My deceased father appeared in my dream the night before my birthday and warned, ‘Don’t wear the dress your husband gave you.’ I woke up trembling, because my husband had just given me that dress. And when the seamstress brought it back and I checked the lining, I realized my father hadn’t just visited in a dream, he might have prevented something I hadn’t noticed.

“A poison that can be absorbed through the skin under the right conditions,” Iris explained, voice controlled but urgent. “If you had worn that dress for hours, especially moving around at a party, it could have made you seriously ill. Depending on dose and exposure, it could have caused catastrophic consequences.”

“What would have happened?” Liv whispered.

“First weakness and dizziness, then nausea, rapid heartbeat,” Iris said, and her eyes softened with horror. “And in the worst case, it could have looked like a sudden medical emergency. It could have looked natural.”

Liv buried her face in her hands.

It couldn’t be real. This had to be a nightmare, another dream she would soon wake from.

“Liv, listen to me,” Iris said, moving closer and taking her hands. “I know this is shocking, but we have to act. You need to go to the police immediately.”

“The police?” Liv lifted her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Iris, that’s Mark, my husband. We’ve been together for 20 years. How could he?”

“I don’t know how or why,” Iris said firmly, “but the fact remains someone wanted to kill you and make it look like an accident. He ordered the dress, right?”

“Yes. But maybe the seamstress. Maybe it was her.”

“Why would the seamstress want to kill you? Does she even know you?”

Liv was silent. Of course she didn’t know her. Miss Reed was just a seamstress recommended by a friend. There was no reason for hostility.

“Liv, you have to contact the police,” Iris repeated. “I’ll provide an official report. I have a detective friend, a good, reliable man. Call him, meet with him.”

Liv nodded, unable to speak.

Iris dialed a number, spoke briefly, and handed her a slip of paper with a phone number.

“His name is Detective Leonard Hayes. I explained everything to him. He’s waiting for your call.”

Liv took the paper with shaking fingers, stood, and left the office. In the corridor, she paused, leaning against the wall, trying to collect her thoughts.

Mark wanted to kill her. Her husband, the father of her child, the man she had shared the majority of her life with.

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