“A marital saga so pitch-black it makes Gone Girl look like the romance of the decade... [The Woman Inside] resembles past smashes like Big Little Lies and The Woman in the Window.”—Entertainment Weekly
An impossible-to-put-down domestic thriller about secrets and revenge, told from the perspectives of a husband and wife who are the most perfect, and the most dangerous, match for each other.
Paul and Rebecca are drowning as the passion that first ignited their love has morphed into duplicitous secrecy, threatening to end their marriage, freedom, and sanity. Rebecca, in the throes of opioid addiction, uncovers not only her husband’s affair but also his plan to build a new life with the other woman. Spiraling desperately, she concocts a devious plot of her own—one that could destroy absolutely everything.
The Woman Inside is a shockingly twisty story of deceit, an unforgettable portrait of a marriage imploding from within, and a cautionary tale about how love can morph into something far more sinister. It’s a novel about how people grow apart and how those closest to us can be harboring the most shocking of secrets.
|Publisher:||Penguin Publishing Group|
|Product dimensions:||6.20(w) x 9.10(h) x 1.40(d)|
About the Author
E. G. Scott is the shared pseudonym of authors Elizabeth Keenan and Greg Wands, whose debut novel, The Woman Inside, was an international bestseller published in 2019. Friends for over two decades, they have acted, produced, and writtentogether and separatelyfor the stage, screen, and print. In their former lives, Elizabeth was in book publishing for eighteen years and a writing workshop leader for the NY Writers Coalition, and her work has appeared in numerous short story collections. Greg worked at the NYC institution, Corner Bistro, while penning short fiction and screen projects and volunteering with 826NYC as part of their student creative writing program. They both reside in the West Village of Manhattan.
Read an Excerpt
He flashes a million‑dollar smile before getting into his bloodred BMW. It purrs to life and the sound of pebbles crunching under tires reminds me of the first time I was brought here. The circumstances were very different. I was never meant to leave.
That night, I relied on my remaining senses since I couldn’t see where he was taking me. The tidal wind through the trees could have as easily been the ocean in the darkness, the pungent notes of pine and salt mixed together. My heart was at a standstill as I felt the car slowing and heard the rocks beneath the treads. I had no idea how my life would change once we stopped.
The friendly honk of the horn brings me back to where I’m standing, in front of the house. I wave goodbye, the three canary‑yellow carats on my finger sparkling in the afternoon sun. The car accelerates, kicking up a wave of smooth rocks. He looks back once more and winks, his handsome profile in the driver’s side becoming obscured the farther away he moves until he is no more. I expect it isn’t the last I’ll see of him.
I step over the threshold and smile as I close the world out. So much has happened to get me to this one step in my new life. I live here now.
I absorb the grandness before me. What has been built around the cold slab I lay on, barely alive that night, is a dramatic contrast to my surroundings now. The double‑sided stone fireplace ascends breathtakingly to the top of the cathedral ceiling and beyond. The many surrounding windows create a lovely prism effect on the hardwood floors. I stand in the apex of the foyer for a few minutes, breathing it all in. The open second level looks like a choir loft, and the foyer like a pulpit.
I walk through each room, slowly taking in every detail. I flash back to the last time I was here, in the dark, severely in pain, unsure of my survival. Every inch takes on new meaning now. I run my hands over carefully selected wood, stone, and granite and take my shoes off to feel the various wonderful textures under my feet.
I pass by the basement door, knowing it may be a long time until I can traverse those steps without thinking of that first climb in the darkness. But I’m thankful I’m back now, and on my terms. I’ve resolved to leave the dark pieces below, locked away. Now is the time for new beginnings.
The smell of industrial‑grade cleanser hangs in the air, any evidence of what happened here otherwise erased. I don’t care. It is a reminder of how hard I’ve fought. The house around me is silent. Peaceful. I feel a hard‑fought new emotion, calm happiness, hovering somewhere between my heart and throat.
Paul is everywhere. He is in the cherry floors below and the pine beams above. He is in the sweeping picture window that dominates the entire back of the house, looking out onto a stage of dense trees and sky. It cuts deeply that this house was not constructed for me. But it was built with love. And desperation.
I close my eyes and picture my first night here. The sound of his car idling. The darkness. Being cast aside, then found again. Another chance for everything I’ve ever wanted.
The darkest roads lead us to the light eventually.