Chapter 1 - The Rules of MarriageThe first night of our honeymoon, my husband locked me inside the cabin with a baseball bat.
The deadbolt clicked.
I stared at him.
He smiled.
“This marriage has rules,” he said. “You’re going to learn them.”
Outside the window, the ocean was black glass beneath the moon. The cruise ship moved steadily through the night, carrying thousands of passengers toward the Caribbean.
Inside our private suite, there were only three things that mattered.
My husband.
The bat.
And the locked door.
His name was Ethan Cross.
For six months, I had known him as charming, patient, intelligent, generous.
Tonight, I learned that all of it had been an audition.
He lifted the bat.
I glanced at his hands.
No wedding ring.
He had removed it.
Interesting.
“Rule number one,” he said. “You don't leave this cabin without permission.”
I slowly touched my wedding ring.
Then I removed it.
Placed it on the table.
His expression changed.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
I cracked my knuckles.
“I don't like being married anymore.”
He laughed.
“You're trying to scare me?”
“No.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“I’m giving you a chance to walk away.”
He swung.
The bat never reached my shoulder.
I stepped inside his momentum, caught his wrist, redirected the weapon, twisted.
Ethan screamed.
The bat hit the floor.
Three seconds later, he was on his knees.
Two seconds after that, I had his arm pinned behind his back.
He stared at me.
Not with anger.
With terror.
That was when I knew.
He had never expected me to fight back.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
I leaned closer.
“The woman you should have researched.”
The cabin door exploded inward.
Four security officers rushed inside.
A man in a dark suit followed them.
The ship's captain.
And behind him came a federal agent.
Ethan immediately pointed at me.
“She attacked me!”
The federal agent didn't even look surprised.
He walked to the bed and opened a black folder.
Photographs spilled across the sheets.
Ethan buying the baseball bat.
Ethan meeting an insurance broker.
Ethan transferring money into an offshore account.
Ethan purchasing a life insurance policy in my name.
My stomach tightened.
Then the agent placed down one final photograph.
Ethan.
Three years earlier.
Standing beside a beautiful brunette on another cruise ship.
The woman's eyes were hidden behind sunglasses.
But I recognized the necklace around her throat.
A small silver crescent.
The agent looked at me.
“Her name was Lauren Hale.”
He turned to Ethan.
“She disappeared on the fourth night of that cruise.”
Ethan's face went white.
The agent picked up another photograph.
This time, Lauren was standing alone outside a cruise terminal.
Timestamped three years ago.
“Her body was never found.”
He looked at me again.
“This wasn't his first honeymoon.”
The room became silent.
Then the agent whispered something that made my blood run cold.
“He married her, too.”
Ethan suddenly lunged toward the folder.
The captain grabbed him.
But Ethan wasn't reaching for the photographs.
He was reaching for one particular envelope.
The federal agent caught his hand.
“Looking for this?”
He pulled out a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a photograph.
Not of Lauren.
Not of Ethan.
Of me.
Taken eight years earlier.
Wearing a military uniform.
My face was younger.
My hair was shorter.
And standing behind me were six soldiers who, according to official records, had never existed.
Ethan stared at it.
Then he whispered three words.
“You survived Blackfall.”
My heart stopped.
Nobody had used that name in eight years.
Nobody outside the classified program should even know it existed.
I looked at the federal agent.
He was watching me carefully.
“You know what Blackfall is?”
He nodded.
“We know more than your husband does.”
Then the lights went out.
For five seconds, the ship disappeared into darkness.
Someone screamed in the hallway.
When the emergency lights came on, Ethan was gone.
The cabin door was still locked.
The windows were sealed.
And on the mirror above the vanity, written in red lipstick, were four words:
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED DEAD.
I stared at the message.
Then I noticed something worse.
May you like
The handwriting was mine.
And I had never written it.
