Chapter 24 Make It Look Like an Accident
The room fell quiet again— but this time, it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Thoughtful. Loaded.
They continued talking— slowly, carefully— getting to know each other again.
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'8PM THE FOLLOWING DAY. ANDREW AND AMELIA’S POV. EUROPE. PARIS'
The low hum of a 5-star Parisian restaurant wrapped around them like a living thing— soft clinks of cutlery, muted laughter drifting from distant tables, the slow jazz melody threading through the air. Candlelight flickered between Andrew and Amelia, reflecting off crystal glasses and polished silverware.
Andrew lifted his chopsticks again, eyes fixed on Amelia as she chewed with visible satisfaction.
“Seems like you’re really enjoying yourself,” he said, his tone light, observant.
“I am,” Amelia replied, her words muffled by food. She lifted her gaze to him, eyes bright, unapologetic. “Thank you.”
She swallowed, dabbed her lips lightly with her napkin, then leaned back slightly in her chair.
“We really needed this,” she added.
“We did,” Andrew agreed, nodding slowly.
Amelia didn’t waste time before digging back into her plate, the faint scrape of chopsticks against porcelain audible. “We should do this more often.”
“You mean travel?” Andrew asked, lifting his glass and taking a measured sip of wine.
“Yeah. I’d very much like that— if it’s possible,” Amelia said, then tilted her head, correcting herself. “But I mean… going out. Enjoying ourselves.”
Andrew lowered the glass carefully. “Yeah. We should. We will. I promise.”
Her lips curved into a soft smile. “I know.”
He raised an eyebrow slightly. “You do?”
“Yeah. You’ve never made a promise to me and gone back on your word,” she said, lifting her glass now.
“I haven’t?” he asked slowly, taking another bite.
“No, you haven’t.” She took a sip of wine, eyes never leaving his face.
“Not even once?” he pressed, chewing deliberately.
“Not once.” She nodded.
“That means I have a good record,” Andrew said, smiling as he swallowed.
“It does actually,” Amelia replied, returning the smile.
She leaned forward slightly, elbows near the edge of the table. “Unless you want to start going back on your word now.”
“I’d never do that,” he said softly.
“I know. Just playing.” She took another bite, relaxed.
A brief pause settled between them, filled only by the ambient sounds of the restaurant. Amelia tilted her head thoughtfully, eyes narrowing just a bit.
“Come to think of it,” she said casually, “this is the first date we’ve gone on since your so-called stupid wife fell and hit her head.”
Andrew froze.
His chopsticks hovered mid-air. His jaw stopped moving.
“Really?” he asked slowly.
“It is,” Amelia replied, nodding.
“That’s sad,” Andrew muttered, resuming his chewing, though his pace was slower now.
“She’s always causing trouble for us,” Amelia said, taking another sip of wine.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Andrew said quietly.
“You don’t have to apologize." Amelia waved it off, then downed the rest of her wine in one long gulp. "It's not your fault.”
She exhaled sharply. “Phew. I need more wine.”
She raised her empty glass toward him. “If you please?”
Andrew hesitated— just a fraction of a second— his eyes locking with hers. Then he reached for the bottle and poured.
“I’ll find a way to get rid of her,” he said as the wine flowed.
“I know,” Amelia replied, nodding.
They ate in silence for a few moments. Amelia wiped her mouth, then leaned back, fingers loosely circling the stem of her glass.
“Can’t we just unalive her?” she asked flatly.
Andrew stiffened.
“Who? Maggie?” he whispered, eyebrows lifting as he dropped his chopsticks, swallowing hastily.
“Yes,” Amelia said calmly. “That would make her out of the picture and not resurface again.”
“No.” Andrew shook his head immediately, eyes darting around the restaurant. “No, no— that’s a bad idea. A very bad one. What if we get caught?”
“We won’t,” Amelia said without hesitation. “We just have to be smart with it.”
“How?” Andrew pressed. “How do you suggest we do it without being caught?”
She shrugged lightly. “I don’t know. Poison her. Strangle her. We just get it done.”
“And the body?” he asked, voice low.
“We bury it. Dump it in a river somewhere,” she said. “I know we’ll figure it out.”
“No, we won’t,” Andrew whispered sharply. “Her dad is a federal chief judge in Washington. There’s no way he won’t come looking. Then what?”
He leaned closer across the table, voice tense. “It’s not about if we get caught. It’s when. We’d spend the rest of our lives in jail— if we’re lucky enough to see daylight again.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re even discussing this.”
Amelia watched him carefully, expression unreadable.
“We can find other, safer ways,” Andrew continued. “Trust me.”
She tilted her head, eyes sharp. “What if she had died when you pushed her?”
Andrew’s jaw tightened.
“That would’ve been salvageable,” he said quietly. “I could’ve said she slipped. The autopsy would’ve confirmed it.”
He paused, then added, “But strangling her? Poison? That would lead straight back to us.”
“So what you’re saying,” Amelia said slowly, “is that we just need to make it look like an accident.”