Victoria's POV
My champagne glass shattered on the marble floor, but I barely heard it.
The text message burned into my vision: Beautiful dress. Shame about the baby. You're 7. -Phoenix
Victoria? Damien's hand touched my elbow. What's wrong?
Everything. Everything was wrong.
Bathroom, I managed, my voice shaking. I need—excuse me.
I pushed through the crowd, my heels clicking frantically against the floor. My phone felt like it was burning my palm. Behind me, I heard Damien calling my name, but I didn't stop.
The bathroom was blessedly empty. I locked myself in a stall, sat on the closed toilet lid, and typed with trembling fingers:
Who are you?
The response came instantly.
A photo loaded on my screen. Six women stared back at me, all beautiful, all young, all smiling in photos that looked like they'd been pulled from social media or news articles.
Each photo had a red X through the face.
Each one was labeled: Marcus Chen Asset 1, Asset 2, Asset 3...
The text that followed made my blood freeze:
All dead. All accidents. All after becoming inconvenient to the men Marcus placed them with. You're Asset 7. Congratulations on your pregnancy—you have maybe six months before your accident. Want to know how the others died?
My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the phone.
Another message: Asset 1: Car crash, 2015. Asset 2: House fire, 2016. Asset 3: Drowning, 2017. Asset 4: Fall from balcony, 2018. Asset 5: Overdose, 2019. Asset 6: Yacht explosion, 2020.
Yacht explosion. 2020.
Sienna Chen. Damien's first wife.
Oh God, I whispered, bile rising in my throat.
I pulled up Google with shaking fingers, searching the first woman's name from the photo. The obituary loaded: Sarah Mitchell, 29, died in tragic car accident. Survived by husband, venture capitalist Robert Mitchell...
Robert Mitchell. One of Marcus's business partners.
I searched the second name. Third. Fourth.
Every single one had been married to or dating powerful men in Marcus's network. Every single one had died within a year of getting pregnant or discovering something they shouldn't have.
And I was number seven.
Another text: Marcus has a pattern. Beautiful women. Smart but not too smart. Place them with men he needs to control. Use them for information. When they outlive their usefulness—accident. He's very good at accidents.
My baby. I pressed my hand to my stomach, feeling the small swell beneath my dress. I was six months pregnant with Damien's son.
How long do I have? I typed back.
Depends. When do you stop being useful? When does the baby become leverage instead of insurance? My guess? He'll wait until you give birth. Damien will be attached to his son. Then you'll have your accident and Marcus will comfort the grieving father while controlling him through the child.
I was going to be sick.
Why are you telling me this?
Because I was 6. And I survived.
The bathroom door opened. Voices, laughter, heels clicking. I flushed the toilet I hadn't used, forced myself to stand on shaking legs, and walked to the sink.
In the mirror, I looked perfect. Blonde hair in elegant waves. Cream dress showing my pregnant belly. Diamond earrings Damien had given me for our six-month anniversary.
I looked like a woman living a fairy tale.
I looked like a woman standing on six graves.
Are you okay? Another gala guest asked, touching up her lipstick beside me. You look pale.
Just pregnancy, I lied with a smile that felt like breaking glass. The baby's been kicking.
She laughed, said something about how beautiful motherhood was, and left.
I stared at my reflection. Typed one more message:
What do you want from me?
Information. Everything you know about Marcus Chen and Damien Zhao. Every file, every password, every dirty secret. In exchange, I'll keep you alive.
How do I know I can trust you?
You can't. But you know you can't trust Marcus. And deep down, you know you can't trust Damien either. How much do you think your husband knows about what Marcus does to women like us?
The question hit like a fist to my stomach.
Damien had to know. He'd been married to Sienna when she died. If Phoenix was really Sienna—if she'd really survived—then Damien had tried to kill her.
Would he try to kill me too?
I forced myself to leave the bathroom, to walk back into the ballroom on legs that felt like water. Damien stood exactly where I'd left him, talking to Marcus. They looked like father and son—Marcus's hand on Damien's shoulder, both smiling.
Marcus saw me first. His smile widened. There she is! Are you feeling alright, dear?
Fine, I lied. Just needed a moment.
Damien's eyes searched my face. You're sure? You look shaken.
The baby's just active tonight. I forced myself to lean into him, to play the role I'd been playing for two years. Devoted wife. Perfect partner. Asset 7.
Across the room, I spotted her. The woman in emerald—Selene Park. She stood alone near the windows, champagne glass in hand, watching us with eyes that burned.
Our gazes locked.
She lifted her glass slightly—a toast.
To survival. To revenge. To the graves we'd both crawled out of.
Damien, Marcus said, checking his phone. We should discuss the Nakamoto deal. Victoria, do you mind if I steal your husband for a few minutes?
Of course not. I smiled up at Damien. I'll wait here.
As they walked away, my phone buzzed.
Look up. Corner window. Red dot on your chest.
My blood turned to ice. I looked down at my dress—a tiny red laser dot danced over my heart, then my stomach where my baby grew.
That's how easy it would be. Marcus has people everywhere. So yes, Victoria—you need me. Unless you want to be Asset 7 before your baby's first birthday.
The red dot disappeared.
I stood frozen in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by San Francisco's elite, while someone pointed a gun at my pregnant belly to prove a point.
Another text: Bathroom. Five minutes. Come alone. We need to talk.
I deleted the messages with shaking fingers and headed back toward the bathroom.
Behind me, I heard Damien laugh at something Marcus said. The sound made my skin crawl.
My husband. My baby's father. The man who'd maybe killed his first wife.
And Uncle Marcus, who'd arranged six murders and was planning mine.
I walked toward the bathroom where Phoenix—where Sienna Chen's ghost—was waiting.
The woman in emerald passed me in the hallway. Up close, her face was unfamiliar, but her eyes—
Victoria, she said softly. Just my name.
Sienna?
Her smile was knife-sharp. That woman died three years ago. I'm Selene now. And we need to discuss how to keep you from joining her in the grave.
She walked into the bathroom. After a heartbeat of hesitation, I followed.
Inside, she pulled out her phone and showed me a screen filled with data—stock prices, financial reports, things I didn't understand.
What is this?
Phase one of destroying your husband's empire. ARTEMIS—my AI—just deployed the first stock manipulation. Tomorrow, Zhao Technologies drops eight percent. In a week, fifteen percent. In a month, Damien's company starts bleeding money faster than he can stop it.
You're going to destroy him. It wasn't a question.
I'm going to destroy them both. Marcus and Damien. Everyone who thought I'd stay buried. Her voice was ice. Question is, are you helping me or dying with them?
An alert sounded on her phone. She glanced at it, and something dark flashed across her face.
What? I asked.
She turned the screen toward me. Financial data I couldn't parse, but her expression told me everything.
ARTEMIS reports: First stock manipulation deployed successfully. Zhao Technologies will drop eight percent when markets open tomorrow. She looked up at me. Shall I proceed with phase two?
But that wasn't what made my heart stop.
It was the second alert beneath it:
CLASSIFIED ALERT: Marcus Chen has accelerated timeline for Asset 7 termination. Current estimate: 72 hours.
Seventy-two hours.
Three days until Marcus tried to kill me.