Gilded Obsession

PAIN

Lucilla sat at her desk in her New Haven office, the soft hum of the city beyond her window nothing more than background noise, the leaden skies above mirroring her mood. She was feeling unusually lethargic that morning; she blamed it on the near all-nighter she had to pull working on an important client’s brief. A half-empty coffee cup rested beside the stack of legal documents she had been poring over—contracts, income statements, projections, and strategy outlines for Albert’s global expansion. Her meticulous efforts had been instrumental in bringing his business to the precipice of something enormous, something that could cement him as a household name in the bespoke footwear niche. They were yet to have the follow-up conversation they had planned, but she was certain he’d agree to her proposal. So, she thought it best to be proactive.

Her gaze was fixed on the dedicated iPad propped up beside her keyboard, displaying the live feed from Albert’s apartment on Tunxis Road. The cameras, discreetly installed in every room, had been a precaution she ought to be ashamed of—but wasn’t. It didn’t even surprise her that she didn’t meet much mental resistance, as some might have, when the idea to carry out the invasive deed first formed. She didn’t exactly know what she expected to see, but she knew what she feared, and she was staring at it—an unspoken suspicion that had gnawed at her since she saw the flirtatious exchange between Albert and Marcia at Clarice’s birthday party. Now, what she was seeing on the camera feed threatened to confirm everything she feared.

She watched as Marcia stepped into Albert’s apartment. What was she doing there in the middle of the day? There was an ease to the way she moved, a quiet confidence that unsettled Lucilla. The exchange between them started with restraint—polite words, careful glances—but it quickly unraveled. She’s bold, that one, Lucilla thought. The distance between them closed, their voices dropped, and Lucilla, unable to look away, saw the moment passion eclipsed restraint. She was forced to witness the kind of raw, desperate longing that she had once believed was reserved for her.

A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped her lips. Her chest tightened, rage flooding through her veins, but alongside it came something else—something darker, more primal. She should have looked away, should have turned off the screen. She had seen more than enough. But she didn’t. She sat there, her fingers trembling as she adjusted the angle, as if seeing it more clearly would lessen the sting or change the characters in the performance entirely. She didn’t want to believe what she was seeing. She was in denial.

She furiously shoved the iPad to the ground, ran her hands through her hair in despair, and walked to the window. Staring absently outside, she steadied herself, suppressing a scream and doing all she could to hold back tears.

When she retrieved the iPad from where it lay, the scenes she witnessed weakened her. That b***h Marcia was on MY island, the same island she was bent over merely weeks ago. Albert was a man possessed, and Marcia met his hunger with equal fervor. Her heart sank as she watched him drop to his knees. Their movements were seamless, an unspoken language of bodies that Lucilla recognized all too well. She wept. It was then that she felt the heat pooling low in her stomach, a contradiction of emotions that made her feel sick and yet—

She exhaled shakily, her legs pressing together beneath her desk. Her mind screamed at her to stop, to look away, but her body betrayed her. The anger, the betrayal, the hurt—it all coalesced into something twisted, something intoxicating. Her hand slipped beneath the hem of her pencil skirt, fingers dragging along lace. She shouldn’t. And yet, she did.

By the time her body convulsed with release, she felt drained, hollowed out, left with nothing but deep anguish and the empty feeling of having been betrayed. So this is what it feels like to be desolate, she thought. Her breath was ragged in the silence of her office. The moment of pleasure was fleeting, overtaken by the crushing weight of reality. She straightened, smoothing down her skirt with a shuddering breath, and stared at the screen again—at Marcia rising from Albert’s hard c**k. MY c**k, she thought.

She wondered how long this might really have been going on. Wondered if the recent regularity of his visits to his family’s estate in Simsbury were truly out of the necessity he claimed. Had this been happening for longer than she knew? Were the lingering glances at Marcia she had only recently noticed simply a manifestation of carelessness, the cracks beginning to appear in his act? She sighed.

A sickening clarity washed over her. She had spent the past few weeks dedicated to making his dreams a reality, the months since they began dating championing his ambitions, doing all she could to support him. And yet, here he was, repaying her loyalty with betrayal. She had been preparing to secure his future, their future. Her motives may have been questionable, but they were certainly harmless. She thought all this consummate with the knowledge that he didn’t really need her for any of it—he had the confidence and charisma to secure funding for himself; he had the family name and the business case was strong. She needed him more than he needed her, and she knew it. She always had. But that reality had never stung quite like this, it slapped hard. And now? Now, she would do whatever it takes to ensure he remained shackled to her.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she reached for the stack of documents beside her and began tearing them apart. The contracts, the financial forecasts, the carefully structured expansion plans—all of it reduced to ribbons of paper fluttering onto the hardwood floor. The global expansion of his brand would no longer be her concern.

No, she had a new plan.

Lucilla leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly as the pieces fell into place. Confronting Albert directly about his betrayal would be futile. He would not deny it or make excuses, which would leave her with the simple choice of preserving her dignity by leaving him or completely voiding it by staying with him despite his disregard for her feelings. It was at that moment she started to feel something else for him—hate. Now she truly understood how love and hate could coexist.

She decided on something more insidious. A wound that would never truly heal.

Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup as the idea took full form, chilling in its brilliance. She would tell him she had cervical cancer. She would tell him that because of him—because of his reckless infidelity—her body had been ravaged by the human papillomavirus, leaving her unable to bear children. She would go through the motions, demanding that he tell her who he had been sleeping with. She would weep and cry as one bereaved. She would ensure that he was crushed by the weight of guilt. For the first time, the depths of her own deviousness was flagged by some form of internal reprimand. She buried the feeling; and would ignore every scruple. Her future with Albert was on the line.

The beauty of the lie was its permanence. He could never undo it. Never escape the weight of it. The guilt would corrode him, tether him to her in ways love never could. And the best part? She wouldn’t need to provide proof. The very act of denying it, of demanding evidence, would make him look monstrous. It would leave him stranded between guilt and uncertainty, trapped in a prison of his own making. She meant to punish him.

The plan required that she play the long game—with continuous pretense and consistent manipulation. It would change their lives, completely change the dynamic of her belief in the love affair she still held onto so stubbornly. She wondered if she really wanted to do it, but the reality of what she had just observed between him and Marcia convinced her of the necessity of seeing her plan through. The girl had her tentacles in Albert, MY man, even she would admit that there was something about Marcia, a deep allure. She could take Albert from her if she didn’t do a desperate thing.

That witch, she thought.

She knew it would take something of great consequence to free Albert from her nefarious grip. A plan as deep as hers—one designed to be lasting and evoke a deep sense of remorse. The idea had holes in it, and she considered the holes to be even wider, considering she meant to use it against a person of Albert’s meticulous intelligence. She was, however, willing to take the gamble based on Albert’s guilt and his strong sense of responsibility. Albert was exactly the kind of person with a conscience that wouldn’t permit him to abandon someone he felt he had caused such lasting damage.

She played back the footage, watching from the top, now with a clearer head and a commitment to her plan. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was watching it again. Maybe to convince herself of the necessity of the actions she had resolved to undertake, perhaps to simply torture herself. One thing was certain: watching it a second time didn’t hurt any less. But it made her angrier. Perhaps that was the reason. To see through what she planned, she needed to be spurred by anger.

A slow smile curled on her lips as she reached for her phone. There was work to do.

There was a knock on her door.

“One moment,” she said, collecting herself, picking up the pieces of torn paper scattered about.

“Come in.”