I walked back into the house and looked at my burner phone. Two messages were waiting.
The first was from Alfred.
“The dossier is complete, Miss Ysabel. Bank transfers, medical records, the emails between Mr. Smith and the mechanic. I have everything. It is enough to bury them.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The weapon was loaded.
The second message was from Nathan.
“Divorce papers are filed now. The loophole is secured. And regarding your other proposition… I’m in. Judge waiting at 10 AM. Don’t be late.”
The next morning, the sun shone brightly, mocking the darkness of my reality. I went down to the kitchen. Aiden was there, sipping his espresso, reading the financial news on his tablet. He looked up when I entered, and his face transformed. The cold indifference was replaced by a mask of deep, pained concern.
"Ysabel," he said, standing up to pull out my chair. "How did you sleep?"
"I didn't," I said honestly.
He sighed, sitting down across from me and reaching for my bandaged hands. I let him take them. I let the man who planned to sever my brake lines hold my fingers.
"I’m so sorry, Ysabel," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "About last night. About the restaurant. I was… I was in shock. I lost my temper. I said things I didn't mean."
"You said I was poison," I whispered, looking down.
"I was angry," he pressed, squeezing my hands. "But I’ve been thinking all night. We can’t go on like this. The stress, the media, the fighting… it’s destroying us. I want to fix this. I want to be the husband you deserve."
I looked up at him. "How?"
"I’ve arranged a trip," he said, his eyes gleaming with the lie. "A retreat in the Swiss Alps. Very private, very exclusive. Just for you. You can rest, heal, get away from the noise. And I’ve arranged for Lucas to go with you. He needs to get away from the scandal too. It will be good for both of you. A fresh start, and I'll go there after days for our anniversary."
A fresh start in a coffin, I thought.
"Switzerland?" I asked, feigning hesitation.
"The jet is fueled," he said. "The car will pick you up at noon. Please, Ysabel. Do this for us. Do this for your brother."
He was so eager. He needed us on that plane—or rather, he needed us in the car on the way to the plane. That was where the accident would happen.
I forced a small, tremulous smile onto my face. "Okay, Aiden. You’re right. We need this. I’ll go."
Relief washed over his face. It was the relief of a man who had just successfully ordered a hit. "Thank you, darling. You won't regret it."
At 11:45 AM, the black town car pulled into the driveway.
I watched from the window as the driver loaded my luggage. I knew that driver. I knew he was on Aiden’s payroll. I knew the brake lines on that car had been tampered with.
"Goodbye, Aiden," I said, standing in the foyer.
He kissed my cheek. "Safe travels, my love. Call me when you get to the airport."
"I will," I said.
I walked out the door. I got into the car.
As we pulled out of the gates, I waited exactly two minutes. Then, I leaned forward.
"Stop the car," I ordered.
The driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror. "Mrs. Smith, we have a schedule to keep—"
"I said stop the car," I said, my voice turning to steel. "Or I will open this door and jump out right now, and you can explain to my husband why his wife is splattered on the pavement before the 'accident' was supposed to happen."
The driver paled. He slammed on the brakes.
"Get out. Leave the keys. Walk away. My butler will pay you better than Aiden was paying you, so leave before I’m playing nice. I’m driving myself."
He panicked, but eventually left. I scrambled into the driver's seat. I didn't drive toward the airport. I didn't drive toward the cliffs.
I drove to the City Clerk’s office. Nathan was waiting on the steps. He looked sharp in a navy suit, his expression unreadable. We walked inside. It wasn't romantic. There were no flowers, no music, no guests. Just a bored judge and a witness Nathan had paid.
"Do you, Nathan Blackwood, take Ysabel Jones to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do."
"Do you, Ysabel Jones, take Nathan Blackwood to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"I do," I said.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife."
As Nathan signed the certificate, solidifying the union, I pulled out my phone. It was 1:00 PM.
"It's time," I said to Nathan.
He nodded. "Do it."
I opened the group chat I had created. It included the editors of TMZ, The New York Times, The LA Times, and every major gossip blog in the country.
I attached the files Alfred had sent me.
The ultrasound of Amber’s baby dated three months ago.
The emails between Aiden and the deepfake studio.
The security footage of Antonio stabbing my hands.
The bank transfers from Aiden to the hitman.
Subject: The Truth About Aiden Smith.
I hit send.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang.
It was Aiden.
I answered, putting it on speaker so Nathan could hear.
"Ysabel?" Aiden’s voice was tight, anxious. "Where are you? The pilot says you haven't arrived yet. You should have been there twenty minutes ago."
He was checking to see if I was dead. He was waiting for the police report about a car going off a cliff.
"Oh, I'm sorry, darling," I said, my voice light and breezy. "I got a little sidetracked."
"Sidetracked?" His voice pitched up. "Ysabel, are you in the car? Are you on the way to the airport? Why is your driver not answering the phone? Where is your brother?"
"Yes," I lied, looking at the wedding ring on my finger—a simple gold band Nathan had just given me. "I'm on my way. But I had to make a stop first."
"A stop? Why?"
"To leave you something," I said. "For our anniversary. I know it’s a few days early, but I couldn't wait."
"What are you talking about?" Panic was bleeding into his voice now. "Ysabel, just get to the airport now. I'll follow there as soon as possib—"
"I left it with the press, Aiden," I said, my voice dropping the act, turning cold and deadly. "And I sent a copy to the Bar Association. And the District Attorney."
"What?" he whispered, confused.
“You’ll love it, so just wait for it. Happy anniversary, Aiden.”
I hung up and threw my phone.
