Chapter 1 - THE DOOR LOCKED BEHIND US
The aluminum bat was already moving when I realized my husband intended to hit me with it.
Gregory swung hard at my ribs, his jaw clenched and both hands wrapped around the handle. I pivoted beside the rose-covered bed, feeling the rush of air against my lace dress as the bat missed my body by inches.
My veil snapped across my shoulder. The champagne glasses rattled on the nightstand.
Gregory staggered half a step, surprised by the empty space where I had been.
That was all I needed.
I stepped inside his reach, trapped his right wrist against my forearm, and drove his elbow downward. His grip loosened. I rotated my hips, stripped the bat from his hands, and sent him stumbling into the leather suitcase he had opened moments earlier.
He crashed onto the carpet, scattering red rose petals beneath him.
I held the bat low at my side.
Gregory stared up at me, breathing hard. The smugness had disappeared from his face.
“You should have read my résumé,” I said.
For four years, I had served in the United States Marine Corps. During my final two, I helped train Marines in close-quarters defensive techniques. Gregory knew I had been in the military, but whenever I spoke about it, he changed the subject or joked that he preferred me in heels.
I had mistaken disinterest for insecurity.
Now I understood it as arrogance.
He pushed himself onto one knee. “You attacked me.”
“You swung first.”
“There are no cameras in here.”
The calm way he said it chilled me more than the bat had.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Florida coastline had faded into a thin strip beneath the evening sky. The ship continued moving into open water while heart-shaped balloons drifted against the ceiling above us.
Gregory glanced toward the locked cabin door.
“You planned this,” I said.
He smiled again, but it looked weaker now. “Who do you think security will believe? The respected financial consultant or the former Marine with anger issues?”
“I don’t have anger issues.”
“You will by the time my family finishes talking.”
He lunged toward me.
I planted my heel against his upper shoulder and forced him back onto the carpet without swinging the bat. He cursed and slapped at my ankle, but I shifted my weight just enough to keep him down.
With my free hand, I reached for the cabin phone.
Gregory froze.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling security.”
His expression changed instantly. “Ashlynn, wait.”
I pressed the emergency button.
A crew member answered within seconds. I gave our cabin number, stated that my husband had attempted to assault me with a weapon, and requested medical staff and security.
Gregory listened from the floor.
When I hung up, he began laughing.
“You think that helps you?”
I looked at the open suitcase. Beneath his clothes was a small digital recorder, several prescription bottles with my name printed on them, and a folded sheet of hotel stationery.
I had never seen the bottles before.
I bent down without taking my eyes off him.
The labels identified the medication as treatment for severe anxiety and violent episodes.
My date of birth was correct.
The prescribing doctor did not exist.
Gregory’s laughter stopped.
“What were you planning to do with these?”
May you like
He looked toward the door as heavy footsteps approached in the hallway.
Then he whispered, “Whatever my father told me to.”
