the gate and the house.
He heard Sheila chuckle softly as they watched Sharlene rush toward the door.
Persistent bitch, he thought.
"Stay here. I'll greet her myself," he told Sheila and left the room.
He ran into Sharlene just as she stepped inside.
"You don't live here anymore, Sharlene. Go back to where you came from," he said flatly.
She sighed. "I don't have time for your drama."
A voice behind him spoke coldly. "What are you doing here?"
He turned. Sheila was standing there, arms crossed, glaring at Sharlene.
"Have you no shame? This is still my home, Martin," Sharlene said sharply.
"I already told you—you have no claim here anymore. I've owned this house for a long time. Now leave. Your belongings—and Ashley's—are outside. I packed them myself."
He grabbed Sharlene by the arm and dragged her toward the door.
"Get out! Get lost!" Martin shouted.
The slap landed before he could finish. Sharlene's hand struck his cheek hard.
"Martin," Sheila gasped in concern.
Sharlene glared at them both in silence, her eyes deadly.
"Get out!" Sheila barked, pushing her toward the door. Martin instinctively shielded Sheila, in case Sharlene retaliated.
But Sharlene just shook her head, a bitter smile on her lips as she picked up her things.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure you pay me back every cent you owe. Don't be impatient—it's coming." She slipped the wedding ring from her finger and flung it at Martin.
Then she turned and walked away without another word. They watched her disappear into the night, not breathing until she was gone.
"Are you okay, babe?" Sheila asked, gently touching his cheek.
He nodded. Sheila kissed him, and he returned the gesture.
"Come on. Let's go inside," he said, leading her back in.
They sat at the dining table, drinking wine to calm their nerves. Martin glanced around the house, a grin spreading across his face.
She's gone. I don't care about that kid anymore. What matters is, I'm finally free. No more responsibilities.
"I know you're happy, hon. But we still need to be careful with your wife," Sheila warned.
"Don't worry. She's powerless now. Her grandmother's wealth was all she had, and now that old woman's dead, she's nothing."
He sipped his wine slowly, eyes locked on Sheila.
"That's why I love you," she said, smiling.
He grinned and raised his glass for a toast.
She came around and hugged him from behind.
"Yeah?" he asked.
"We need to sleep," she whispered.
Martin downed the rest of his wine, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her in close. The alcohol warmed his body—and so did the feel of Sheila.
He kissed her hungrily, and she moaned softly under his touch. His hands slid up her thigh, exploring eagerly.
"Martin," Sheila said breathlessly as he touched her. He only smirked and deepened the kiss, feeling himself grow harder.
He led her to the sofa, stripping away clothes between kisses. Half-naked now, he hovered over her.
"Damn," he whispered, desperate for release.
He glanced toward the mirror across the room—and froze.
Someone was watching.
"What's wrong, hon?" Sheila asked, slightly breathless.
"Nothing," he whispered into her ear, making her giggle.
She moaned again as he thrust into her suddenly.
"Martin!" she gasped, lightly smacking his chest. He laughed.
"You love it. You're holding on tight," he teased, beginning to move.
But he kept glancing at the mirror. The reflection showed Sheila underneath him—eager, flushed—but behind them, he saw… something.
Someone.
Still, he didn't stop. He was close. They both were.
They came together, breathless, exhausted.
Martin leaned down and kissed her again. Sheila responded with a satisfied smile.
"We should sleep now," she whispered.
"Yeah," he agreed. He helped her up, and she walked upstairs first. As he followed, their eyes met.
That's when he stopped cold.
He saw her.
A woman dressed in mourning.
Her face was familiar. She smiled sweetly—eerily—and chills ran down his spine.
She leaned in and whispered:
Be careful.
Then she vanished.
"Martin," Sheila called from the top of the stairs, annoyed.
"Y—Yeah," he stammered. He rushed up to meet her, brushing it off.
Just my imagination. I'm probably just tired.
Sheila hugged him as they settled into bed, and he wrapped his arms around her.
But the chill remained.