Breaking Bad: Married To The Devil

I was Lilliana Ward, aged thirty.

Within my social circle, I had been the subject of envy. Residing in an exclusive home within the affluent district of Pocnard, I was blessed with a youthful, attractive, and thoughtful husband who held a deep affection for me. His reputation as a devoted and caring partner was widely acknowledged among our acquaintances.

He went by the name of Clayton Evans, recognized as a prominent senior stylist in his field. As for myself, I formerly managed a medical equipment company that boasted a commendable annual income.

After I got married, I welcomed three beautiful children into my life. Balancing the demands of my company with the responsibilities of motherhood became a challenge. Seeing my struggles, my compassionate husband voluntarily resigned from his own career to assist in managing my company.

Under his capable stewardship, the company flourished, allowing me to transition into a full-time role as a wife and mother, fostering a joyous family life. This transformation garnered admiration from those around us, and I appeared to be the epitome of success to outsiders.

However, my physical health deteriorated steadily. I experienced troubling symptoms, including hair loss, persistent drowsiness, weight loss, and declining memory. Overwhelmed by a sense of despondency and perpetual disorientation, I sought solace in the diagnosis my husband provided: a common mental anxiety disorder.

He engaged a renowned physician who prescribed a substantial amount of medication, entrusting our nanny, Kalani Green, with its preparation and administration.

Unbeknownst to me, this marked the inception of my tragedy.

One fateful day, roused from sleep by a sudden headache, I inadvertently spilled the medication Kalani had prepared. In my groggy state, my cat, driven by its eagerness, consumed the spilled medication before I fully comprehended the situation.

By the time I regained my senses, the cat was nonchalantly grooming itself on the windowsill, having ingested the medicine.

When Kalani came to retrieve the bowl, I chose to remain silent about the spilled medication and the cat's inadvertent consumption. I reasoned that informing her would necessitate preparing another batch of medicine for me, an outcome I sought to avoid.

To be frank, I had consumed enough of this medication already. It seemed utterly ineffective. My husband struggled to find this medicine, always urging me to take it as prescribed. If it weren't for him, I would have dumped the medicine.

Ever since I fell ill, Kalani managed all the household chores. She remained tirelessly occupied every day, barely taking breaks and working diligently without a word of complaint. Sometimes, I deeply sympathized with her.

After a brief conversation with me, she swiftly collected the empty bowl and hurried back to work.

Glancing at the pillowcase, I noticed strands of hair on it, which surprised me. With a sigh, I gathered them, rolled them into a ball, and tucked them into my pocket.

Suddenly, a muffled noise from behind startled me!

Taking a moment to calm my racing heart, I cautiously shifted to the other side of the bed.

To my alarm, Tabby, my cat who moments ago peacefully observed the view from the windowsill, now lay motionless on the floor.

A sense of foreboding gripped me.

"Tabby!" I called out, but it remained still.

This sight sent shivers down my spine, causing my hair to stand on end.

This was strange! Cats were known for their agility and supposed nine lives.

But here was Tabby, motionless on the floor after falling from the window.

Was it dead?

My heart raced. I trembled as I leaned in for a closer look. I noticed its heavy breathing. It didn't seem dead, but rather in a state of deep slumber!

But this kind of sleep...

Suddenly, a dreadful thought struck me!

Instinctively, I leaped off the bed. Without a second thought, I reached for Tabby. It lay weakly, unconscious in its sleep.

It appeared utterly defenseless.

I couldn't help but draw parallels with myself. Was I also sleeping like this every day?

Could it be that...

The notion darted through my mind, leaving me shuddering and profoundly shocked. I dared not entertain it further!

Before I could dwell on it, I heard familiar footsteps outside. Clayton had returned.

Instinctively, I cradled Tabby in my arms, swiftly returning to bed and covering it with a quilt. I regulated my breathing, feigning sleep.

Simultaneously, the doorknob turned, and my heart raced. I sensed someone glancing at my back, unsettling me. Under the quilt, my hands trembled uncontrollably.

But Clayton didn't enter. He left. Just before the door closed, I caught his voice. "Has she taken the medicine..."

After the door shut, I couldn't discern his further words.

I opened my eyes. Unprecedented fear flooded my heart. I didn't even recognize where I was. Was this a nightmare?

The thought of that medicine flooded my mind.

I had cared for Tabby for years, and it had never been like this. It changed after consuming that bowl of medicine.

The idea shook me to the core.

Was someone truly attempting to harm me?