My Husband Paid A Hitman To Cut My Brakes, But He Didn’t Know The Secret Camera Caught His Real Accomplice

Surviving an assassination attempt is terrifying, but living in a hospital room with your assassin is a waking nightmare. Over the next two days, Eric played his role to absolute perfection. He fed me spoonfuls of lukewarm broth, adjusted my pillows whenever I winced, and smoothed lotion onto my bruised arms. Every single touch sent a phantom current of electricity skittering down my spine, but I forced my breathing to remain rhythmic and slow.

On Thursday afternoon, Eric stepped outside into the corridor to take an urgent call. I gripped the sides of my motorized bed, slowly clicking the remote to raise the headrest. With trembling arms, I reached into the nightstand where Detective Walsh had secretly slipped a small, modified audio recorder disguised as a standard thumb drive.

The door was slightly ajar. I clicked the record switch and slid it beneath a pile of paper towels on my rolling bedside cart.

Through the heavy wood door, Eric’s voice drifted in—hushed, fast, and distinctly agitated.

""I told you, stop texting my personal number during the day,"" Eric whispered sharply. ""She’s awake. The doctors are running more scans on her pelvis today, but she's completely oblivious. She thinks it was just mechanical failure.""

A pause followed. Eric paced past the small glass window of my door. His shadow flickered across the linoleum floor.

""No, the insurance investigator hasn't called yet,"" he continued, his tone turning venomous and defensive. ""These things take time with fatal claims—well, near-fatal. You need to be patient. If you start blowing money or showing up around the neighborhood now, someone will notice. The police already asked about who had the garage keypad.""

My lungs seized. He wasn't talking to Liam Torres. Torres was already behind bars in county lockup. Eric was talking to a woman.

""Listen to me,"" Eric hissed. ""I gave Liam the second half of the cash just like we agreed. The idiot vanished off the grid. Once the policy pays out, we pay off the firm's debt and take the remainder to the Cayman account. Just play your part and keep visiting her like a good little support system. She trusts you more than anyone.""

The call clicked off. Footsteps padded softly back toward my room.

Panic surged through my chest like a tidal wave. I shoved the audio recorder under the folded towels just as the door pushed open.

""Everything alright with work?"" I asked, keeping my voice faint, letting my eyelids droop as if the heavy painkillers were pulling me under.

""Yeah, just an angry client about a blueprint delay,"" Eric sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He dropped onto the edge of my mattress, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. ""Don't worry about business, honey. Your recovery is the only thing that matters right now.""

Before I could answer, a bright, cheerful voice broke through the tension.

""Knock, knock! Look who brought fresh cinnamon scones from Findlay Market!""

Jenna bounded into the room, wearing her pastel cardigan, carrying a paper bakery box and a thermal tumbler of my favorite iced coffee. My younger sister had been my rock since childhood. When our parents passed away five years ago in a house fire, Jenna had moved into an apartment only ten minutes away from Eric and me.

""Hey, sis,"" Jenna smiled, rushing over to kiss both of my cheeks before handing Eric a scone. ""How are the legs feeling today? Did the physical therapist come by?""

""They said I might try three steps tomorrow,"" I said, watching her carefully.

Jenna turned to Eric with a bright, luminous smile that lingered a second too long. ""You look beat, Eric. Go home. Take a shower, walk Buster, sleep in your own bed tonight. I’ll take the night shift with Maya.""

""Are you sure?"" Eric asked, stretching his broad shoulders. ""I hate leaving her.""

""Go,"" Jenna insisted playfully, playfully pushing his arm. ""I'm her sister. We need some girl time anyway.""

As Eric gathered his jacket and keys, he tapped Jenna's shoulder, a subtle, lingering squeeze that lasted barely half a heartbeat. But from my angle on the elevated bed, I saw what they thought was hidden behind Jenna’s oversized purse.

Eric’s fingers had brushed against the small of her back. Jenna’s lips had curved into a tiny, secretive smirk.