My Fake Death Was The Punchline To His Cruel Joke Chapter 02
After Camille left, Bennett fell to his knees before me, taking my hands in his.
“This is the last time,” he promised.
He spread the studio blueprints on the coffee table and signed his name under the title of co-founder.
Bennett Shaw.
Side by side, our names looked so real, so full of promise.
For a moment, I almost called it all off.
Maybe tomorrow, at the last possible second, he would choose me.
“Come with me to Camille’s party,” he whispered, kissing my fingertips. “Trust me, Mara. After tomorrow, this is all over.”
The next night, the party was a blur of champagne and cruel laughter.
Camille cut a slice of cake and placed it in front of me.
“A special treat for Mara.”
Then she produced a small glass vial from her purse.
A few clear drops of walnut oil landed on the frosting, slow and deliberate, a performance for the entire room.
All around us, phones were raised, their cameras ready.
I took a step back.
“I’m not eating that.”
Camille’s smile was predatory. “Don’t be a spoilsport. The whole point is to see how much she loves you, Bennett. Let’s not quit before the finish line.”
I turned to leave, but Bennett’s hand shot out, clamping down on my wrist.
“Stop making a scene, Mara.”
“That’s walnut oil,” I said, my voice trembling.
“It’s just a few drops. It’s not going to kill you.”
He dragged me back toward the table as two of his friends grabbed my shoulders, holding me in place.
The last of my illusions shattered as his fingers tightened on my wrist.
Camille grabbed my chin, forcing the cake into my mouth.
I thrashed my head back and forth, but the sickeningly sweet frosting and the deadly allergen slid down my throat. In less than thirty seconds, my airway began to close.
My hand flew out, reaching for Bennett.
He knew this wasn’t an act. He’d seen my medical records, the hospital reports from a childhood reaction. He knew.
But he let go of my hand, raised his phone to my reddening, swelling face, and said with a casual laugh:
“See? She’s always so dramatic.”
I hit the floor, my chest seizing, unable to draw a breath.
Laughter echoed around me.
“This one looks a little too real.”
“Ninety-nine. Ten out of ten.”
Finally, a voice cut through the haze, uncertain. “Guys… she doesn’t look right.”
“She’s always faking it for sympathy,” Camille snapped, then turned to Bennett. “You’re not actually falling for her, are you?”
After a beat of silence, Bennett laughed.
“As if.”
He panned his camera to Camille, giving her a close-up.
“Consider this performance my birthday gift to you.”
The cheers that followed drowned out everything else.
Someone was already planning the grand finale.
“For the hundredth, at the anniversary party, you just announce it. Tell everyone the marriage was never real.”
“Then kick her out. It’ll be hilarious.”
So my life wasn’t just a joke. It was a party favor.
Before my vision went blurry, I jammed a hand into my pocket and, with the last of my strength, mashed the side button of my phone.
The emergency 911 call was activated.
A second message fired off to Leo.
[Test 99 has begun. Execute the plan.]
The phone slipped from my grasp.
And surrounded by their laughter, I had to admit it—this time, Camille had won.