PART 1
My name is Natalie Prescott.
I was thirty-one years old when I discovered my honeymoon had been designed to end with my death.
Three days earlier, I had married Adrian Cole beneath white roses overlooking the Mediterranean.
Two hundred guests watched us exchange vows.
My father cried.
My mother held my hands before I walked down the aisle.
Adrian looked at me as though I were the only woman he had ever seen.
I believed him.
That was the worst part.
I believed everything.
Every promise.
Every kiss.
Every carefully chosen word.
Every time he said he loved me.
Now I was standing barefoot in the hallway of my father’s yacht, listening to my husband discuss how easily he planned to push me into the sea.
The yacht was anchored several miles off the coast of Santorini.
The sky outside was turning gray.
Wind pressed against the windows.
A storm was coming.
Adrian had apparently planned around it.
I leaned against the brass railing.
My legs felt weak.
My mouth was dry.
My thoughts moved through a thick fog.
The drugs.
That was what he had said.
Two pills every night.
Extra in my soup.
I suddenly understood why I had been sleeping twelve hours and still waking exhausted.
Why my arms felt heavy.
Why I could barely remember conversations from the previous evening.
It was not seasickness.
It had never been seasickness.
Below me, my father-in-law Douglas lifted his champagne glass.
“And you’re sure she’ll be out by midnight?”
Adrian laughed.
“Completely.”
My mother-in-law Marianne whispered.
“And after she goes over?”
Adrian answered without hesitation.
“We wait.”
“Make noise.”
“Wake the crew.”
“Panic.”
“Tell everyone she was dizzy and confused.”
“Then I become the devastated husband.”
I pressed one hand over my mouth.
He had planned the grief too.
That somehow made everything worse.
Not only my death.
The performance afterward.
PART 2
Douglas spoke again.
“And the money?”
Adrian sounded almost bored.
“The trust structure takes time.”
“But the power of attorney gives me enough immediate control.”
“Then once she’s declared legally dead, everything becomes easier.”
Marianne laughed softly.
“Three hundred million dollars.”
Adrian corrected her.
“Potentially more.”
My stomach twisted.
Then Douglas asked.
“And her parents?”
I stopped breathing.
Adrian said.
“They leave for Switzerland next week.”
“My guy already knows their route.”
“A mechanical failure on an icy mountain road.”
“Nothing suspicious.”
Marianne whispered.
“Both of them?”
“Yes.”
“Clean.”
“Then there’s nobody left to challenge anything.”
My fingernails dug into my palms.
My father.
My mother.
They were not only planning to kill me.
They were planning to erase my entire family.
I closed my eyes.
For one terrible second, I wanted to run down the stairs.
Scream.
Confront them.
Throw the champagne glasses into their faces.
But I was drugged.
Weak.
Miles from shore.
And surrounded by people who had spent months pretending to love me.
Confrontation would not save me.
Silence might.
So I stayed silent.
PART 3
I forced myself away from the railing.
One step.
Then another.
Slowly.
My legs trembled beneath me.
The hallway seemed to sway.
Maybe the yacht.
Maybe the drugs.
Maybe both.
I reached the upper corridor.
My suite was twenty feet away.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
I froze.
“Natalie?”
Adrian.
My heart nearly stopped.
I turned.
He stood at the end of the corridor wearing a white linen shirt.
Perfect hair.
Perfect smile.
The same man from our wedding photographs.
The same man who had just described my death like a dinner reservation.
He walked toward me.
“You’re awake.”
I forced myself to look tired.
Confused.
Weak.
Not terrified.
“I felt sick.”
His expression softened instantly.
“Poor thing.”
He touched my face.
Every muscle in my body wanted to recoil.
I did not.
He brushed hair away from my forehead.
“You should be resting.”
“I wanted water.”
“I can get it.”
“I thought fresh air might help.”
His eyes studied mine.
Too carefully.
Then he smiled.
“Maybe later.”
“Come back to bed.”
I nodded.
I needed him to believe the medicine was working.
That I knew nothing.
That I was still trusting him.
PART 4
He wrapped one arm around my waist.
To anyone watching, he looked loving.
Protective.
Attentive.
I leaned against him because my body genuinely needed support.
He led me toward the suite.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m cold.”
“Storm’s coming.”
He sounded almost cheerful.
Of course he was.
The storm was part of his plan.
We entered the bedroom.
Two white pills sat on the nightstand.
Waiting.
My stomach turned.
Adrian noticed me looking.
“You should take those soon.”
“I already feel sleepy.”
“That’s exactly why you need them.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
He smiled.
“They help your body settle.”
His lie came easily.
Too easily.
I wondered how many other lies had sounded just as convincing.
He kissed my forehead.
“I’ll bring you soup later.”
My stomach tightened.
More drugs.
I whispered.
“Not hungry.”
“You need to eat.”
“I’ll try.”
He smiled again.
“Good girl.”
I had never hated two words more.
PART 5
Adrian left the room.
The moment the door closed, I moved.
Not quickly.
I could not.
But immediately.
I picked up the two pills.
Wrapped them inside tissue.
Put them in my toiletry bag.
Then I rushed to the bathroom and became sick.
The soup.
I wanted as much of it out of my system as possible.
I did not know if that would help.
I did not know how much I had absorbed.
I only knew I needed my mind clear enough to survive.
Afterward, I splashed water on my face.
Then looked at myself in the mirror.
Pale.
Sweaty.
Eyes unfocused.
Good.
I already looked drugged.
I could use that.
Then I picked up my phone.
No cell signal.
Satellite Wi-Fi showed one bar.
I opened messages.
Nothing sent.
I tried my father.
Failed.
My mother.
Failed.
Emergency number.
Failed.
Then I remembered something.
My father’s study.
PART 6
Dad had owned the yacht for six years.
He trusted technology less than almost anyone I knew.
He always kept an independent satellite tablet in the study.
Different network.
Different battery.
Different communications provider.
His philosophy was simple.
“Never let one failure take everything.”
I used to tease him.
Now that paranoia might save my life.
The study was on the upper deck.
I needed to reach it without Adrian realizing why.
I opened the suite door.
Empty corridor.
Good.
I stepped out.
Then heard voices below.
Marianne.
Douglas.
I stopped.
“Where is she?”
Marianne asked.
Adrian answered.
“Back in the suite.”
“Still out of it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I stayed still.
Then Adrian added.
“She got up earlier.”
My stomach dropped.
Douglas said.
“That’s not good.”
“I handled it.”
“Did she hear anything?”
“No.”
Adrian sounded certain.
“She can barely stand.”
I closed my eyes.
He believed his own advantage.
Good.
Let him.
PART 7
I moved toward the study.
Slowly.
One hand against the wall.
If anyone saw me, I looked exactly like a sick bride wandering for help.
The study door was unlocked.
I slipped inside.
Closed it quietly.
The room smelled like cedar and leather.
Dad’s favorite books lined one wall.
A brass desk faced the windows.
I crossed the room.
Opened the bottom drawer.
There.
Black tablet.
Emergency satellite terminal.
I pressed the power button.
Nothing.
My heart sank.
Then the screen lit.
Battery fifty-eight percent.
I nearly cried.
Connection searching.
Searching.
Searching.
Then.
Secure satellite link active.
I sat down before my legs failed.
PART 8
I opened the secure messaging program.
Dad’s contact appeared first.
I typed.
DAD.
DO NOT CALL.
DO NOT CONTACT ADRIAN.
HE IS PLANNING TO KILL ME TONIGHT.
HE AND HIS PARENTS ARE ALSO PLANNING SOMETHING AGAINST YOU AND MOM.
THEY KNOW ABOUT YOUR SWITZERLAND TRIP.
CANCEL IT.
CONTACT CAPTAIN WARREN PRIVATELY.
CALL AUTHORITIES.
I AM ON THE YACHT.
I HAVE BEEN DRUGGED.
I stared at the message.
Then added our coordinates.
Sent.
