Maya’s POV
The burner phone haunts me from its hiding place, an invisible weight I carry everywhere. Every time I enter my room, its presence presses against my awareness. Every time I leave, I wonder if someone's discovered it.
Every time I enter my room, I'm aware of its presence. Every time I leave, I wonder if someone's found it.
Two weeks. The deadline ticks down with every breath I take.
I continue my routine at the estate because what else can I do? The twins need breakfast and help getting dressed. Their backpacks need to be packed with the right folders and the homework that Lisa obsesses over and the snacks that Nina prefers.
Margaret needs someone to coordinate with the tutors and manage the household calendar and ensure Hope's feeding schedule doesn't conflict with Daphne's physical therapy appointments.
I move through my days playing the role I've perfected—trusted employee, helpful assistant, the person everyone relies on but no one really sees. Except now, everything feels different.
Every smile I give the twins carries the weight of impending betrayal. Every conversation with Daphne reminds me I'm living a lie in a house where I've somehow become family.
It's Tuesday afternoon when Archie finds me in the kitchen reviewing the week's meal plan with the cook. He waits until we're finished, then catches my hand as I'm leaving.
"Walk with me?" he asks, and there's something light in his voice, something that sounds like hope or happiness or the kind of simple pleasure I've forgotten how to feel without guilt attached.
The roses are blooming—Margaret's prize roses that she tends with the same precision she applies to managing teenagers.
Archie's hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with a naturalness that still surprises me. We walk the gravel paths like teenagers sneaking away from parental supervision, our footsteps crunching softly, no particular destination in mind.
When we reach the old oak at the garden's edge, hidden from the house's windows by hedges and distance, Archie pulls me close and kisses me. It's soft and unhurried, the kind of kiss that's about connection rather than heat, about being close to someone just because you can.
I kiss him back and feel something crack open in my chest.
This is what I never had. The giddy, innocent romance of youth—stolen kisses in gardens, hands held in secret, the feeling that time stops when you're with someone and nothing else matters beyond the small bubble of space you occupy together.
I went straight from childhood to Lora's caretaker. By the time I was old enough for relationships, I was too consumed by grief and planning revenge to let anyone close.
And then Lora died, and I became the revenge-obsessed young woman who spent six years building a mission instead of a life.
This—Archie's arms around me, his mouth soft against mine, the way he looks at me like I'm something precious—feels like reclaiming something I lost before I ever had it.
Like going back and living the youth I skipped over, experiencing what it means to be young and in love without the weight of grief and duty and impossible missions crushing everything beautiful.
It's refreshing. It's terrifying. It's everything I never knew I wanted and everything I'm about to lose.
We break apart, and Archie keeps his arms around my waist, holding me close. I rest my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat—steady, reliable, belonging to a man who has no idea I'm counting down to the day I destroy his best friend.
"Have you noticed how bad things are with them?" I ask quietly. The question escapes before I can stop it, breaking the peaceful moment.
Archie goes still. "With who?"
"Daphne and Xander. The distance between them, the way they barely speak, barely look at each other. It's like watching two people exist in parallel universes that occasionally intersect but never actually connect anymore."
His arms loosen slightly. When I look up, his face has shifted from contentment to something more serious, concerned. The happiness that was there a moment ago dims like someone turned down a dial.
"I've noticed," he says carefully.
"Doesn't it bother you? Watching them fall apart?"
"Of course it bothers me. Daphne’s my best friend. Xander is…" He pauses, searching for words. "He’s family too. Watching them suffer hurts. But it's not our place to intrude, Maya. They have to work this out themselves."
"But what if they can't? What if the distance just keeps growing until there's nothing left to bridge?"
Archie pulls away slightly, creating space between us so he can see my face properly. His eyes search mine, trying to understand why I'm pushing this.
"They're adults. They're smart, capable people who love each other and love their children. They'll figure it out." His voice is firm, certain. "Or they won't. But either way, it's their choice to make. We can't fix their marriage for them, and trying would only make things worse."
"So we just watch? Do nothing?"
"We be here when they need us. We support them individually without taking sides. We take care of the twins when they need a break and give them space when they need distance."
His hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking along my cheekbone. "But we don't interfere. That's not what friends do."
I nod, forcing myself to look convinced. "You're right. Of course you're right."
But something twists in my chest, sharp and uncomfortable. It doesn't sit right with me—watching them fracture, doing nothing while their marriage crumbles in slow motion.
Archie's philosophy of respectful distance makes sense from his perspective. He's the loyal friend, the supportive presence who understands boundaries.
I'm the one who destroyed those boundaries before I ever arrived.
The threatening notes that terrified Daphne, that brought her running back to Xander despite their complicated history, that set in motion the chain of events leading to the twins being in danger and Hope's high-risk pregnancy and every crisis that followed—I sent those.
The poison that's been seeping into this house for months, weakening the foundation until everything started cracking—I'm the source.
And now I stand in the garden with Archie, pretending to care about their marriage, asking what we should do, when I'm the reason they're falling apart in the first place.
The guilt coils tighter around my throat. Every kiss Archie gives me, every moment of happiness I steal with him, every second I spend pretending to be someone worthy of the life I'm living here—it's all built on lies and manipulation and the systematic destruction of people who showed me nothing but kindness.
"Come on," Archie says, taking my hand again. "Let's walk some more. Forget about them for a little while and just be us."
I let him lead me deeper into the gardens, past the roses and the fountain and the bench where Nina likes to read. I follow him and smile when he points out a butterfly, laugh when he tells me a story about the twins climbing one of these trees last summer and getting stuck.
I play the part of the girlfriend, the partner, the woman building a future with a man who deserves better than what I'm about to do to him.
The burner phone waits in my closet. Two weeks until the deadline. Two weeks until I have to choose between keeping the promise I made to Lora and keeping the life I've accidentally built here.
Two weeks until I destroy everything, including myself.
But today, in this moment, with Archie's hand warm in mine and sunlight filtering through leaves, I let myself pretend we have more time than we do.