Chapter 2

"Ow, Eleanor — you're holding me too tight."

Victoria pulled back with a soft pout, trying to wriggle free from my arms.

I forced down the icy dread spreading through my chest and slowly let go.

"Sorry. The nightmare felt too real. I'm still not quite myself."

I stepped back half a pace and kept my voice easy, my eyes catching the brief flicker of unease in hers.

Ninety-nine brushes with death had sharpened my instincts. She was nervous.

"Let me pour you something to take the edge off."

She turned and walked quickly toward the bar in the corner of the room.

Watching her go, my mind shifted into overdrive.

The ship striking the reef.

A situation with no way out.

A wife who had already fastened her life jacket.

None of this was a coincidence.

Could it be — the one who caused this ship to go down wasn't some stranger hiding in the shadows. It was the woman who shared my bed.

How could that be possible?！

We'd been together three years. She stood by me through the darkest days of Vance Group.

She was gentle, warm, and endlessly understanding — the only light in my life.

But what I felt on her back when I held her was real.

If you want to keep up the act, I'll play along.

I wanted to see what she was truly hiding underneath that soft, loving face.

"Vicky, I want that bottle of '82 Lafite. It's at the bottom of my suitcase." I sank onto the sofa, my voice lazy and unbothered.

"Of course. I'll go grab it."

She set down her glass and disappeared into the walk-in closet.

The moment she crouched down and started digging through the suitcase, I shot to my feet and crossed the room to her vanity table.

My eyes went straight to her Hermès makeup bag — the one that never left her side.

I unzipped it.

Lipstick, foundation, perfume... everything looked perfectly normal.

But I didn't stop. I pressed my fingers firmly along the bottom edge of the bag.

Click.

A faint, sharp snap.

The bottom of the bag swung open, revealing a hidden compartment.

Inside, lying completely still, was a black satellite phone. No brand markings. No logo.

I drew a slow breath, picked it up, and pressed the power button.

The screen lit up. No lock screen — it went straight to the home screen.

One message. Received ten minutes ago.

Sender: [Hound]

"Bottom explosive device is armed. Timer set: 23:59. Target asset transfer protocol is active. Put your life jacket on and wait for extraction."

It hit me like a bomb going off inside my skull.

Explosive device！

Asset transfer！

Target！

There was no reef.

This ship was deliberately blown up.

And I — I was the "target."

All ninety-nine times I nearly drowned. All ninety-nine times I clawed at the edge of madness and despair.

Every single one of them had been a carefully planned murder.

A savage rage at being betrayed by the person I loved most slammed into a bone-deep grief, and together they swallowed me whole.

I gripped the satellite phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

"Eleanor, I've got the wine—"

Victoria stepped out of the closet, red wine in hand. Her words died in her throat. She saw what I was holding.

The warmth drained from her face in an instant. Her pupils shrank to pinpoints.

The air in the room dropped to absolute zero.