The sound of a knife striking the hard granite cutting board was repetitive and dry, like the heartbeat of someone who was clinically dead. In a kitchen wrapped in pure gold, I—the true owner of this house—was busy preparing “Seared Foie Gras with Red Wine Sauce” for my husband and his mistress.
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“Sis, make sure it’s fully cooked, okay? I don’t eat rare—it’s bad for the skin,” Vy’s innocent-sounding voice echoed from the sofa. She was wearing a silk robe Nam had bought as a gift for our tenth wedding anniversary, and her long legs were draped over the back of a chair I had once chosen with love.
Beside her sat Nam, stroking Vy’s hair. When he looked at me, there was no emotion—only a cold command:
“Hurry up. Vy is hungry. After you’re done, eat in the storage room under the stairs. Don’t wander around here—you might ruin our appetite.”
Three months ago, Nam openly brought Vy home. He didn’t want a divorce because he didn’t want to divide the assets. Instead, he used his power and economic manipulation to turn me into a “high-class maid.” I was driven out of the master bedroom—the place filled with memories—to make room for their flirtatious laughter every night.
I stayed silent. I endured. I cooked for them every day. But they didn’t know that the silence of a woman cornered to the edge is the silence of a time bomb.
Seven o’clock in the evening. Candles glowed on the dining table. Nam and Vy sat facing each other, happy like a real married couple. I stood in the shadows of the hallway, watching them eat their appetizer.
“The wine tastes especially good tonight, doesn’t it, darling?” Vy winked at Nam and took a sip of the deep red wine.
Nam smiled with satisfaction.
“Enjoy it, my love. Starting tomorrow, this house will be ours. I’ve already prepared the deed of transfer—just waiting for my ‘wife’ to sign it tonight.”
I stepped out of the shadows, holding a silver tray with the main course. My face was expressionless, but my lips curved slightly upward. If Nam had been smart, he would have noticed that this smile was exactly the smile of death.
“This is the main course. Special foie gras,” I whispered.
The Horrifying Truth
They began to eat. One bite, then another. Suddenly, Vy dropped her fork, clutching her throat as her face changed color.
“Nam… why does it feel like… I can’t breathe? My body feels so hot…”
Nam tried to stand up to help Vy, but he himself fell to his knees. After five minutes, they completely stopped moving, still seated in their luxurious chairs. The only sound in the kitchen was the loud, cheerful voice of a Kuh Ledesma song playing from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner.
I approached—Eliza (my real name)—and slowly pulled Nam’s chair backward. I saw pieces of foie gras scattered across the floor.
“So fast?” I whispered, confused. “It should have taken longer to take effect.”
I clipped the camera to my lapel and faced the two bodies. This was my proof—not only proof of their betrayal and abuse, but proof of my final defense.
I leaned close to Nam’s face, now silent and empty.
“Do you remember, Nam?” My voice was almost a whisper, but sharp.
“You told me, ‘Don’t wander around here—you might ruin our appetite.’ Now look at yourself. You’ll never eat again.”
I kissed him on the forehead—a final farewell.
Suddenly, a familiar sound rang out from Vy’s pocket. Ring. Ring.
I picked up her cellphone. A name glowed on the screen:
“Kuya, My Life Coach.”
Kuya? Life Coach?
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I answered the call and put it on speaker.
“Hey, Vy! How was the special dinner?” The voice was deep and familiar, though I couldn’t place it. “I hope Nam enjoyed the food.”
“Kuya, they’re dead,” I said calmly.
There was a pause on the other end.
“Eliza? It’s been so long since we talked, Auntie.”
I froze. “A-Auntie? Who are you?”
“It’s me, Leo, Auntie. Your son.”
Vy’s phone slipped from my hand and fell to the floor, but I could still hear Leo’s voice through the speaker.
“I never intended to kill Nam and Vy, Auntie! My plan was only a mild poison—just enough to make them seriously ill and hospitalized, to delay your signing of the papers. That was the deal Vy and I made: she would pretend to be Nam’s mistress and look for loopholes so you wouldn’t lose the house! Why did you add a deadly dosage?!”
His words hit me like bullets. Vy—the mistress I hated—was actually a secret agent sent by my own son, Leo, who was studying abroad! She had done everything to protect the property she knew I deserved!
“Son…” My throat tightened.
“Auntie, what you used was cyanide!” Leo shouted.
“You were supposed to ask me only for diarrhea-inducing poison! I thought humiliation would be enough for Nam. Why did you kill them?”
I grabbed my head, my hands shaking.
“What I used was belladonna and nightshade, Leo—not cyanide!” I defended myself.
“Poisons that cause paralysis and a slow shutdown of the heart—like a heart attack! I used them for my alibi! Foie gras is full of fat to absorb the poison. It shouldn’t have worked this fast!”
I looked back at the two bodies. Something was wrong.
I grabbed the phone again.
“Leo, something’s wrong! The effect looks fast-acting!”
From behind me, a voice whispered,
“Because Vy didn’t use belladonna, Auntie.”
I turned around. Someone was standing in the shadows of the dining room, near the trash bin. It was… Manang Sol, our longtime cook who had already retired.
“M-Manang Sol?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”
She stepped forward, holding a small black vial.
“You brought me here to help you with the poison, didn’t you, Eliza?” Manang Sol smiled—a smile with no warmth.
“But do you know this? Vy came to me first—not you.”
“When you left this house before, Eliza,” Manang Sol continued, “it was because of Nam. I chose Nam over you. He was my love! So when you came back and reclaimed everything, I waited for my chance. When Leo left and you relied on poison, I took cyanide from the sewer and put it into your foie gras.”
She took a deep breath, revealing a wide, toothless grin.
“Did you really think Vy was your true enemy? Your real enemy was the woman who cooked for your family for twenty years.”
Suddenly, I heard the faint sound of sirens approaching. Leo must have called the police.
Manang Sol looked at me, her eyes burning like fire.
“You don’t need Vy’s clever story. That’s for children. What you need is a simple story: two traitors poisoned at the dinner table, and the wife as the prime suspect!”
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“No!” I screamed.
The Ending
Manang Sol ran out of the house as the sirens stopped outside the gate. The door burst open as the police rushed in.
Manang Sol didn’t see her—because in the flash of police lights, a shadow struck the old woman. It was Vy!
She wasn’t dead yet!
Vy grabbed Manang Sol’s vial and pushed her out the window.
“Eliza!” Vy shouted weakly.
“The poison I gave you was just vitamin C and caffeine! To speed up Nam’s heartbeat and make it look like a heart attack! But I saw Manang Sol adding real poison! I switched Nam’s and Vy’s foie gras with Manang Sol’s plate earlier!”
I turned toward the table. Beside Manang Sol was a plate with foie gras remnants.
I looked back at the two bodies in the chairs. They were waking up!
“M-My head hurts…” Nam said, holding his head.
“My stomach hurts so badly, Nam!” Vy groaned.
“They weren’t poisoned!” Vy shouted. “They just got sick!”
Nam woke fully and saw the police, Manang Sol lying outside, and Vy bleeding.
“What’s going on here?!” Nam yelled.
The Lesson
The story ended with Manang Sol on trial and the police investigating Nam for economic abuse. Nam was found guilty and lost everything. Vy emerged as the hero—Leo’s secret agent—handing me all the evidence against Nam.
Eliza (me) and Vy became friends. Together, we founded a non-profit organization to help women who are victims of abuse. Leo returned and became head of the organization’s legal department.
The Moral:
You don’t need poison to win the game. Sometimes, the best weapons are intelligence, restraint, and the love of your child (and his “mistress”) who is willing to sacrifice everything for you. True happiness is not found in revenge, but in friendship, unity—and forgiveness (even of the mistress who only pretended).