---- Chapter 8 The yacht was obscene, a floating palace of chrome and glass, teeming with the city's most vapid and wealthy. Garrison forced me to come, a living ghost at Keyla's decadent birthday celebration. "Smile," he ordered as we boarded. "You're ruining the pictures." | ignored him, my eyes scanning the deck, planning my route. The stern, near the lifeboats. That's where it would happen. Keyla and her friends cornered me near the bar. They were playing a cruel game. "Truth or dare, Janette," Tiffany, Keyla's vicious little lapdog, slurred, swaying slightly. "| dare you to drink this." She held out a glass filled with a murky concoction of leftover drinks. "I'm not playing," | said flatly. Tiffany's face soured. "Too good for us, are you?" She shoved the glass at me, sloshing the sticky liquid down the front of my dress. "It was just a game," Keyla said with a fake pout. "Don't be such a spoilsport." ---- Garrison stood a few feet away, watching, his face a mask of cold indifference. This was his revenge for my "disobedience" last night. He was letting his dogs off the leash. Tiffany shoved me again, harder this time. "Drink it." | stumbled back, my eyes fixed on Garrison. He just took a sip of his champagne. They continued to torment me, a circle of hyenas laughing and pushing. Each shove, each insult, was fuel. | took it, my face impassive, my mind cold and clear. This was all part of the plan. Garrison eventually drifted away, bored with the spectacle, to get Keyla her birthday gift. He gave me one last look, a complex expression | couldn't decipher. Pity? Regret? It didn't matter. It was too late. Keyla followed me as | walked toward the stern, just as | knew she would. "Running away so soon?" she taunted. "The party's just getting started." We were alone, the noise of the party a dull roar behind us. The sea was a black, churning expanse below. | turned to face her, a small, almost invisible button on my brooch already activated. The camera was rolling. "| just wanted to give you my birthday gift," | said, my voice sweet and low. ---- "| don't want anything from you," she sneered. "Oh, but | think you'll like this," | said. "Garrison told me he was planning to leave you. He said he was just using you for your family's money. He said he still loves me." Every word was a lie, crafted to hit her where she was most insecure. Her face contorted with rage. "You're a liar!" "Am I?" | leaned in, my voice a whisper. "Ask him. Or maybe we should talk about my mother." The shift was instant. Her anger was replaced by a flicker of panic. "| want to know how you did it," | said, my voice shaking with a grief that was all too real. "The poison. How did you get it into her? | need to know." Her panic dissolved into arrogant pride. This was her greatest victory, and she couldn't resist bragging about it. "That old bitch?" she laughed, a high, ugly sound. "It was easy. She was so trusting. | just told her | had a special vitamin drink, good for her old bones. She drank it right down." She smiled, her eyes gleaming with a cruel light. "Garrison covered it all up. He's so good at cleaning up messes. He loves me that much." ---- The confession hung in the air between us, captured forever. "He'll never love a murderer," | spat. "He'll never love you." "He loves me!" she shrieked, her control finally snapping. "And you know what? He'll love me even more when you're gone!" She lunged at me. | stepped back, "accidentally' stumbling near the railing. "You're his wife," she hissed, her face inches from mine. "But not for long." "| will always be his wife," | said, delivering the final, calculated blow. "You will only ever be his whore." She screamed, a raw, animal sound of pure rage, and shoved me with all her strength. The world tilted. My wedding ring, which | had slipped back on for this final act, caught on the railing and slid from my finger, a tiny glint of silver falling into the darkness. 1 Then | was falling. The cold, black water rushed up to meet me. The shock of the impact stole my breath. The sounds of the party, the music and laughter, were a cruel, festive soundtrack to my "death." As the darkness enveloped me, | thought of my mother. | thought of the justice | would finally bring her. ---- My eyes closed. The hidden camera, safely tucked away, had captured everything. The show was over. The real story was about to begin. Freelance photographer Violet Beck is forced into an engagement with CEO Roy Payne. He is everything her wild heart rebels against: proper, predictable, and painfully kind. But love has a way of devel...