He blinked, then smoothed his face into that patronizing calm. “What are you talking about, Nicole?? You’re making things up now.” His thumb rubbed my wrist as if soothing a child. “You’ve been tense lately. Stressed. Maybe you’re imagining slights where there aren’t any.”

My laugh died on my lips. “Imagining?” I repeated.

“Yeah.” He stepped closer, voice soft and dangerous. “You always see conspiracies. You blow every little thing out of proportion. It’s exhausting.” He scanned the guests like they were witnesses to my supposed instability. “People are starting to notice. You don’t want a scene.”

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “Nicole—” he said, gentler now, “you need to rest. Seriously. You look pale. Go home. Sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re calm.”

Of course. But this time, I didn’t argue. There is no point.

I let him think he’d won, that his words had tamed me again. As I walked out of the hall, the laughter and music behind me felt like a cruel echo of what we used to be.

On the drive home, memories flooded in—our first date, the promises he made under the rain, the nights he swore I was his everything. I used to believe him.

I used to think love could change him, that I was the exception to his reputation. That maybe, just maybe, I was the woman who made James Wilson settle down.

What a fool I’d been.

Back home, I gather all the files. The proof wasn’t complete without his email threads, the offshore transfers, the meeting notes. I needed every piece before Oliver moved. I packed them onto an encrypted drive, checked twice, then typed a quick message.

Oliver — Files uploaded. Pick me up tomorrow at noon. Ready to marry you.

I hit send and sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the house breathe. For the first time in a long while, I felt steady. The plan was in motion.

That night I couldn’t sleep. At 1:12 a.m., the living room phone rang. James. I didn’t pick up. A few minutes later, he was in the cell in the kitchen—loud enough for me to hear through the thin walls.

“Okay, Sasha,” he said, voice careful. “Listen. I’m sorry, all right? My mother—Jonah—she’s said if we break the marriage now, I lose everything. My inheritance, the company stake. I can’t risk that.”

A soft laugh from Sasha. “So what? You want me to play the good mistress? To kiss your ring in public while you keep your wife and the business?” Her tone was amused, sharp.

“No,” James replied. “I want you to come tomorrow. Apologize to her. Make it look real. Tell her you’re sorry. Play the part. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll make sure Nico remains the heir. Don’t, don’t do anything drastic, okay? Nicole already knows everything and it’s a miracle she hasn't sent you to jail yet. She’s been… unpredictable.”

Sasha’s next words made my blood run cold because she said them like a joke. “She’s faking it? Perfect. Then we fake it better. Don’t worry. We’ll make it look like we’re ashamed. Then—later—when they’re on the cruise, we push her overboard. Easy. No more problems.”

The spoon I’d been mindlessly twisting dropped into the sink with a sound that felt loud in the kitchen. My stomach flipped, bile rising. Push her overboard. The plan was casual on their lips, like scheduling a meeting. I pressed my back against the wall until my legs stopped shaking.

They didn’t notice me. They never did.

I listened until the call ended and the house fell back into its false quiet. I cried then—short, hard sobs. But the tears didn’t clear anything. If they could plan murder with such ease, if my husband and my “friend” could talk about my death as a strategy, then whispering and legal papers weren’t enough.

The morning was crisp. James was already in the kitchen when I went down as if nothing had happened. He was humming as he set plates on the table, so casual it made my skin crawl.

“Morning,” James said, smiling as if nothing had happened. “I made breakfast. I just… want to apologize, Nicole. For everything. For the fights, the distance.”

Sasha stepped forward, eyes wide, voice soft. “Nicole, I’m sorry too. For that night—for pushing you. I panicked, I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

I stared at her, expression unreadable.

James reached for my hand. “Let’s stop this, please. Think of Nico and Sasha. We can start over, be a family again—just like before. No more anger. No more blame.”

For a moment, silence filled the room. Then I gave a small nod. “All right,” I said quietly. “Let’s not argue anymore. I will forget everything you've done to me.”

Sasha smirked. “Great, and we can share James, you know. Like my sister. I mean, we shared everything back then. We will prepare something special for tonight—a surprise. Just be ready. Okay? Let’s go now, James.”

James hesitated for a moment, then let Sasha tug him away. If only he knew this was the last time he’d see me.

I stood at the window, watched them drive off—James and Sasha, arm in arm—cold and smiling. My lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

A few minutes later a black car arrived. As the SUV pulled away from the Wilson estate, the marble and roses shrinking behind us, I clenched my fists until my knuckles burned. The hate that had lain quiet for months flared hot and steady.

They would regret everything they’d done to me.

James’ POV

Sasha pressed herself against me the moment we stepped into the private cabin of the yacht—like she owned the room, like she owned me. Her perfume filled the air, sweet and heavy, matching the dim golden lights reflecting off the polished wood.

“Finally… alone,” she murmured, fingers sliding over my shirt, tracing the lines of my chest with deliberate ease.

She knew exactly what she was doing—slow enough to tease, confident enough to provoke.

I caught her wrist before she went lower. “Stop. Nicole might arrive any minute. She can’t see this.”

Sasha rolled her eyes, the soft, mocking kind she’d perfected. Then she leaned in and brushed her lips along my jaw, warm and lingering. “So what?” she whispered. “She’s not stupid. She knows. And today…” Her mouth curved into a slow smile. “…today’s the day we end her, right? Shouldn’t we celebrate?”

Her breath skimmed my neck, hot and deliberate. She pushed me backward until I hit the couch, the leather cool beneath me. She straddled my lap with practiced ease, her hands settling on my shoulders.

“Come on, James,” she purred. “She’s served her purpose. After tonight, she won’t be our problem anymore.”

Her words slid through me like a dark promise. I should’ve stopped her again—should’ve thought about the plan, the timing, everything at risk—but the tension in my chest finally loosened. Sasha always gave me that: distraction, escape, chaos wrapped in silk.

“Fine,” I muttered, giving in as she leaned down to kiss me. “But make it quick.”

She smirked. “Quick isn’t nearly as fun.”

She kissed me harder—desperate, triumphant—her fingers weaving into my hair, her body pressing closer. The yacht rocked gently beneath us, the ocean calm and quiet outside, while inside the air thickened with heat.

For a while, the plan, Nicole, everything—disappeared. We forgot the world beyond that cabin, lost in the thrill of what we thought we controlled.

And neither of us imagined how wrong we were.

Two hours later, I glanced at the clock. Nicole still hadn’t arrived.

I pulled away from Sasha, irritation flaring. “It’s been two hours. Where the hell is she?”

She sighed dramatically. “You’re worrying about her now?”

I ignored her and called the butler. “Where’s Nicole? She should’ve been here already.”

The butler answered immediately, voice steady. “Sir, Mrs. Wilson left the house on schedule. The driver said she should have arrived at the port thirty minutes ago.”

I frowned. “Well, she’s not here.”

A pause. “Sir… perhaps she—”

I hung up and dialed Nicole. Once. Twice. Five times.

No answer.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered. “Where the hell did she go?”

Sasha slid behind me, arms looping around my waist. “Maybe she went somewhere else. Maybe she changed her mind. Maybe she finally realized she shouldn’t disturb us.”

She pressed a kiss on my shoulder. “Let’s not deal with this now. She’s probably sulking somewhere.”

“No.” My voice came out sharply. “You know we can’t let her loose for long. She needs to be disposed of, Sasha. Otherwise we’ll spend the rest of our lives hiding like this. Do you want that?”

She paused, then clicked her tongue. “Fine. I’ll do the work.”

She grabbed her phone, stepping aside as she dialed a number I didn’t recognize.

“Hello,” she said sweetly. “I need your agency for something simple. Urgent.”

A pause.

“Yes. The same men my father used before.”

My attention sharpened.

She continued, “Look for a black SUV with plate number—” She rattled off the numbers without hesitation, her eyes meeting mine, triumphant. “Make it look like an accident. I don’t care how. Just make sure whoever’s inside dies.”

She hung up and smiled. “See? Easy.”

I exhaled slowly.

She walked back, lifted my chin, and whispered, “Once it’s done, we’ll just pay someone in the hospital to finish the job. Nicole always survives things she shouldn’t. It’s annoying.”

I didn’t respond. Not at first.

Sasha kept going, her voice smooth and poisonous. “Honestly, the only reason she’s still alive is because you said you needed her for the inheritance. But that’s a nuisance. If she’s dead, even your family won’t care. And we—” she pressed a kiss against my neck, slow and confident “—can finally do whatever we want.”

A part of me—small, buried—hesitated. Nicole had been with me for years. She had stood beside me when no one else cared. There was a flicker of something like guilt. Or maybe it was just the memory of how simple life used to be when she believed every lie I told.

But that flicker died just as quickly.

Sasha’s warmth pressed closer, her breath against my ear. “James… imagine it. No more pretending. No more hiding. Just us.”

I exhaled, letting the last bit of hesitation fade. The thought was freeing.

“Maybe you’re right,” I murmured.

Her smile widened—smug, victorious. She pulled me back onto the bed, curling her body around mine like she’d already claimed everything. Her leg draped over me; her fingers traced lazy circles on my chest. The yacht swayed gently, the night outside calm and silent.

I forced the thoughts away. Sasha shifted closer, kissing my shoulder. “Relax. Everything’s under control.”

And I believed her.

The warmth, the quiet, the illusion of victory lulled me. We drifted off, tangled in sheets and arrogance, convinced the world would bend exactly how we wanted.

Then the phone rang.

A sharp, jolting sound at 2:17 a.m.

Sasha groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. “Ignore it…”

But the ringing didn’t stop. Irritated, I grabbed the phone. It was the butler.

“What?” I snapped.

His voice was frantic. “Sir— you need to come to the hospital. Immediately.”

My irritation sharpened. “Why? What now?”

“It’s Nico,” he said, voice trembling. “He—he got into an accident. He’s critical.”

Sasha bolted upright, her face draining of color. “WHAT?!”

The butler continued, “They’re preparing for emergency surgery. They need you here. Now.”

The line clicked dead.