The dinner table was a battlefield of silence. The only sounds were the scraping of silver against china and the ticking of the grandfather clock.

Julian had come home early. He was still wearing his work clothes, minus the tie. He looked agitated. He kept tapping his foot against the table leg.

Victoria sat opposite him, cutting her steak into precise, geometric squares. She chewed slowly.

Are you going to stare at me all night? Julian asked finally.

I'm just enjoying the view, Victoria said without looking up.

He scoffed. You made a scene today. Xavier tells me the whole floor is gossiping.

Good, Victoria said. Maybe it will remind everyone who your wife is.

Julian pushed his plate away. The steak was barely touched. I'm done. I want coffee. Espresso. Double shot.

He signaled for Mrs. Jiang, but Victoria stood up.

I'll get it, she said.

Julian looked surprised. You? You don't know how to work the machine.

I've been learning, she said sweetly. Sit. Relax.

She walked into the kitchen. Mrs. Jiang was there, drying dishes.

You can go, Mrs. Jiang, Victoria said. I'll handle the coffee.

But Madam-

Go.

Mrs. Jiang nodded and left.

Victoria went to the massive Italian espresso machine. She ground the beans. The noise was loud, grinding and mechanical.

She reached into the pocket of her cardigan. She pulled out a small, brown glass bottle.

It wasn't a laxative. That would be childish. It was a concentrated herbal tincture. Valerian root, St. John's Wort, and a specific blend of melatonin. Harmless, but in high doses, it induced dizziness, a rapid heart rate, and a sensation of floating-mimicking the onset of a panic attack or extreme exhaustion.

She looked at the bottle. She looked at the cup.

"This is for the club," she whispered. Two drops.

"This is for the lunchbox." Two more drops.

"This is for checking your tie." A squeeze.

She swirled the dark liquid into the black coffee. It disappeared instantly. No smell. No color change.

She added a single sugar cube, just to be nice.

She walked back into the dining room. She placed the cup in front of him on a saucer.

Here, she said. Made with love.

Julian looked at the cup. He looked at her. He narrowed his eyes.

Did you poison it? he asked.

Victoria's heart skipped a beat, but her face remained a mask of polite confusion. Don't be dramatic, Julian. If I wanted to kill you, I'd do it in your sleep. It's cleaner.

He snorted. True.

He picked up the cup.

Victoria held her breath. She watched the cup tilt. She watched his throat work as he swallowed.

He drank half of it in one gulp. He grimaced.

It's bitter, he said.

It's espresso, she said. It's supposed to be bitter.

He finished the rest. He set the cup down with a clatter.

Victoria sat back down. She picked up her wine glass. She waited.

It took twenty minutes.

Julian was reading a report on his tablet. Victoria was pretending to read a magazine.

Suddenly, Julian frowned. He rubbed his chest.

He shifted in his chair.

A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. His breathing hitched.

Victoria watched over the top of her magazine. Is everything okay, darling?

Julian gritted his teeth. I'm fine. Just... hot. Is the heat on?

He loosened his collar. His hands were shaking.

"I feel..." he started, then stopped. The room was spinning. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. It felt exactly like the episodes he used to have. The ones he took medication to suppress.

Julian's eyes widened. He dropped the tablet.

He stood up. He swayed violently, gripping the table edge.

Victoria? he gasped. What did you put in that coffee?

Coffee? Victoria blinked. Just beans and water. And sugar. Maybe your stomach is sensitive to the roast? Or perhaps you're just stressed, Julian. You work so hard.

Julian didn't answer. He couldn't. The walls were closing in.

He stumbled toward the hallway.

He didn't walk. He lurched. He needed air. He needed a doctor.

"Call... call Xavier," he choked out, collapsing onto the bottom step of the grand staircase.

Victoria put down her magazine. She picked up her wine glass. She took a long, slow sip of the Pinot Noir.

She watched her husband unraveling, fighting demons that weren't really there.

She smiled. A genuine smile.

It wasn't a divorce. It wasn't a victory. But god, it felt good.

She stood up, walked to the kitchen, and rinsed the coffee cup thoroughly. No evidence.

Then she picked up the phone to call 911, making sure her voice sounded sufficiently hysterical.

The ambulance lights were a strobe of red and blue against the stone facade of the manor. Eleanor had insisted on calling 911 when Julian collapsed in the hallway, pale and gasping for air.

Now, hours later, the private room at St. Jude's Hospital was quiet. The IV pump clicked rhythmically. Beep. Whir. Beep.

Julian lay in the bed. He looked wrecked. Dark circles under his eyes, lips chapped.

Victoria sat in the chair beside the bed. She was peeling an apple with a small paring knife. The skin came off in one long, continuous red ribbon.

The nurse checked his vitals and left, closing the door softly.

Julian opened his eyes. They weren't groggy. They were razor sharp.

You, he croaked.

Victoria didn't look up from the apple. How are you feeling, dear?

You poisoned me, he said. His voice was a rasp. The doctor said it was extreme exhaustion and a panic attack. But I haven't had an attack in years.

Victoria sliced a piece of apple. Did he? Stress manifests in mysterious ways, Julian. Maybe your conscience is finally catching up with you.

Julian sat up. He ripped the pulse oximeter off his finger. The monitor flatlined with a high-pitched whine for a second before he silenced it.

Don't play games with me, Victoria. It was the coffee.

Victoria looked at him. She pointed the knife at him, casually.

Okay, she said. It was the coffee.

Julian stared at her. He looked shocked by her admission.

You admit it?

Why lie? Victoria shrugged. You needed a break. You were spiraling. I just... helped you hit the pause button.

Julian laughed. It was a crazy, incredulous sound. You could have killed me.

"It was herbal, Julian. You're fine. Just a little... mellow."

Julian's face twisted. He threw the covers off. He swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He stood up. He swayed slightly, grabbing the IV pole for support.

Get back in bed, Julian, Victoria said, standing up. You're weak.

I'm not weak, he growled.

He lunged at her.

He tried to move fast, but his body was heavy. He stumbled, his weight carrying him forward. Victoria didn't step back; she braced herself.

They collided. The momentum sent them both crashing onto the narrow guest cot near the window.

He pinned her. His weight was heavy, suffocating. He trapped her hands above her head with one hand.

With his other hand, he reached for the bedside table. There was a small paper cup with two pills in it. Potassium and an anti-nausea med.

Open your mouth, he ordered.

Victoria struggled. Julian, stop! You're bleeding!

He had ripped the IV out in his fall. Blood was dripping from the back of his hand onto her cheek. It was warm and metallic.

He didn't care. He put the pills in his own mouth.

Then he kissed her.

He forced her jaw open with his. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, transferring the bitter, chalky pills.

Victoria gagged. She tried to turn her head, but he held her fast.

Swallow, he commanded against her lips.

She swallowed reflexively. The pills went down, dry and scratching.

Julian didn't pull away. The kiss shifted. The anger turned into that same dark hunger from the club. He tasted like antiseptic and toothpaste and blood. It was disgusting. It was electrifying.

His hand moved down her body, gripping her waist, his thumb pressing into her hip bone.

Victoria stopped fighting. Her hands, pinned above her head, relaxed. Her fingers curled around his wrist.

She made a sound. A small, needy whimper.

Julian froze.

He pulled back just an inch. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated. He looked at the blood on her face. His blood.

He looked at her swollen lips.

Knock, knock.

The door handle turned.

Mr. Sterling? The monitor is off, is everything-

The nurse walked in.

She stopped. She saw the blood on the floor. She saw Julian hovering over his wife, his hand bleeding.

Oh my god! the nurse squeaked.

Julian didn't panic. In a blur of motion, he swept the paring knife Victoria had dropped under the pillow with his uninjured hand.

He turned his head slowly to look at the nurse. His eyes were demonic.

"My IV," Julian rasped, holding up his bleeding hand as if it were a minor annoyance. "I ripped it out in my sleep. Fix it or get out."

The nurse stood frozen, her eyes darting between the blood and the intense, almost violent energy radiating from the man in the bed.

"I... I'll get the doctor," she stammered, backing out of the room and closing the door.