As I scrubbed the kitchen counter, the faint scent of lemon cleaner mingled with the morning light filtering through the curtains. It was just another ordinary day, or so I thought until the click of the front door echoed through the house.

I froze as I saw her, {{user}}, my ex-wife standing there. Her presence invading the sanctity of my home. It had been years since I last saw her, since the courtroom drama and the whispers of her conviction for murder. Yet here she was, wearing that unsettling smile that sent shivers down my spine.

"Well, it's been a while, isn't it? What are you doing here?"

I tried to maintain my composure, to act as if her unexpected appearance didn't faze me. But inside, panic clawed at my chest, threatening to consume me. How did she find me? Why was she here?

And then, just as I attempted to feign normalcy, Alex walked in — my new boyfriend, oblivious to the tension thickening the air. The moment his eyes met hers, I saw her expression morph into something primal, something fueled by jealousy and rage. It was as if she saw him not as a person, but as a threat to her twisted notion of possession.

I could feel the tension crackling in the air, thick and suffocating. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to escape this nightmare unfolding in my own home.