Chapter 1

To murder my husband Ethan, I spent a full year preparing.

I smiled as I sent my husband off on his mountain expedition.

I had secretly swapped his GPS for a model that would never send out a signal, ensuring he'd disappear forever in the remote mountain region.

I calmly calculated the time it would take for him to get lost, succumb to hypothermia, and finally die of exhaustion.

The plan was perfect. I had even prepared the eulogy for his funeral.

Ten days later, the rescue team called with news cold and piercing:

"Miss Bailey, we found your husband. But there's another body with him."

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The phone rang while I was pruning a dying pothos plant.

It was Ethan's favorite plant. He said green represented vitality and would bring good fortune to his career.

What he didn't know was that I watered its roots with boiling water every single day.

I watched it wither day by day, just like watching Ethan's life slowly drain away in those snowy mountains.

The caller ID showed an unknown number from the province where Ethan had gone climbing.

Here it comes.

My heart pounded wildly—not from fear, but from a long-suppressed joy about to burst forth.

I took a deep breath, letting my voice take on just the right amount of hoarseness and trembling, like the result of countless nights crying myself to sleep.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was steady and cold, with official detachment.

"Is this Victoria Bailey? We're from the mountain rescue team."

I covered my mouth, squeezing out broken sobs, perfectly mimicking a wife anxiously awaiting news of her husband.

"Yes... yes, it's me! Is there... is there news about my husband Ethan?"

The person on the other end fell silent for a moment, as if choosing their words carefully.

"Yes, Miss Bailey. We found your husband."

Found him.

Those three words were like a key, instantly unlocking the cellar in my heart.

Countless fireworks exploded in my mind, each one blooming with the word "freedom."

I almost laughed out loud, quickly covering it with more violent sobbing.

"Is he... is he okay?"

I asked knowingly, savoring this final, cruel game.

The other end fell silent again, this time for longer.

"Miss Bailey, please accept our condolences. Mr. Ethan Cross is no longer showing vital signs."

My body went limp, and I slid down onto the carpet as if on cue, the phone falling from my hand with a dull thud.

I let out a heart-wrenching wail into the empty air.

You have to play the part completely.

The neighbor next door must have already heard my continuous crying these past few days. Now, this wail was the climax of this grand performance.

I picked up the phone, continuing my performance with a voice hoarse from crying:

"How could this... how could this happen... he said this route was safe..."

"Miss Bailey."

The voice interrupted my performance, now carrying an unusual tone.

"The situation at the scene is... complicated."

"There's another body with him."

My heart sank abruptly.

All the blood in my body seemed to freeze in an instant.

Another body?

That bitch!

Ethan must have taken his mistress along for his pleasure trip!

A sick sense of satisfaction surged through me, mixed with the humiliation of betrayal and the thrill of revenge.

Good riddance!

Serves them right!

A pair of cheating scum should be buried together in the ice and snow, dying miserably!

I suppressed my rising smile, asking with a trembling voice mixed with the humiliation and pain of a "victimized wife":

"Is it... is it a woman?"

The man on the phone—who I later learned was a detective—fell silent once again.

This time, his voice was colder than a Siberian blizzard.

"It's a male."

My brain went blank, every pore on my body standing on end from this sudden fear.

Not a mistress?

A man?

Who could it be?

In my plan, there had never been a second man.

My plan—from surveying the route, calculating the weather, researching Ethan's physical limits, to swapping the GPS—every single step had been rehearsed thousands of times.

It should have been perfect. It should have gone smoothly.

This extra man was like a bomb appearing out of nowhere, capable of destroying my entire world.

Who was he?

A friend Ethan had arranged to meet? Impossible. Ethan was arrogant and selfish, never traveling with others. He enjoyed the thrill of solo conquest.

A random hiker who encountered trouble? Then why would he die together with Ethan?

Or... did he know about my plan?

This thought made my entire body go cold, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.

My brain raced through the storm of fear.

Countless possibilities flashed before my eyes, each one pointing to a fatal flaw in my plan that I couldn't have anticipated.

Struggling to maintain my composure, I asked with a trembling voice:

"Who is he? How could he... how could he be with my husband?"

The detective's voice was emotionless:

"Identity currently unknown, needs family identification. Also, Miss Bailey, you should come here as soon as possible. The situation is very... particular."

He emphasized the word "particular" heavily.

After hanging up, I rushed to the bathroom, staring at my pale face in the mirror.

On that face, the carefully constructed facade of grief I'd maintained for ten days showed its first hairline cracks.

Fear climbed up from the depths of my heart like vines, wrapping tightly around my throat.

I turned on the faucet, splashing ice-cold water on my face over and over, trying to calm myself down.

Victoria, stay calm.

You've planned this for a year. You can't lose your composure now.

No matter who that man is, he's already dead.

Dead men don't talk.

As long as you don't say anything, no one will know about the GPS.

Ethan's death will only be an unfortunate climbing accident.

Right, an accident.

I repeated these two words to myself in the mirror until the fear on my face was replaced by numbness.

I changed into black clothes, didn't put on makeup, letting exhaustion and pallor become my best disguise.

Before leaving, I took one last look at the pothos I'd personally killed.

Its leaves had completely yellowed, lifeless.

Perfect. It no longer had to pretend to be thriving.

Just like me.

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