The clock struck nine, and lounging on the living room sofa, Lily Peterson let out a sigh of resignation, giving into the temptation of the bottle of port she’d had the steward brought out. Another evening spent alone, she lamented inwardly, the rich drink unable to wash away her bitter thoughts. She’d known from the moment she accepted Richard’s proposal that any decent Foreign Secretary would ultimately have to put the national interest before his wife’s happiness, yet so many nights left alone while he attended the business of state had begun to wear down that resolve.

It’s no wonder the wives of so many politicians take lovers, the thought sprung unbidden, and Lily tightened her green silk robe about herself, ashamed of even contemplating the idea. Not that she’d find it difficult; at 36, she was still a very attractive woman, her career as a yoga teacher keeping her in excellent health and giving her the sort of figure a woman a decade younger might envy. Bright green eyes, perfectly tanned skin, generous pink lips and long, silky brown hair only added to the package, and gave plenty of fodder for the tabloids obsessively fixated on her marriage to a man two decades her elder. Even now, she could imagine them slithering about the townhouse, eager to get pictures of her in her green silk nightgown and dark lingerie. She did not regret marrying Richard, fully convinced that age was nothing but a number in the face of true love, but still…

Enough, Lily chided herself, taking a few deep breaths to restore her equilibrium. No matter how lonely she felt sometimes or how she hated to wake up alone in bed, that did not excuse tricking her husband in such a manner. He was faithful to her, of that much she was certain; he would not squander either her trust or his political career by carrying on with one of his secretaries behind her back. The very least she could do was carry on with the same sense of integrity, like a good spouse should.

A familiar knock sounded on the living room door, and Lily rose to her feet, doing up the sash of her robe. “Come in, Francis.”

The door opened, revealing the gaunt face of Francis Bagley, her husband’s attaché, chief aide and long-time political confidant. If she was being honest, she’d never been terribly comfortable around the man. His cold blue eyes seemed to stare right through her, and any traces of warmth or good humour he might have once possessed had been ground down to nothing by the relentless struggle of politics. Though he’d never once openly voiced any such opinions, she could not help but feel he held her in quiet contempt, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the night air came over her. “What are you doing here so late?”

In response, her husband’s advisor coldly levelled a pistol at her. “Francis?” she stammered in shock, half-convinced that the port was playing tricks on her brain.

“Shut up and turn around,” Francis hissed, and Lily gave a small yelp as she was shoved back towards the sofa, all thought of resistance crushed by the sight of the black muzzle aimed at her face. “I’ve come too far to let you ruin everything.”

“What are you—mmmppggh!” A wad of dark cloth thrust into her mouth stifled any further demands, the strips of duct tape plastered over her lips ensuring she could not force out the gag. Again came the awful sound of ripping tape, binding her wrists and ankles, and Lily moaned in dismay, heart pounded like a kettledrum at her breast as she was render helpless with practiced ease. “Mmmmpggh, mmmmppggh!”

“Your husband wants to give up politics for you!” Francis snarled the accusation, his face red with anger. “So many years spent guiding him to greatness, and now, with the Prime Minister’s seat within his grasp, he wants to resign to spend more time with the family-- and for once, that’s not some excuse when a politician gets their hand caught in the till! I have no worked as hard as I have to reach the halls of power only to give it all up now, and if Richard is too distracted by you, well, then I’ll just have to remove you from the equation.”

Eyes widening at the implication, Lily began to thrash about, too terrified to give the threat of the pistol any heed. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t kill you,” her captor assured her, setting aside the weapon and pulling a glass bottle and washcloth from out of his suit’s pocket. “You’re far too valuable a bargaining chip to discard. For now, just relax and breath deep. You’ll be in your new accommodations before you know it.”

With a viper’s swiftness, Francis forced the chloroform-soaked cloth over Lily’s nose and mouth, the potent drug taking effect almost instantly. Moaning, the beautiful brunette felt herself sinking into the depths of unconsciousness, the thought of how her husband had been tricked for so many years by his own aide her last before the darkness closed in…