The Billionaire Soldier's Revenge

Chapter 7 - A Last Supper.

Working side by side in the million-dollar ranch were James and Freya. They hadn't done this in over a decade, and the only thing standing between them was the strong smell of boiling pasta that filled the room.

"I can't believe it's the first time we're cooking together in 12 years, and it's just pasta."

James sighed as he lifted the heavy Italian pot with steam rising everywhere as he poured the noodles into the silver sieve.

"It's called compromise, Freya. We should try it a bit more," he said as he removed the last noodle from the pot.

"And that's why I said yes to strawberry sauce."

Then he turned around and caught her stuffing strawberries into her mouth while she cut them into the salad. She looked around with bulging cheeks like a kid stealing cookies.

"Keep doing that, and we won't have enough sauce for the meal."

He said this while setting two crystal plates on the custom wooden table.

"Do you want us to eat a full dinner, or just the parts?"

Freya gave him a thumbs up since her mouth was too full to talk. She couldn't bring herself to face him; not for now at least. The pasta looked expensive, but not because they were served on luxury plates. Even after a decade, he still hadn't lost his gift for cooking, one of the many things that made her younger self fall for him so easily. Now it's going to make what she's about to do much harder.

After putting the noodles on both plates, he turned to leave.

"I'll go get wine from the cellar. You finish the preparations."

"No!" she said, the word came out too sharply.

"I mean, I brought wine from home. We don't need one from the cellar."

He frowned at her, the same look he gave lazy employees.

"We talked about this, Freya. No champagne tonight."

Then she resorted to her last trick, the smile that made him give her almost anything she wanted.

"Don't worry about it. The drink I brought isn't too strong. Besides, if we want to talk about deep and honest stuff, we might need help with that."

He shook his head.

"We don't need champagne to talk."

"But I drove all the way here with it!" she whined, knowing how to play this game.

"It's special champagne from France. I brought it for our next date years ago. Don't ruin it for me now."

He rubbed his forehead as the pain struck once again.

"Alright, fine," he said.

"I'll grab something else for myself. You can enjoy your champagne."

Freya felt relieved.

"Really?"

"Yes, really," he replied.

"Are you happy now?"

As usual, his grey eyes looked like they could easily pierce into her soul and unravel her deepest secrets. He read her like a book most of the time, and it made her wonder if he could also see the guilt ahead of her planned betrayal.

"Set up everything while I'm gone and I'll set up my drink."

Freya nodded quickly. Her hands were trembling.

"Of course."

He walked to the cellar door as she slowly counted to twenty under her breath. Then she counted to thirty to make sure he was really gone. The small bottle felt like ice in her jacket pocket. She pulled it out with trembling fingers, now banking everything on Charlie's promises. He said it would taste like nothing and look like an accident. Her breathing became erratic thinking about what she was doing.

He was likely picking something special from their large bottle collection. This was their last supper, and the only motivation she had for going on with it was that he was dying anyway. This was merciful love, nothing less. But she never dared to do anything until she heard heavy footsteps coming up the wooden stairs. James walked in with a dusty wine bottle. He looked underwhelmed seeing strawberry sauce drizzled over the noodles.

But what made him impressed was his glass already full of blue champagne.

"Blueberry champagne," he said with a new smile.

"You remember."

She smiled back at him with sudden spite, remembering the times she tried to impress him with little things like this but never got love and appreciation.

"Just like you always remember my love for strawberries."

Returning the favor, he poured the red wine into her glass.

"I bought this during our honeymoon year. It cost well over 3,000 dollars, so expensive that you almost talked me out of buying them in bulk."

Freya, wanting to scream at him for suddenly driving her crazy, chose to raise her glass instead.

"To love and honesty," she said.

"Even when it hurts like hell."

He paused while raising his glass. Something felt off. She wasn't the type for sweet words, let alone toasts.

"That's not like you," he said.

"You've barely been around in recent years," she said.

"I grew up a bit."

Still staring suspiciously, he raised his blue glass.

"Alright then, to love and honesty."

They took a sip at the same time. Her wine tasted nostalgic, bringing back summer memories from their honeymoon phase. But he stopped after one sip, barely tasting it. His face changed almost immediately. All colour left his cheeks as he stared at the glass like it had betrayed him.

She asked what was wrong, sitting close but sounding so far away.

"It tastes wrong," he said before taking another tiny sip as if to make sure.

"Like burnt almonds."

She almost froze in fear but managed to rest her back with a slight smile.

"Have you been so caught up with work that you've lost your taste for good wine?"

"Maybe so," he shrugged before finishing the glass, and it fell from his hands before he could properly put it down.

It shattered into pieces on the floor as he clutched his throat, his face turning grey. He tried to talk but only made choking sounds. He grabbed his phone but it fell from his shaking hands to the ground. He reached for it, but she kicked it away without thinking. She knelt beside him as her eyes watered up.

"I'm sorry," she whispered with a twisted smile.

"You were dying anyway. This is faster and easier. So just rest. It'll be over soon, okay?"

He raised his hand towards her face. His fingers shook as he did this, and for a second she thought he was about to hit her. She closed her eyes, bracing for impact. Instead, his left hand touched her cheek for a moment before falling to the ground. She sat on the kitchen floor next to his body.

There was broken glass everywhere with blood on the marble. Then, she heard the slamming of a car door coming from outside followed by heavy footsteps walking up the porch. Someone had arrived, and it was someone who wasn't supposed to be there. Then the door opened as her heart sank.