Mr. Moore, Your Doting Wife Wants You Dead

"I need to marry him, then kill him." Leonard nearly tripped over his own feet, his wide eyes darting to Arielle in shock. "Wait—WHAT?! You never said anything about unaliving anyone!” Arielle’s expression remained calm as she reached for the black fur coat draped on the sink. She slid it over her shoulders and smiled. "Yes, but now I've changed my mind. An eye for an eye—is that not what they say?" Leonard gulped. "But ma’am—" Arielle’s smile faded, her gaze shifting to him. "And, don’t you think it’s time you left?” Leonard hesitated, concern evident in his voice. “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean—” “I’m not asking for your opinion, Leonard.” She gave him a small dismissive wave, as if brushing away a fly. “Go do what you're paid for. I’ll handle the rest.” Leonard pursed his lips but nodded eventually and exited as instructed. Arielle turned and made her way towards the elevator, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. She entered the elevator alone and the doors slid closed, sending her upwards to the rooftop. When they opened again, crew members bustling about the set came into view. They moved around, some adjusting wires and others cameras and props. With the audible sound of Arielle's heel finally halting, all conversations ceased and heads instantly turned to her in unison. "Who is she?" Someone suddenly murmured. “She's so elegantly dressed.” Another chimed. "Did we get a last minute recast?" Then, the director suddenly emerged—a large short man, with a fat belly tucked tightly under his belt. His face broke into a delighted smile when he saw Arielle. "Ah, you must be our new lead! They didn’t tell me they were sending someone as astonishing as you!" He chuckled, extending a welcoming hand. "I must say, you carry yourself like a star. Absolutely mesmerizing! Are you the second casting lead they mentioned?" Arielle lowered her head to the man's level, taking in the man’s sweaty appearance before smiling. "No, no. I'm the cleaner." The silence that followed was deafening. Faces dropped, even the director’s smile instantly disappeared. “A... cleaner?” The director echoed, blinking as though she’d just declared herself wonder woman. He looked her up and down, eyes trailing from the ivory silk gown hugging her figure to the black fur draped over her shoulders, then up to her neatly packed ponytail. His lips twitched. “You must be joking. How could someone like you be a mere.. cleaner? It's impossible!" Arielle tilted her head slightly, a smile spreading like honey filled with arsenic. “Oh, you flatter me, but I am indeed—" “Impossible?” Naomi's voice cut in, filled with irritation. “She looks like she’s been dug up from the gutters.” Arielle’s gaze shifted smoothly to the source. Standing not too far away was a woman in a curve-hugging, ankle-length red dress. Black heels, hair cascading perfectly down her back and a pair of sunglasses perched like a crown on her head. Arielle said nothing. She simply watched as the woman sashayed toward them, heels clicking like gunshots on the floor. When Naomi finally reached them, she planted both hands on her hips, elbow out and face tilted. “Well..” She began, looking Arielle up and down again with an expression of barely concealed distaste. “Unless Versace started handing out gowns to the help, I’m guessing she either stole that dress or pulled it out of someone’s trash thinking she could cosplay a woman of taste.” Arielle brows lifted slightly. Quite the opposite. She’d actually woken up in it. And it wasn’t the first. She had recanted three different times, three different timelines, same damn rooftop and same ending. Every time she opened her eyes, it was in this same dress and every time, she was killed right here—by someone she still could not identify. She shook her head gently, forcing herself back into the present. Not this time. She wasn’t here to blend in. She wasn’t here to be good. She was here to make him fall in love with her, marry her and then slit his throat. Naomi flipped her hair, then leaned towards the director, tracing one perfectly manicured finger down his soft belly to his belt and into his pants before shoving out with a giggle. No one saw this aside Arielle, as the director and the latter were both backing the crew. “Director..” Naomi purred sweetly. “You might wanna double-check that list. For all we know, she may not be a cleaner. Probably just some delusional wannabe who thought she could pull a ‘dress me pretty and sneak past security’ stunt.” She puckered her lips. “That’s why I suggested that the production team rent out the entire building, then people like her wouldn’t just crawl in.” The director pursed his lips, sighing. “It was one scene, Naomi dear. A rooftop shot. We couldn’t blow half the budget renting an entire skyscraper for ten minutes of screen time.” Naomi rolled her eyes and looked away dramatically, huffing. The director sighed again and gently rubbed her shoulder. “Don’t be mad, hmm? Tell you what—next time, I’ll rent out an entire restaurant for our next da—” “Director!” Naomi immediately gasped, eyes darting to the now very nosy crew behind them. She spun toward him with a scolding look and whispered something that made him blink like a guilty puppy. He turned, wheezing out a forced laugh to the room. “Oh—no-no! Not a date date! A corporate d-date! You know, to discuss her role! Naomi’s our lead actress, of course. We need to take her hole—I mean, role—seriously!” The director coughed nervously and Arielle’s lips twitched. The “disguise” was laughable at best. Everyone on set already knew Naomi was sleeping with the director—who, by the way, was old enough to be her grandfather’s poker buddy, but with no solid proof and Naomi’s Oscar-worthy innocence act, the rumors stayed just at that. The director suddenly turned back to Arielle, all traces of amusement gone. He flipped through the clipboard in his hand, licked his thumb and dragged his fat index finger down a page full of names until it halted. He tapped the paper and sneered, lifting his eyes to Arielle's. “Arielle Voclain, says here you’re indeed part of the cleaning crew.” Arielle nodded calmly, still with a smile. “Indeed, like I had confirmed earlier.” Naomi blinked, then smirked. “Why then, since that’s clear, welcome to the family!" She sauntered to her makeup stand, plopped herself onto the velvet stool, crossed her legs and reached for her latte and took one sip, then, with a flick, she sent the entire cup toppling to the floor. The coffee splashing everywhere. She gasped and daintily covered her mouth, hiding her grin behind her palm. “Oops! Looks like you’ll have to clean that up.” Arielle smiled back, though forced. Only for revenge, she reminded herself, this is the only way, if I truly want to destroy him. Naomi watched her, waiting—probably for a breakdown or at least some rage, but instead, Arielle calmly removed her fur coat, folded it and placed it by the corner. Then, with elegance she grabbed a bucket, dipped the mop and began cleaning. Once the floor sparkled, Arielle straightened, dusted her hands and turned back to the latter. “Do you want me to help with anything else?” Naomi’s lips twitched, fists rolled. She opened her mouth to respond, but— SHRIEEEK! “Oh my God—isn’t that LUCIAN VALE?!” “What is he doing here?!” “I can’t believe Silverline Studios could actually afford him—HELLO??” “He’s even hotter in real life. GAWD!” Lucian. Arielle’s fingers clenched around the mop handle as she turned, and at a distance stood the man she'd trade anything to make suffer. Just like the second time she recanted, he was dressed in a white button up shirt, two buttons undone and sleeves rolled to his elbows. Jet-black hair, slicked back with minimal effort with a strand dangling above his forehead. Then—his eyes suddenly landed on hers. And he.. smiled? Her grip on the mop loosened, but before she could figure if the smile was a hallucination or real, Naomi suddenly launched past her with lightning speed. “Lu-Lu!” She squealed, throwing her arms around him and pressing a kiss to his lips. Some of the crew members swooned. “They look good together.” “Power couple material..” “..Even though she’s probably cheating on him with a man twice her age.” That last one was whispered from the side—Arielle turned slightly and spotted Naomi’s makeup artist muttering it beside her. Ah yes. She’d almost forgotten. Her target, the infamous Lucian and Naomi were engaged and soon to be wedded. “Lucian! What took you so long? We thought you bailed on us!” Naomi cooed, still wrapped around him like a scarf. Lucian finally looked down at her, expression blank. “My neck is sore and your hands gynormous.” A few crew members tried to hold back their laughter and failed miserably. They were engaged, technically. But half the time, it felt like Naomi was the only one who acknowledged their relationship. Still, Naomi didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I’m sorry!” She said, pouting. “Maybe I could give you a massage lat—” Lucian caught her hand mid-air and tossed it aside making the latter wobble backwards a bit. “Ah! Luc—!” “Where is the director?” Lucian’s gaze scanned the rooftop, paying no heed to Naomi. The director immediately scrambled forward, sweat practically leaking from his soul. He glanced at Naomi on the floor and swallowed hard, but didn’t dare touch her in Lucian’s presence. “I-I’m here!” He stammered, trying to hide his panic with a bright smile. Lucian nodded. “Let’s begin.” >>15 Minutes Later "1.. 2.. 3.. ACTION!" The gun goes off. Naomi takes a bullet to the shoulder, collapsing only to be caught by Lucian, who rushes to her with lightning speed. He holds her tightly. Another shot is fired. This one hits Lucian in the back—but he doesn’t let go of her. The killer stands frozen on set, gun in hand, but the real spotlight is on Lucian. His emotional breakdown, the way he clutches Naomi—or rather, the character—like she’s the only thing anchoring him to life? For a man known to be irritated by her touch, his acting was exceptional. "CUT!" The director finally yells. Meanwhile.. In the building opposite the set—through a cracked, dusty window, a dark figure adjusts a rifle scope. Their finger hovered over the trigger, gun directly pointed to Arielle’s heart. But just as the figure was about to fire—Arielle suddenly turns. Not just her head—but her whole body—facing directly into the scope. The figure froze. What the hell? And then Arielle smiled, but not the sweet smile people give to cameras. She lifted her chin slightly and waved. “Hello, sister.”