Right after the wedding, my husband began to humiliate mebut he had no idea I was undercover.
“You look absolutely stunning tonight. I cant believe my luck. Honestly, I never imagined fate would bring me someone like you.”
Arthur spoke those words on our first evening together as he sat beside me at The Rosewood. His eyes glowed with sincerityor what most would mistake for sincerity.
I responded with a smile, meeting his gaze for just a second before looking away. A slightly lifted chin, lashes half-loweredan expression Id rehearsed to perfection.
Not too eager, not too cold. Just enough mystery.
Five weeks earlier, my superior, Chief Inspector Harrington, had handed me his file.
“Emily, youre the only one who can get close to him. Weve been watching him for three yearsno leads. Hes careful, untouchable. And he responds to a certain type of woman.”
“What type?” I asked, flipping through the dossier, studying the photos. A handsome man. Tall, commanding, with piercing eyes.
“The kind who lets herself be controlled. No sharp edges. Someone he can dominate.”
I nodded. A role I knew by heart. Preparation. A new identity, documents, backstory, wardrobe.
Emily Carter vanished, and Alice Whitmore appeareda translator longing for love, tired of solitude.
Now, that same man sat across from me, smiling, discussing his business ventures, construction projects, contracts.
“You know, Alice,” he said, fingers brushing my hand, “I dont believe in coincidences. Our meeting was fate.”
I felt the power in his grip. The habit of control. The need to possess. I smiled as Id been trainedjust a flicker of vulnerability in my eyes.
“Neither do I, Arthur.”
The next three months flew by in a whirlwind. Flowers, fine dining, weekend trips to the coast. He was generous, attentive, flawless. I played my partsoft-spoken, modest, endlessly grateful for his attention.
Every eveninga report to HQ. Every morninga briefing. Every daynew details about his company, the schemes, the network of middlemen handling illegal documents and bribes.
“Youre going to be my wife,” he announced on day ninety-two. Not a questiona declaration.
The wedding came sooner than expected. A country estate. A white dress. Champagne. Dancing.
My team was there, disguised as distant relatives. Harringtona stern woman in a navy suit. As we danced, she whispered:
“Two months, three at most. We need proof. Files straight from his computer. Names. Dates. Meetings.”
I nodded, smiling as if shed paid me a compliment. A ring on my finger. A hidden camera in my locket. Three micro-cameras in the house. A transmitter sewn into my handbag.
That evening, we drove to his homea white mansion behind high gates in an affluent Surrey neighborhood. I lingered on the terrace under the stars when he approached and pulled me close. Whiskey on his breath.
“Youre mine now,” he whispered, fingers tightening around my wrists.
I turned, forcing a lovesick smile. But something in his eyes sent a chill down my spine. The look of a man whod just dropped the act.
The game had begun.
The next morning, I woke to the curtains yanking open. Sunlight burned my eyes, forcing me to squint.
“Get up. Its nine. No time to waste.”
Arthurs voice was differentcold, clipped. I sat up, disoriented. The man before me was harsher, jaw clenched, gaze unyielding.
“Breakfast in fifteen. Dont be late.”
He left without waiting for an answer. The mask was slipping faster than analysts predicted. Harrington had warned me: “Men like him cant pretend forever. Power is what fuels them.”
When I came downstairs, the staff had already set the table. Arthur ignored me, eyes fixed on his laptop.
“I thought Id go for that interview today,” I said, spreading butter on toast. “The translator position”
“No.” He didnt even look up. “My wife doesnt work for pennies.”
“But I love my job”
His hand slammed down, rattling the china.
“Are you deaf? I said no.”
A forgotten fury stirred inside methe real Emily Carter, whod once broken a muggers wrist, whod disarmed armed suspects bare-handed, surged forward.
But I held it in. Lowered my gaze. Clenched my fist under the table until it hurt.
“As you wish, darling.”
The weeks that followed were a silent battle. Arthur controlled every detail of my life.
Leaving the houseonly with permission. Phone callsmonitored. Clotheshis choice. Every eveninga report on my movements.
“You wore that blouse yesterday,” he sneered. “Did you think I wouldnt notice? Do you think I married a slob?”
I changed without a word. Every insult, every commandrecorded and transmitted to HQ. But I needed more. Access to his office. The safe behind the painting.
At night, while he slept, I searched the house for documents, passwords. By day, I played the broken, obedient wife.
His outbursts only made him bolder. Invincible.
“You belong to me,” he snarled, gripping my chin. “Remember that. You exist for my comfort.”
“Yes, Arthur,” I whispered. But Harringtons voice echoed in my head: “One more week, Emily. Were almost there.”
That evening, luck struck. While he showered, I fixed his drinkand he left his phone on the table. A rare mistake.
Four seconds, and I bypassed the passcode. Months of studying his habits, his glances, his lips shaping numbers.
Six minutes later, I placed it back just as he returned, towel around his waist. The data was already sent.
“Whats taking so long?” he snapped, watching me steep his tea.
“Sorry,” I said meekly. But inside, I was grinning. His laptop and safe still needed breaching, but the phone data was gold.
He gulped the tea, grimaced.
“Cant even get this right.”
The mug shattered in the sink. Tea pooled on the counter.
“Clean it up and go to bed,” he ordered. “I cant stand the sight of you.”
I knelt, gathering shards. Harringtons voice crackled in my earpiece:
“Thompsons talking. Hes giving up his associates. Excellent work, Emily. Stand down for a week.”
I smiled, tucking the phone away.
Later, in my flat, I stood under scalding water, washing off the act.
Outside, Londons lights flickered. Traffic hummed. A shirt from yesterday lay on the kitchen chair, coffee still in the pot.
Tonight was the finale. Arthur had arranged a meeting at his country housesupply deals, and a “solution” for a troublesome witness.
The night was pitch-black. As we arrived, Harringtons team waited in position.
“Time to move,” I murmured, adrenaline humming in my veins.
Inside, Arthur was smug, untouchable. I smiled as I passed him.
“Darling, Im bored,” I purred. “Lets make this quick.”
The game ended when he realized hed only ever controlled an illusion.
