The door closed, and the air seemed to collapse inward.

I leaned back in the chair, my chest tightening with each breath.

My phone lit up on the desk—a new message from Sybil.

“Mrs. Wendy, sorry to bother you.

Rory is here at my place tonight to work on the project files.

Just wanted to let you know so you wouldn’t worry :)”

I stared at the smiling emoji, then almost laughed.

So this was their idea of rationality—

he delivered her files,

she delivered me peace of mind.

How thoughtful.

I typed two words back: “Thank you.”

Then I turned off my phone.

Lightning flashed outside the window.

In the mirror, my face looked pale—my eyes sharp enough to shatter.

And in that instant, I knew—I no longer belonged to this house.

I stood and opened the drawer, taking out my passport.

Its cover was worn soft from years of use.

A photo was tucked into the corner.

It was from our wedding day.

He was smiling, gentle, perfect.

I was smiling too—foolishly, blindly.

My fingers brushed across that frozen grin.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For teaching me how to destroy trust.”

At one in the morning, Una arrived at my apartment.

The moment she stepped inside, her eyes turned red.

“Wendy, are you sure about this?

This isn’t just leaving—it’s disappearing.”

I nodded.

“Rory will never agree to a divorce.

As long as I’m alive, he’ll keep me locked here—rationally.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I’ve already arranged everything.

The pilot’s in place. The mock crash goes public tomorrow night.

The media’s been notified.

Once you’re on that plane—you’ll be dead to the world.”

I looked out at the night, my voice steady.

“He took away my right to be a mother.

I’ll let him taste what it’s like to lose a wife.”

Una choked out, “Aren’t you scared?”

“I am.” I smiled faintly. “But I’m more afraid of living forever inside his cage of reason.”

The wind swept in, scattering papers across the desk.

The letter I’d written fell to the floor.

Una bent to pick it up—and froze when she read the first line.

“Rory, you signed my death once.

This time, I’ll sign it myself.”

Her voice trembled. “You’re ruthless.”

I smiled, quiet and cold. “He taught me.”

The night deepened.

I sat at the edge of the bed, staring at my wedding ring.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains, making the metal gleam too bright to look at.

Slowly, I took it off and slipped it into the envelope.

My fingers lingered on the cold gold as I murmured,

“Wendy, this is where it ends.”

Outside, the night thickened like ink.

City lights fractured against the rain.

At one a.m., a storm warning echoed across the sky.

Wendy—dressed in a dark gray coat—stood before the window.

Lightning flashed, her reflection flickering back at her:

a face both familiar and foreign,

eyes glacial, unrecognizable.

On the table lay the finished letter.

The ring rested on it—small, silent, and blinding.

I lifted the envelope flap one last time,

and added a final line at the bottom:

“If you ask me whether I regret it I regret not dying sooner.”

Half an hour later, I slid into Una’s car.

The headlights cut through the fog and rain, stretching long shadows over the road.

Her hands trembled on the wheel.

Her voice was hoarse. “Wendy… is this really worth it?”

I fastened my seatbelt, my tone even and calm.

“For three years, I’ve lived in his world.

Now—it’s time to live in mine.”

Una bit her lip. “If he ever finds out the truth… he’ll lose his mind.”

“That’s good.”
My voice was calm. “Madness is closer to being human than reason ever was.”

The private runway was slick with rain, the storm lashing sideways like knives across our faces.
Crew members hurried through the downpour, checking the instruments one last time.

Una handed me my passport and a slim folder. Her voice trembled.
“Everything’s ready. The flight departs at 1:30 a.m. sharp.
The crash signal will transmit forty minutes later.”

“The radar will log a false reading.
The coordinates are locked on the East Sea.
The wreckage will be handled by the technical team.
And I’ve arranged an ‘exclusive witness’ for the press.”

I listened quietly, my expression as still and cold as ice.
“Once the report is released, everyone will believe you’re dead,” she said, choking back tears.
“So will he.”

“That’s enough.”

At 1:30 a.m., the plane tore through the storm and vanished into the sky.
Rain hammered against the windows; wind howled like a wounded thing.
I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.

For the last time, I thought of him—
the calm, handsome, impeccably gentle man
who had once signed my termination of pregnancy with a perfect stroke of his pen,
cutting clean through every bond that had tied us together.

“Goodbye, Rory,” I whispered.

Lightning split the heavens.
The plane disappeared into the clouds.

Meanwhile, on the top floor of Z Corporation headquarters,
the conference room lights had burned all night.

Rory was on a video call with the board.
Outside, rain lashed the glass.

His assistant burst in, pale and shaking.
“Mr. Zhou—the private jet’s signal… it’s gone.”

The pen slipped from his hand. Ink bled across the paper.
“What?”

“The jet Mrs. Gu boarded—
it lost radar contact twenty minutes after takeoff.
No communication from the crew since.”

He froze, his pupils contracting sharply.
Even his breathing stopped.

“Coordinates.”

“Over the East Sea. In the storm zone.”

He grabbed his coat and bolted from the room.

“Sir! The weather’s too dangerous—please!”
The assistant’s voice chased him down the hall.

“I’m afraid of the cold,” Rory said without looking back.

Two hours later, the rescue team reached the sea.
The wind roared; waves towered two meters high.
Debris bobbed beneath the floodlights.

“Wing fragment found!”
“There’s luggage on the surface!”

A mangled piece of metal was pulled from the water.
Three letters were etched into it—W.

Rory stood motionless, rain streaming down his face.
He stepped forward and touched the fragment.
It was ice cold.

“Keep searching!” His voice broke.
“She’s not dead!”

The sea wind shredded his words to pieces.
He shoved rescuers aside and waded deeper into the surf.
The water climbed past his knees, his waist.

“She’s not dead…” he muttered,
half delirious.

His assistant tried to grab him, but Rory threw him off.
“Go! Keep searching! She’s afraid of water, afraid of the dark—
she’s waiting for me!”

No one dared stop him again.

He stood there all night,
through the storm, through the rising tide, until dawn.

By morning, the rain had stopped.
His coat was soaked through.
The first light of day touched his face as he sank to his knees on the shore.

“Wendy…”
His voice was hoarse, broken.
“Come back.”

At that same moment, along a fog-covered border road,
a black SUV moved quietly through the gray dawn.

Una sat in the passenger seat, glancing back.
In the rear seat, a woman wore dark sunglasses, her hair cropped short, her face calm.

“Wendy,” Una said softly, “the news is out.”

I handed her my phone.
On the screen, the headline scrolled across in bold letters:

“Z Corporation CEO’s Wife Presumed Dead in Private Jet Crash — Wreckage Found in East Sea.”