My honeymoon took an unexpected turn when I returned to our room early. I overheard a conversation I was never meant to hear. Suddenly, everything about my marriage changed.

PART 1

The Caribbean breeze should have tasted like happily-ever-after. Instead, by the third day of my honeymoon, it felt like a slowly tightening noose. This multi-million-dollar luxury yacht—a wedding gift from my billionaire father—had suddenly become a floating cage.

For three days, I had been drowning in an unnatural lethargy. Flynn, my picture-perfect husband, would stroke my hair and blame it on seasickness. He attentively fed me two small white pills every night. I trusted him. Until this afternoon.

Some primal instinct forced my heavy eyes open. Fighting a dizziness that felt like lead weights, I used the mahogany walls for support, creeping out of the suite. By the time I reached the mid-level staircase, my strength evaporated. I slumped against the cold brass railing, gasping for air.

That was when the clink of champagne flutes drifted up from the lower deck. Followed by laughter.

“How are you managing the dosage, Flynn?” The voice was brisk and transactional. It was Aidan, my father-in-law.

“Don’t worry, Dad. Two pills every night, plus a little extra in her soup just now. By midnight, she won’t even be able to open her eyes.” Flynn’s tone was lazy, dripping with a terrifying casualness, as if discussing the weather.