MY WIFE IS A SERIAL KILLER

Lenco's POV The television on the kitchen counter was muted, but the breaking news banner was impossible to miss: PRIEST AND ATTORNEY FOUND MURDERED IN PARISH. SANDEE CORP INVESTIGATED. I barely paid it any mind. It was my birthday. I was a stay-at-home dad who had just survived getting two kids dressed without juice spills, and most importantly—Willow was finally coming home. The moment the lock clicked, I stepped forward and pulled my wife into my arms. Willow instantly went rigid. For a fraction of a second, her body felt less like my loving, corporate-executive wife and more like a coiled spring ready to strike. Then, as quickly as it came, the tension dissolved. “I missed you, Lenco,” she murmured, burying her face into my shoulder. I squeezed her tighter, but my smile wavered. Beneath the expensive floral perfume she always wore, there was another scent clinging to her coat. Sharp. Metallic. Something that reminded me of iron. “Mummy!” Campbell squealed from the dining table. “You made it for Daddy’s birthday!” Willow pulled back, her eyes widening as she glanced from the hanging streamers to the home-cooked feast on the table. Her face drained of color. “Oh, God…” She covered her face, looking genuinely mortified. “Lenco, I am so sorry. My work with Sandee Corporation was an absolute nightmare this week. My head is so fried, I don’t even know what day it is.” “It’s fine, babe,” I said softly, kissing her cheek. “You’re home. That’s all that matters.” I reached down to grab her black leather travel bag. “Let me take this upstairs for you so you can relax—” “No!” Her hand shot out like a viper, her fingers locking around my wrist with startling force. I froze. The room went dead silent. Willow stared at me, her dark eyes completely unblinking. For two terrifying seconds, I didn't recognize the woman standing in front of me. Then she blinked. Her grip loosened, and that familiar, tender smile reappeared on her lips. “I mean… don’t worry about it, sweetie,” she purred, her voice soft as silk again. “It’s your birthday. Go sit with the kids. I’ll carry my own luggage.” She swept past me and headed up the staircase, carrying the heavy leather bag as if it weighed nothing at all. I stood alone in the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs. Slowly, I lifted my arm and looked down at my wrist, where she had grabbed me. Stained into the light cotton of my shirt cuff was a dark, stiff smear. I rubbed my thumb against it. It didn't smear like makeup or smudge like ink. It flaked into tiny reddish-brown crusts. Blood. Dried blood. I raised my eyes to the top of the stairs, where the door to our bedroom softly clicked shut.