Chapter 4

Eleanor finished her call and started walking back towards us. Hudson's grip on my neck tightened.

"Showtime," he whispered.

He let go of me and then, with a dramatic lurch, he pretended to trip, grabbing onto me as he fell. His weight dragged us both back into the deeper water.

My head went under. The saltwater stung my eyes. I was disoriented, sinking. Through the blurry water, I saw Eleanor's form running towards the shore. I saw the panic on her face.

For a heartbeat, I thought, She's coming for me.

But then I saw where she was looking. Not at me, the man who couldn't swim, the man who was actually drowning. She was looking at Hudson, who was theatrically flailing his arms a few feet away.

Her panic wasn't for me.

The truth was a cold, heavy thing that settled in my gut, dragging me down faster than the water.

Tears mixed with the saltwater on my face. The pain in my side flared, a sharp, angry pulse. My body curled in on itself, an involuntary reaction to the agony, both physical and emotional. My consciousness began to fade at the edges.

The last thing I remember was a strong arm grabbing me, pulling me up. It wasn't Hudson. It was one of Eleanor's bodyguards.

He dragged me onto the sand. I lay there, coughing up water, my body shaking. I looked up. Eleanor was fussing over Hudson, wrapping him in a towel, her face a mask of concern. She hadn't even looked in my direction.

I remembered all the times she'd fussed over me like that after my surgery. Bringing me soup, fluffing my pillows, reading to me for hours. It had all been an act. A performance of gratitude. She could turn it on and off like a switch.

The bodyguards hauled me to my feet. They were rough. One of them forced a wetsuit over my damp clothes. I was too weak to resist.

They dragged me over to where Eleanor and Hudson stood.

"He tried to kill me, Ellie!" Hudson wailed, clutching at her arm. He was putting on the performance of a lifetime. "He held my head underwater! He said he was going to drown me!"

Eleanor looked at him, her eyes wide with manufactured horror. Then she turned to me. Her expression was ice cold.

"Why, Jefferson?" she asked, her voice dangerously quiet. "Why would you do this to Hudson?"

The question was an accusation. She had already tried and convicted me.

"Eleanor," I started, my voice raspy. "Do you really think... after everything... that I'm a killer?"

For a second, she faltered. I saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes.

Hudson saw it too. "I... I should go," he said, his voice trembling. "I'm not safe here." He made a show of turning to leave, the perfect victim.

That's all it took. Eleanor's eyes went from doubtful to stone cold in an instant. She reached out and took Hudson's hand, her message clear.

She looked at her head of security. "He needs to be taught a lesson," she said, her voice devoid of all emotion. "Put him in the cage."

The cage. The anti-shark cage they kept on the yacht.

They dragged me onto the boat. I was shaking, not just from the cold.

"This is punishment from the Senator," one of the guards said as he shoved me into the steel cage. "For upsetting Mr. Stewart."

The heavy door clanged shut, plunging me into a world of bars and shadows. The cage was lowered into the water.

Dark shapes began to circle. Sharks. Drawn by the cage.

My breath hitched. I have claustrophobia. A deep, paralyzing fear of small, enclosed spaces. And I'm terrified of water. Eleanor knew this. She knew all my fears. I had told her everything, trusting her with my vulnerabilities.

And now she was using them to torture me.

I remembered her whispering to me late at night, after a nightmare. I'll never let anything hurt you. I'll keep you safe.

She was the one hurting me. She was the monster in my nightmare.

I curled into a ball in the corner of the cage, trembling uncontrollably as the sharks bumped against the bars. Tears streamed down my face, lost in the seawater that filled the bottom of the cage. I was going to die here. My breath grew shallow, my body shutting down.

Hours later, or maybe minutes, I don't know, I was hauled up. A fishing boat had spotted the cage. The fishermen pulled me out, just as my oxygen tank ran out. I collapsed on their deck and passed out.

I dreamt of her. I dreamt of the good times. Our first meeting. The quiet nights we spent reading side-by-side. The way she smiled when I brought her flowers. It was a beautiful dream, full of warmth and love.

Then the dream soured. I saw her face, cold and distant. I don't love you, the dream-Eleanor said. I never did. I reached for her, but she faded away, leaving me alone in the dark.

I woke up with a gasp, my face wet with tears. I was in a bed. In a room on the yacht. The pain in my side was a dull, constant throb.

The door opened and Hudson Stewart walked in. He was wearing one of my silk robes. There were fresh purple marks on his neck. Kiss marks.

I felt nothing. The pain was so deep it had become numbness.

"Still alive?" he said with a smirk. "Too bad." He tossed a folder onto the bed. "Eleanor signed them. Now it's your turn."

It was a divorce agreement. Her signature, elegant and firm, was at the bottom of the last page.

I picked up the pen from the nightstand. My hand was steady. I signed my name next to hers. Jefferson Byrd.

"Good boy," Hudson said, snatching the papers. He walked out without another word.

I lay back on the pillows and cried. Silent tears that soaked the silk pillowcase.

Eleanor didn't come home for days. I packed my things. It didn't take long. In five years, in that grand house, I had accumulated very little that was actually mine. Everything was hers. The furniture, the art, the life.

I found the small, cheap keychain I'd had since I was a kid in the foster home. It was rusted now. I held it in my hand, along with my simple gold wedding band. I walked to the trash can and dropped them both inside.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Eleanor's voice made me jump. She was standing in the doorway, looking furious.

"Are you still throwing a tantrum?" she demanded. "Do you need another punishment to learn your lesson?"

I was so tired. So incredibly tired.

She grabbed my arm, her grip like steel. "Get in the car. We're going to my father's."

"Why?"

"It's his birthday," she said, dragging me out of the room. "And you are going to be there, and you are going to smile."