The morgue was silent except for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above, their cold glow reflecting off the stainless-steel surfaces. The air was sharp with antiseptic and something heavier—finality.
Nathaniel, still pretending to be Harold, stood rooted to the spot, staring at the small metal tray beside the gurney.
A charred necklace lay there, twisted but still recognizable. He knew it too well. He had given it to Eleanor on their first anniversary.
The sheet covering her supposed remains seemed to press down on him like a weight.
Every fiber of him screamed that this wasn’t her—that this couldn’t be her—but the evidence kept piling up.
The police had confirmed fingerprints. Her belongings were found at the scene. The ashes. The scorched metal.
A sharp crack shattered the air. Pain bloomed across his cheek.
“What the hell—” He snapped his head toward the source. Delilah stood there, her manicured hand still raised, eyes blazing with fury.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she shot back, her voice laced with accusation. “I just slapped you to wake you up. You’ve been standing here acting like her husband since you got the call!”
Nathaniel’s chest tightened. “Well… I am her husband.”
Delilah’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Oh, so now you admit it? Now that she’s dead, you’re ready to drop the ‘Harold’ act and go back to being Nathaniel? What’s the plan—suddenly announce she was your wife all along? Don’t tell me you’re having some moral crisis now.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that we planned this. You wanted her gone, remember? You said you couldn’t stand living this lie anymore, that you were done with her. And now you’re here—fuming, hysterical, acting like you’ve lost the love of your life.” Delilah’s voice dripped with contempt. “Didn’t we want this? So why are you looking at me like I’m the villain?”
For a moment, Nathaniel couldn’t answer. Her words dug into his mind, pulling at memories he’d buried deep.
He remembered the first time he noticed Eleanor. She had been standing alone on the pier that evening, the sun sinking low, spilling gold over the water.
The wind caught her hair, tossing it across her face, but she didn’t mind. She was smiling at something on her phone, laughing quietly to herself.
Curiosity had pulled him closer. “What’s so funny?” he’d asked, half-expecting her to flinch at the intrusion.
Instead, she’d glanced up at him with those steady, dark eyes. “A joke my brother sent me,” she said simply, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Do you want to hear it, or are you just nosy by nature?”
The corner of his mouth had curved. “Maybe both.”
She’d tilted her head, pretending to study him. “You’re Nathaniel, right? The pilot?”
“Guilty.”
“I heard you have a habit of disappearing for days,” she said. “I thought that was just a rumor. But here you are, magically appearing on my pier.”
“Your pier?” he teased.
“Yes,” she replied, with that smile—quiet but certain. “I come here when I need peace. The world’s noisy enough as it is.”
Something about her tone had disarmed him. That night, they’d ended up walking the length of the pier together, trading stories—his about turbulent flights and foreign cities, hers about sketching by the water and the strange comfort of seagulls.
They’d stayed long enough to see the stars come out, their shoulders brushing as they leaned on the railing.
Back then, they were sweet together. Late-night talks. Walks under the stars. Stolen moments in between his flights. She had a way of making the chaos of his life feel calm.
But then… he had chosen Delilah.
At first, it wasn’t love—it was a game. He wanted to test Eleanor, to see if she’d fight for him, if she’d show even a flicker of jealousy. But instead of clinging to him, she’d smiled politely and gone out with another man. That had stung his pride.
So he doubled down. He stayed with Delilah, telling himself it was for the thrill, for the ego boost. When Delilah left to chase her dreams, he thought that chapter was over.
But then, somehow, he and Eleanor had drifted back together. They married. For a while, they were happy. She made him feel steady.
And still… when Delilah returned, he chose her again.
“Don’t tell me you actually care for her now,” Delilah said, breaking into his thoughts. Her gaze was sharp, searching his face. “Do you love her?”
The question froze him. He didn’t know what to say—didn’t want to know the answer himself.
“What?” she pressed. “Well? Do you?”
He forced a scoff, though the sound felt hollow. “Of course not. I’m just… worried because she’s dead. She’s—”
“Because she’s what?” Delilah pushed.
“She’s gone,” he finished quietly. “That’s all.”
But the words didn’t feel like the truth.
Before Delilah could press him further, the morgue door burst open. One of Nathaniel’s men rushed in, his face pale and breathless.
“Sir—” he started, then hesitated.
Nathaniel straightened, tension coiling in his gut. “What is it?”
“It’s Leo,” the man said, his voice trembling. “He’s… missing.”
The world seemed to tilt. “What do you mean missing?” Nathaniel's voice was sharp, lethal.
“We can’t find him anywhere in the hospital. The nurses say they thought he was with Delilah. Security is already searching the premises, but we think he’s been kidnapped.”
