I had the ticket to Paris printed and tucked in my pocket. I could have gone to the airport. I could have walked away.
But I stayed.
One last day. One final attempt to pretend I had a family, to pretend my husband hadn't shattered my heart the night before. I told myself maybe John and Mandy were just blinded by their guilt over Zoe. Maybe Dean had made a single, unforgivable mistake, and I needed to see him one last time to truly accept it.
The Hawaiian sun beat down on the white sand.
John set up a striped umbrella. Mandy laid out colorful towels. Dean stood near the water's edge, holding a bottle of sunscreen.
Zoe posed by the surf in a bright yellow bikini.
"Fairy, take a picture of me!" Zoe called out, waving her arms.
I held up my phone and snapped the photo. "Got it," I said.
"Make sure the lighting is good," Mandy instructed, not looking up from her magazine. "Zoe needs a nice profile picture."
I handed the phone back to Zoe. She smiled, her eyes darting to Dean.
"Let's go swimming!" Zoe cheered, grabbing Dean's hand and pulling him toward the waves.
I followed them into the water, the cool ocean offering a brief relief from the heat. I waded in until the water reached my chest. Dean and Zoe swam a few yards ahead of me, laughing.
I treaded water, watching my husband playfully splash my sister. I was a ghost haunting my own life.
Suddenly, the ocean floor vanished beneath my feet.
A strong riptide grabbed my legs, yanking me backward. I swallowed a mouthful of saltwater, choking.
"Dean!" I shouted, my head bobbing under the surface.
Before I could call out again, a wave crashed over me. I fought my way back up, gasping for air.
A sharp scream pierced the roar of the ocean.
"Dean! I'm scared!" Zoe wailed.
She was thrashing in the water, caught in the same current, but closer to the shore.
I stretched my arm toward Dean. He was right between us. He turned his head, his eyes scanning the water.
Our gazes locked.
He saw me. He saw my hand reaching for him. He saw me struggling to keep my head above the churning waves.
Then he turned his back on me.
He swam furiously toward Zoe.
"I've got you!" Dean yelled, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Hold on to me!"
Another wave slammed into me. The undertow dragged me down into the freezing darkness. Salt burned my eyes and throat. I kicked, but my limbs felt like lead.
Through the distorted, bubbling water, I saw Dean carrying Zoe to the beach. John and Mandy rushed to the shoreline, wrapping towels around her shivering shoulders.
None of them looked back at the ocean.
None of them noticed I was gone.
My lungs screamed for oxygen. The fight drained out of my body. They had made their choice. I was finally, completely alone.
I stopped kicking. I closed my eyes and let the ocean take me.
***
A steady, rhythmic beeping pulled me from the void.
I forced my heavy eyelids open. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a massive, ultra-modern bedroom. The sheets beneath me were soft, expensive silk.
I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through my chest. I fell back against the pillows, coughing.
"Don't move."
The voice was cold, sharp, and familiar.
I turned my head. Ryan Cavendish stood by the window, adjusting the cuffs of his dark suit.
"You," I rasped, my throat raw.
"Me," Ryan confirmed, walking toward the bed. "You have a habit of almost dying in front of me."
"Where am I?"
"New York," he answered, checking his watch. "My private medical facility. You've been unconscious for three days."
"Three days?" I repeated, my mind spinning. "How did you find me?"
"I was driving along the coast. I saw a body wash up on the rocks. My security team pulled you out." Ryan crossed his arms, staring down at me with those piercing gray eyes. "The doctor said you swallowed half the Pacific Ocean. You're lucky to be breathing."
"Why did you bring me here?"
"Because leaving you to rot on a beach seemed like a waste," Ryan said flatly. He picked up a tablet from the bedside table and tossed it onto the mattress. "And because I thought you might want to see this."
I picked up the tablet with shaking hands.
The screen displayed a news article from the New York Times.
*Tragedy in Hawaii: Fairy Kensington, Wife of Dean Aston, Presumed Dead in Drowning Accident.*
I stared at the headline. Below it was a photo of John, Mandy, and Dean standing on the beach, looking somber. Zoe leaned against Dean, her face buried in a handkerchief.
"They couldn't find your body," Ryan stated, pulling a chair to the side of the bed and sitting down. "The current carried you too far down the coast. The authorities called off the search yesterday. Your family held a memorial service this morning."
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "A memorial service. How efficient."
"Your husband gave a very moving eulogy," Ryan added, his tone mocking. "He called you his guiding light."
"He let me drown," I whispered, staring at the photo of Dean holding Zoe. "He looked right at me, and he chose her."
Ryan didn't offer pity. He didn't offer comfort. He just watched me, assessing my reaction.
"So, what now?" Ryan asked. "Do I call your grieving husband and tell him his guiding light is currently bleeding on my silk sheets?"
I looked away from the tablet and met Ryan's gaze.
The girl who desperately wanted John and Mandy's approval was dead. The wife who begged for Dean's loyalty had drowned in that ocean.
I reached for my left hand. The diamond wedding ring felt heavy, a cold shackle I had worn for two years. I slid it off my finger.
I placed the ring on the bedside table.
"No," I said, my voice steadying. "Don't call anyone."
Ryan raised an eyebrow. "You're going to stay dead?"
"They wanted me gone," I said, the remaining tears drying on my cheeks. "They replaced me. They threw me away. If I go back now, I'm just the inconvenient mistake they have to deal with."
"And if you stay dead?"
"Then I get a clean slate," I answered, gripping the edge of the blanket. "I can take back everything they stole from me. I can make them pay."
Ryan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. A dangerous smirk played on his lips. "Revenge. How cliché. And how exactly do you plan to destroy the Kensington and Aston empires from a hospital bed?"
"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But I know their secrets. I know how their businesses connect. I know where they are vulnerable."
"Knowledge is useless without power," Ryan pointed out.
"Then give me power," I challenged, holding his gaze.
Ryan laughed, a low, harsh sound. "You want my help? I don't run a charity, Miss Kensington."
"It's not Kensington anymore," I said. "And I'm not asking for charity. Dean's family is trying to acquire the Southside Development Project. I know you want that land."
Ryan's smirk vanished. His eyes narrowed. "How do you know about that?"
"Dean leaves his laptop open," I replied. "I know his bidding strategy. I know his absolute limit. I can give you the Aston family on a silver platter."
Ryan stood up, pacing slowly to the end of the bed. He studied me, his expression unreadable.
"You'd destroy your own husband's company?" he asked.
"He's not my husband anymore," I said. "He's a target."
Ryan stopped pacing. He looked at the discarded wedding ring on the table, then back at me.
"Get some rest," Ryan ordered, turning toward the door. "My doctor will check on you in an hour."
"Do we have a deal?" I called out.
Ryan paused with his hand on the doorknob. He glanced over his shoulder.
"We'll talk when you can stand up without fainting," he said.
He walked out, shutting the door behind him.
I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The pain in my chest was still there, but the suffocating weight of my past was gone. I was dead to the world.
And the dead have nothing left to lose.
The bedroom door clicked open again.
I turned my head, expecting the doctor.
Instead, a tall woman in a sleek black dress stepped into the room. She held a manila folder.
"Mr. Cavendish sent me," she said, tossing the folder onto the bed. "He said you might need some reading material."
I opened the folder. Inside was a stack of photographs.
Dean and Zoe. Walking into a jewelry store. Looking at engagement rings.
The date stamp on the photos was yesterday. The day they called off the search for my body.
"He moves fast," the woman noted.
I stared at the photos, a cold fury settling deep in my bones.
"Not fast enough," I whispered.
