The Housemaid’s Secret: A totally gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist

Was that window open when we got here?

I don’t remember it being open. Then again, we were more focused on celebrating the fact that Detective Rodriguez told me he was planning to arrest Millie Calloway. We got away with it—we really got away with it.

So was it open when we came in? I truly can’t remember. It certainly could have been.

And the window is a lot more noticeable now that it’s raining. Droplets are streaming inside, dampening the wood surrounding the window. That window should be closed.

I rest the bottle of wine on the end table next to the sofa, then I march over to the window. The raindrops are ice cold, smacking me in the face and peppering my bare arms. After a brief struggle, I manage to get the window closed.

There.

I grab the wine and bring it back to the bathroom, where Russell is still in the tub, his dark hair plastered to his skull. At first, I think his face is wet from the water in the bathtub, but then I realize what’s going on.

“Are you crying?” I blurt out.

Russell self-consciously wipes his eyes. “I just… I can’t believe we killed him. I’ve never done anything like that.”

I don’t understand why Russell is crying. I’m the one who killed Douglas. And I don’t feel even the slightest bit sorry. As far as I’m concerned, Douglas deserved everything he got.

“Pull yourself together,” I snap at him. “What’s done is done. He was a terrible person anyway. He was tormenting me.”

“Because you cheated on him.”

And that’s enough to leave me penniless? Although Russell doesn’t know how I lied to Douglas about not being able to have children. Probably better I don’t tell him. It will make him feel even worse.

“Look…” I peel off my towel and let it fall to the floor. Then I top off his glass with the maroon liquid as well as filling up my own. “Why don’t you let me help you forget about it?”

As I climb back into the tub, immersing myself in the hot liquid, Russell guzzles the contents of the wine glass, leaving behind a red stain on his lips. I decide he has the right idea and I throw back my own glass of wine. It’s cheap stuff, so it’s not like I need to savor it. After another glass or two, we’ll both be feeling a lot better.