Five years after I buri:ed my husband, I visited a colleague and stepped into a bright nursery—only to see Daniel Mercer standing there alive. The man I had mourned was holding a baby bottle, while my mother-in-law fussed over another woman and her newborn like this was a normal family scene. Daniel looked at me, turned white, and dropped the bottle onto the floor. That was when I understood the coffin had been empty. Before nightfall, the lie that protected his entire family would destroy them all.

The world blurred, spun, and went entirely dark.

When I woke up, I was bound to a metal chair in a damp, dimly lit room.

The smell of rust and saltwater filled my lungs.

My head throbbed, but I forced my eyes to focus.

I was in an abandoned shipping warehouse.

Directly across from me, tied to a similar chair, was Daniel.

He looked battered, his lip split and his eye swollen shut.

"Elena," he groaned, struggling against his zip ties.

"I am so sorry."

"I never meant for you to get pulled into this again."

Before I could reply, Marcus walked into the circle of light.

Celeste followed right behind him, looking immaculate in a gray trench coat.

"You see, Daniel?" Celeste said, her voice dripping with disappointment.

"I told you her curiosity would be the end of her."

I stared at my mother in absolute disgust.

"You sold out your own son to a cartel?" I asked.

Celeste laughed sharply.

"Sold him out?"

"I saved his life."

"He embezzled from Marcus five years ago."

"I brokered the deal to fake his death so he could work off his debt in secret."

"And you just threw me to the wolves," I spat.

"You were a necessary sacrifice," she said dismissively.

Marcus pulled a knife from his belt and walked toward Daniel.

"The fifty million is secure, Celeste," Marcus said.

"We do not need the accountant or his fake widow anymore."

He pressed the blade against the throat of my husband.

"Wait!" I screamed, desperately fighting my bindings.

"I have the ledger!"

Marcus paused, turning his head toward me.

"I downloaded the master files from Voss," I lied, hoping they had not searched my pockets yet.

"Kill him, and you will never find where I hid the drive."

“Which daughter is yours?” should have been a harmless question

The first wineglass shattered at 8:07 p.m

The moment the mafia boss’s wife called me “an illiterate servant,”

Marcus smiled, reaching into his own coat.

He pulled out my encrypted flash drive and held it up to the light.

Chapter 8 - The Hostage