Chapter1

To celebrate our wedding anniversary, I'd turned down every commitment on my calendar and spent days preparing a candlelit dinner aboard our yacht.

What I found instead was the sharpest betrayal I'd ever heard.

His female assistant was pressed against him, her voice dripping with disdain as she complained about everything around her. And the man I had loved—the man I thought I knew—was indulging her with a gentle, easy smile, promising to buy her a bigger yacht someday.

The yacht my parents had left me. The last thing I had of them.

In his eyes, apparently, it had always been nothing more than junk waiting to be thrown out.

And to settle a score on his assistant's behalf, he pushed me overboard.

I thought I was going to die. Instead, I was pulled from the water.

The man who saved me brought me to his estate—a castle—and offered me a bargain: he would help me put my husband behind bars, but in return, I would become his instrument.

Caught between the man who was using me and the man who had betrayed me, I had no idea what lay ahead.

Destruction, or something like salvation.

……

I was on my way to the wheelhouse when I heard laughter from inside.

Then Lillian's voice.

Her tone was pure, unconcealed contempt.

"Mark, is this really the kind of yacht you take out to sea?"

"Honestly, everything on this boat looks like it came from a garage sale."

My hand slowly tightened.

Then I heard Mark's response.

No irritation. No pushback whatsoever.

"You're not entirely wrong," he said.

His voice was relaxed, almost amused.

"Give the company another year or two and I'll upgrade to something bigger. I'll take you out on it myself."

In that instant, it felt like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed.

This yacht had belonged to my parents.

It was also the place where Mark had once told me he wanted to celebrate every anniversary of our lives together.

And now, apparently, it was just old junk he couldn't wait to be rid of.

I drew a slow breath, then shoved the wheelhouse door open.

Both of them turned at the sound.

I could see exactly how they were positioned.

Mark in the captain's chair.

Lillian half-draped across his lap, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding the champagne I had set out for tonight.

When she saw me, the smile on Mark's face went stiff for just a moment.

Then it shifted into something impatient.

Lillian pressed herself a little closer to him and dropped her head, manufacturing the look of someone startled and meek.

"Mark."

My voice came out unsteady despite myself.

"What did you just say?"

"You called this yacht garbage?"

Mark lit a cigarette.

He took a long, unhurried drag, leaned back in the chair, and looked at me.

"Ella, do you have to be so sensitive about everything?" he said.

"Lillian was just being honest."

"This old boat is overdue for an upgrade anyway."

My hands balled into fists.

"My parents left this to me!" I said, louder than I'd intended.

"You used to say this was a symbol of our love!"

Lillian looked up then, dabbing at the corner of her eye with practiced sorrow.

"Ella, please don't misunderstand," she said softly.

"I was too blunt. I shouldn't have said what I was thinking out loud."

She paused, then added:

"It's just that some people really do get attached to old things."

Mark put his arm around her shoulders immediately.

He looked at me, and the warmth drained out of his voice.

"Ella, look at yourself right now."

"Standing here screaming like a fishwife."

"Lillian actually understands how to live. She knows what it means to enjoy life."

Something inside me was being cut open, slowly, one stroke at a time.

For years I'd set aside my own career to support his. I'd built my days around the company and the household, believing that was what marriage asked of you.

Now I understood what he'd actually thought of me this whole time: a woman who couldn't keep up.

"Mark." My voice caught. "You've changed. You really have."

At that, Mark laughed.

A laugh with a very clear edge of contempt.

"Ella, you're being naïve," he said.

"When a better option comes along, do you honestly think a man is going to keep tying himself to the past?"

Lillian leaned against his shoulder and swirled the champagne in her glass.

She looked at me with a smile she wasn't even trying to hide.

"Ella, why don't you go back to the cabin," she said.

"There's nothing for you here anymore."

I stared at the two of them leaning into each other and felt my stomach turn.

This was the anniversary dinner I had spent days preparing.

Everything I'd done was a joke to them.

"If you want to carry on your affair, take it somewhere else," I said, my voice cold.

"Not on my yacht. Not on something my parents left behind."

I turned to leave.

"Hold on."

Mark's voice stopped me.

I paused.

He pointed at the champagne tower I'd arranged on the deck, his expression openly dismissive.

"Get rid of all that."

"It's an eyesore."

I stood there for a moment and almost laughed.

He'd just called this yacht garbage, and here he was directing me to clean it up like it was his to command.

I had spent ten years walking beside him, from nothing to everything he was now.

Apparently I had only ever been a stepping stone.

Fine.

Mark Thompson.

I will remember every single word you said tonight.

Because someday—and it will come—you are going to pay for this evening.