Chapter 1: The Two Pills in My Palm
Palm trembled. Two white pills sat there, scored line down middle, identical. Warm tungsten light from cabin ceiling caught their edges. Hand shook. Not from seasickness. Boat barely moved. Water outside cabin dark, hull quiet. Behind pills, blurred dark background, no horizon.
Adrian stood in doorway. Black long-sleeve button-up, silver watch on left wrist caught light. Held clear glass of water, calm. Controlled. Offered like care.
He'd said earlier, voice low, even. "Today at 2:00 AM, we will take it out." Words still hung. Not seasickness talk. Not routine.
Contradiction hit hard. Husband at peak of concern, face soft, glass extended. Plan underneath to incapacitate. Two pills meant sleep. Deep sleep. 2 AM needed me unconscious.
My name is Mara Villanueva. I was twenty-eight, heiress to money I never asked to discuss, wearing light satin camisole in yacht cabin at night, and I realized my husband planned to hurt me.
Adrian stepped closer. Corridor light behind him made shadow fall across cabin bedroom. Warm dim glow from overhead, soft shadows on walls. Narrow hallway, bedroom close. He lifted glass slightly.
"Drink it, my love, so you can sleep peacefully." Said gentle. De Vera calm. Eyes steady. Watched palm. Watched me.
I stared at pills. Scored whites, small, round. Supposed to be for waves. But he already confirmed time. 2 AM. Take it out. Phrase meant disposal. Meant body. Meant inheritance. ₱16 billion motive I didn't yet see on paper but felt in gut. Throat dry. Hand still raised near chest, tear slipped on cheek. Breath shallow, controlled. Didn't answer right away. Pause stretched. Silence carried weight.
Doubt flickered. Maybe misheard? Maybe seasickness medicine real? Then logic snapped. Healthy hours earlier. No nausea. He never worried about sleep before. Tonight insisted. Two pills, not one. Urgency in tenderness.
I lifted fingers, pretended to pick one. Then both. Brought hand to mouth. Turned slightly, as if sipping. Palmed instead. Tongue dry, lips closed on empty. Let pills slide into crease of palm, then into seam of camisole where fabric folded against chest. Sleight small, quick. Held glass, pretended swallow. Faked throat movement. Handed glass back half-empty.
His eyes softened. Believed.
Lie came quick, one short sentence. "Thanks, love, feeling better already." Voice small.
Quiet call-out didn't happen yet. First evasion from him already done. Mine now.
He nodded, took glass. "Rest now," he said. Turned to doorway. Left it ajar.
I waited. Footsteps receded to corridor. Counted breaths. Three. Four. Then rolled toward nightstand where small black candybar phone hid under folded towel. Keypad phone, green and red buttons, lit screen. Prepaid, kept for attorney only. Thumbed it open, hands shaking harder now. Signal one bar. At sea isolation real.
Pressed call. Whispered urgent, tears on cheeks, phone backlight on face.
"Attorney, please don't cut me off, they plan to hurt me tonight." Voice cracked. Kept low, eyes on doorway. Hall light still warm beyond. Listened for answer. Static, then distant voice? Cut? Line thin. Couldn't tell if connected. Spoke again, faster. "On yacht, pills, 2 AM plan." Held breath. No clear reply. Battery icon low. Put phone on mute, didn't end call, let it lie.
Moved to bed. Lay on side, pretend sleep. Phone lit against chest, hidden under palm and satin. Screen glow faint through fingers. Breathing forced slow, even. Inhale through nose, exhale soft. Eyes half-closed, lashes wet.
Hallway creaked. Adrian returned. Didn't enter. Stood in corridor, watching through ajar doorway. Blurred figure in hall, black shirt, glass gone. Watching to see if sedation worked.
He leaned in slightly. Whisper carried across dim cabin.
May you like
"My love, wake up, you need some air."
I didn't move. Kept breathing slow. Kept eyes shut. Pills still dry against skin, hidden, not ingested. Phone warm against chest, green button pressed faintly. Doorway still ajar, his shadow lengthened across floor, step about to come inside.
