Chapter 5
Adrian checked his phone and stood. Screen lit his jaw blue. He didn't look at me when he spoke.
"Need air," he said. "Stay. Rest."
He pulled cabin door shut behind him. Didn't latch. Hinge sighed. Wood creaked. His footsteps went light down corridor toward deck.
I waited two breaths. Air conditioner hummed. Bed linens stuck damp to my legs. Tablets still pressed inside my fist, sweat making them stick.
Doubt hit hard. Had he left me unguarded because he thought pills worked, or because someone else watched outside?
I rolled off bed. Bare feet hit cool wood. White bathrobe hung loose. I tightened belt. Knot held.
I moved to door frame. Hand on warm wood. Paneling smooth under palm. Heart hammered so loud I feared he heard it through hallway.
Second scene held at door. I tipped profile around frame. Dim corridor stretched outside. Warm bulbs low. Engine thrum vibrated through floor. Smell of salt and diesel seeped in.
Adrian stood three steps away, back to me, shoulder against rail that led to deck. Phone to ear. Voice low.
I held breath. Didn't blink. Listened wide-eyed.
"Today at 2:00, we'll push him into the sea," he said.
Same words. Same flat tone I'd heard before. Not to me this time. To second party. Confirming.
Pause. Other voice crackled, male, muffled. Couldn't catch words. Adrian nodded.
"She took them already," he said. "No. She's heavy. Won't fight."
My fingers dug into door frame. Cold shot through chest. Grammar clicked. Him was lie. Deflection. Not him. Me. He'd used him on phone earlier so I wouldn't realize I was target if I overheard. Now no need to hide.
Adrian shifted weight. He glanced back toward cabin. I pulled head back inch, pressed spine to wall beside door. Shadow hid me. Bathrobe brushed wood. I stopped breathing.
He didn't see. He turned again.
"Starboard side, aft of tender," he said. "Nobody logs it. Keep engine slow."
Other voice answered. Adrian laughed soft. No humor.
"Sixteen billion worth a little seasickness, right?" he said.
Blood roared in ears. Villanueva Pacific Logistics. My father's company. My inheritance. Not ours. Mine. That was motive. Staged drowning.
I needed more. I leaned out again, just eyes past frame. Adrian pocketed phone. He didn't return immediately. He stared at dark water past corridor window. Hand tight on rail. Knuckles white.
Thought came fast. Accomplice on yacht or on call? He said we'll push. Plural. Help needed. Not accident. Not solo. Two hands required to lift body over rail while drugged.
I catalogued detail. Starboard aft. Near tender. That was drop point. That was method.
Footsteps creaked. He turned toward cabin. One step. Two.
I retreated. Fast, silent. Toes curled. Slipped back to bed. Six feet. Five. Dive onto mattress, on side, facing wall. Pulled bathrobe smooth. Closed eyes. Opened palm slightly, hid tablets under thigh where sheet bunched.
Door eased open. Wood groaned. Warm air moved.
He stood in doorway. I felt gaze. Didn't move. Controlled breath. Slow in, slow out. Let mouth slack.
Floorboard pressed under his weight. He came closer. Stood beside bed.
Silence stretched. Then his hand brushed hair off my cheek. Fingers warm. Gentle. Pretend gentle.
He whispered, "Mahal," but not the line yet. Just checked.
I kept eyes closed. Let body stay heavy. Let breath catch little, like drugged.
He lingered. I heard his phone buzz again in pocket. He stepped back. Door clicked softer this time, left ajar inch.
His footsteps faded down corridor again. Gone to finalize push.
I opened eyes. Pupils adjusted to dim warm light. Wood paneling glowed amber. Bed linens white around me. Door gap showed empty corridor.
Intel secured. Target confirmed: me. Time confirmed: 2:00. Help confirmed: at least one more person. Drop point confirmed: starboard aft.
May you like
I slipped hand under thigh, retrieved tablets, dry now, intact. Still not swallowed. Proof still mine. Needed to secure them where sea couldn't take them.
But first I stayed still. Listened to engine thrum. Counted minutes. Clock near 1 AM had become. Less than hour left.
