The thought repeated itself inside my skull like a desperate prayer. Below me, the three of them were still talking.

My murder had become an evening itinerary. Dinner. Champagne. A squall.

A gentle push.

Then my disappearance.

I felt something inside me crack.

Not break completely.

Something worse.

It hardened.

I had spent twenty-six years believing that money could protect a person from almost anything. My father had taught me never to trust strangers too quickly, but he had also taught me that family was different.

Family was supposed to be the one place where you didn’t need armor.

Now the people I called family were calmly discussing how to erase me.

And somehow, the most painful part wasn’t the $300 million.

It wasn’t even the yacht.

It was Flynn.

My husband.

The man whose wedding ring was still warm against my finger.

I remembered our first meeting.

He had been standing beneath the enormous crystal chandelier at my father’s charity gala, holding a glass of champagne and pretending not to notice me staring at him.

He had smiled.

That smile had made me feel chosen.

Now I wondered how many women had seen it before me.

How many times had he practiced looking trustworthy?

How many times had I mistaken calculation for affection?

A chair scraped across the deck below.

I froze.

“Enough talking,” Aidan said. “We need to make sure she’s asleep.”

My blood turned to ice.

Footsteps.

Coming toward the staircase.

I looked around desperately.

There was nowhere to hide.

The corridor behind me led toward our suite, but the passage was too open. If I tried to run, they would see me.

My legs trembled.

Then I noticed a narrow service door beside the staircase.

A brass plaque read:

CREW ACCESS — AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

I grabbed the handle.

Locked.

The footsteps were closer.

I pulled again.

Nothing.

“Come on,” I whispered.

The drugs made my fingers clumsy.

I tried the handle one last time.

It moved.

The door swung inward.

I slipped through just as a shadow appeared at the bottom of the staircase.

I pulled the door shut.

A second later, footsteps passed directly outside.

I covered my mouth.

Someone stopped.

My heart pounded so loudly that I was certain they could hear it through the door.

“Flynn?”

It was Fiona.

“She’s still in the suite?”

“Of course,” Flynn answered.

A pause.

Then his voice became quieter.

“I gave her enough. She won’t be going anywhere.”

I shut my eyes.

He thinks I’m asleep.

For the first time since hearing their conversation, I understood that I had one advantage.

They believed I was helpless.

I needed to keep it that way.

Inside the service corridor, the yacht suddenly felt different.

The luxurious warmth was gone.

Here, everything was steel, pipes, cables and dim yellow lights. The air smelled of salt, machinery and disinfectant.

I leaned against the wall and tried to think.

I couldn’t call my father.

My phone was in the suite.

I couldn’t trust the crew.

If Aidan had planned this carefully, how many people were involved?

The crew had been unusually distant since we boarded.

The captain had barely spoken to me.

One steward who had seemed friendly on our first day had suddenly stopped meeting my eyes.

Were they part of the plan?

Or were they simply unaware?

I couldn’t risk guessing.

I moved deeper into the corridor.

Every step felt like walking through wet sand.

Then I heard something.

A faint metallic clicking.

I stopped.

Someone was inside the service passage.

I held my breath.

A figure appeared around the corner.

Tall.

Wearing a dark crew uniform.

I nearly screamed.

The stranger lifted one finger to his lips.

“Don’t.”

His voice was barely audible.

I stared at him.

He looked familiar.

Then I remembered.

He was the quiet man who had been working near the engine room on the first day of the cruise.

He glanced toward the door behind me.

“They know you heard.”

My stomach dropped.

“No.”

He stepped closer.

“Yes.”

His eyes were serious.

“Your husband came looking for you five minutes ago.”

I swallowed.

“But he thinks I’m in my room.”

“He did.”

The man looked at the corridor camera.

“Then he saw the service door open.”

My blood ran cold.

“He knows.”

“Not yet. But he’s suspicious.”

I gripped the wall.

“Who are you?”

He hesitated.

“Call me Marcus.”

“Are you part of this?”

His expression changed.

For the first time, I saw something almost like anger.

“No.”

He reached into his pocket.

I recoiled instinctively.

But instead of a weapon, he pulled out a small black object.

My phone.

I stared at it.

“How—?”

“I found it outside your suite.”

My fingers shook as I took it.

There were eleven missed calls.

Eight from Flynn.

Two from an unknown number.

One from my father.

I stared at my father’s name.

My heart squeezed painfully.

He had called me.

Maybe he knew something was wrong.

Maybe he was already in danger.

I pressed call.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then someone answered.

But it wasn’t my father.

“Hello?”

I recognized the voice immediately.

My father’s chief security officer.

“Daniel?”

Silence.

Then he whispered:

“Where are you?”

“On the yacht.”

Another pause.

“Listen to me carefully. Don’t trust anyone.”

My blood chilled.

“Daniel, what’s happening?”

“We intercepted a message this morning. Someone has been tracking your family’s movements for weeks.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where is my father?”

His breathing became uneven.

“Your father changed his travel plans.”

“Why?”

“Because someone knew about the mountain trip.”

I closed my eyes.

The conversation I had overheard came rushing back.

“They head to the mountains next week.”

How could Flynn’s family know my parents’ plans unless someone had been watching them?

“Daniel,” I whispered, “I heard them.”

“What did you hear?”

I told him.

Everything.

The pills.

The poison in my soup.

The plan to push me overboard.

The $300 million.

The Swiss accounts.

The planned crash.

When I finished, Daniel said nothing.

Then I heard something in the background.

A loud bang.

“Daniel?”

Static.

“Daniel!”

His voice returned, but it was faint.

“Listen to me. There’s something you need to know about the power of attorney.”

My heart stopped.

“What?”

“The document you signed—”

The call cut off.

I stared at the phone.

“No.”

I called again.

Straight to voicemail.

I tried a second time.

Nothing.

Marcus was watching me.

“What did he say?”

I looked up.

“The power of attorney.”

Marcus’s face suddenly went pale.

“What about it?”

“I don’t know.”

Before he could answer, the yacht shuddered violently.

A deep mechanical groan traveled through the walls.

The lights flickered.

Then the engines changed pitch.

Marcus turned toward the corridor.

“That’s not the weather.”

“What?”

He grabbed my arm.

“We need to move.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere your husband can’t find you.”

We hurried through the passage.

The ship rocked again.

I stumbled.

Marcus caught me.

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.”

My head was spinning.

He looked at me carefully.

“How many pills did Flynn give you?”

“Two every night.”

His jaw tightened.

“And tonight?”

“Two.”

“And soup?”

“Yes.”

He cursed under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

He looked toward the ceiling.

“Those aren’t ordinary seasickness tablets.”

My heart sank.

“What are they?”