Salt stung Aria's lips as she cracked the cabin window, letting in the ocean breeze and the promise of disaster. The yacht rocked beneath her, all white leather and glinting chrome, the kind of wealth meant to intimidate. Somewhere above, laughter spiked. Champagne glasses clinked—the soundtrack of predators circling.
In her first life, this was when it happened. A "careless" crew member. A bottle shattered at her feet—glass scoring her cheek, blood on teak, the first scar. Vanessa's apology, silk and venom: "Oh darling, what a dreadful accident." Everyone pretending to believe.
Not today.
Aria pressed her fingers behind her ear, hunting for a scar that didn't exist—yet. Not this time.
From the main deck, Ethan's voice: "Aria! Come see the sunset!"
She checked her grandmother's Cartier. 6:12 PM. In the last timeline, the bottle exploded at 6:15. Three minutes until fate's punchline.
"Just a minute!" she called, injecting a touch of fragility. "I'm feeling a little seasick."
Silence. Then footsteps, quick and heavy. Ethan appeared in the doorway, concern etched deep. "You okay? Should I get you something?"
She met his gaze, let her mouth curve in a small, helpless smile. "Just need to lie down. Too much sun, maybe."
He hovered, thumb worrying the edge of his wedding band. "I'll tell the crew to turn down the music. Text if you need me."
"Thank you," she murmured, eyes lowered, every inch the delicate wife. Let him believe it.
Ethan left, door closing with a soft click. She collapsed onto the bed, heart thrumming. 6:14. One minute.
Upstairs: Vanessa's laugh, brittle as ice. The slam of a cabinet. A sharp, splintering crash. Shouting.
Aria gripped the duvet, nails biting into the fabric. She pictured the scene above—crew scrambling, glass everywhere, everyone searching for the injured bride. Not this time. She stayed perfectly still, forcing herself to breathe. The world kept spinning.
A frantic knock. "Mrs. Pierce? Are you alright?" A voice she didn't recognize—female, young, terrified.
Aria smoothed her hair, voice clear. "I'm fine. I was resting."
A pause. "Oh. We…uh…had a little accident. Nothing serious! Sorry for the noise."
"I didn't hear a thing," Aria lied sweetly.
Footsteps retreated. The yacht's hum returned. She sat up, muscles loose for the first time all day.
Score one for Aria.
Her phone buzzed—a message from Ethan. Everything okay?
She replied: Just need quiet. I'll come up soon.
But she didn't. She padded to the mirror, stared at her reflection. No blood. No glass. No one to play victim for. A small, satisfied smirk twisted her mouth.
Back to business. She opened her laptop, double-checked the Cayman account—funds secure. Safety, at least on paper.
Minutes passed. At last, Ethan appeared, face drawn, shoulders tight. "The crew had an accident. Champagne bottle. Glass everywhere. I was worried you'd been hurt."
She shook her head, kept her tone soft. "I stayed down here. Seasick, remember? I'm fine."
He looked unconvinced, gaze searching her face. "You're sure?"
She nodded, resisting the urge to recoil as he brushed a hand over her hair. Her scalp prickled, body tensed. She forced herself not to flinch.
"Good," he said. "You have no idea how relieved I am."
A flicker of guilt? Or just the performance of a husband who needed to play hero?
She let him tuck the blanket tighter around her, every gesture rehearsed. "You don't have to worry so much, Ethan."
His jaw flexed. "I do," he said softly. "I need to think of my real family now."
The memory sliced through her composure—hospital lights, his signature sealing her fate. She masked the chill in her veins with a faint smile.
Ethan kissed her forehead, gentler than she expected. "Rest, okay?"
He left. She waited until the footsteps faded, then checked her watch again. 6:23. The danger had passed.
Aria exhaled, the air sharp in her lungs. She'd dodged the first trap. No blood. No scars. Not today.
She checked her phone one more time. No new messages.
But the game had changed, and so had she.
She gripped her grandmother's watch, the weight grounding her. 1,095 days. Her war had only just begun.