CHAPTER 1: DIE WITH ME
The car smelled like leather and lies.
I sat in the passenger seat, hands folded in my lap, watching the rain turn the highway into a blur of red taillights. Five years of marriage. Five years of trying. And tonight, our anniversary dinner had ended with Marcus taking a phone call that made him smile in a way he never smiled at me.
"We should go home," I said quietly.
Marcus didn't look at me. He was texting someone, his thumb moving fast across the screen. "Driver, take the bridge route."
The driver nodded.
My stomach tightened. The bridge route was longer. Emptier. The rain was getting worse.
"Marcus, the weather—"
"I said the bridge route." His voice was flat.
I went quiet. I always went quiet.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Happy anniversary, Mrs. Westwood. Hope you enjoy your last ride.
The letters blurred on the screen. I read them again. Again.
My hands started to shake.
I looked at Marcus. He was staring out the window, but his jaw was tight. Not relaxed. Tense. Like he was counting down to something.
"Marcus—"
The driver accelerated.
My body pressed back against the seat. The speedometer climbed. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty.
"What are you doing?" My voice came out thin. Small.
Marcus said nothing.
The bridge appeared ahead, black and slick, suspended over the river. No streetlights. No other cars. Just us and the rain hammering against the windshield and the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears.
"Stop the car," I said.
The driver's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. Cold. Empty.
"Stop the car!" I lunged forward, grabbing at the driver's shoulder.
Marcus caught my wrist. His fingers dug in hard enough to bruise. "Sit. Down."
I stared at him. At the man I'd loved since I was nineteen. The man I'd given up my friends for, my dreams for, my father's company for.
"Marcus, please—"
"You should have signed the papers when I asked nicely, Elena."
The words hit me like a slap.
"What papers? What are you—"
The car swerved hard to the left.
I screamed. My seatbelt locked, cutting into my chest as the world tilted sideways. The tires screeched against wet asphalt, spinning, spinning, and through the rain-streaked window I saw them.
Two figures standing at the edge of the bridge under a black umbrella.
Isabelle Laurent in her red coat. The coat I'd bought her last Christmas because Marcus said she was going through a hard time and I should be kind.
And standing next to her, holding the umbrella over her head like she was something precious—Marcus's business partner, Jonathan Reid. The man who'd given a speech at our wedding about true love.
They were both smiling.
Isabelle lifted her phone. The screen glowed white in the darkness.
She was recording.
"No—" The word ripped out of my throat.
The car hit the guardrail.
Metal shrieked. The sound was so loud it felt like my skull was splitting open. Glass exploded inward, a thousand tiny knives slicing through the air. I threw my arms up. Felt the sting of cuts opening across my hands, my face.
And then we were falling.
My stomach lurched into my throat. The seatbelt crushed my ribs. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't scream. Could only watch as the black water rushed up to meet us.
The impact was a fist to my chest.
Everything went white.
Then black.
Then freezing.
Water poured in through the shattered windows. So cold it burned. So cold my muscles locked up and I couldn't move, couldn't think, could only feel the river filling the car, rising past my knees, my waist, my chest.
I clawed at my seatbelt. The buckle was jammed. I yanked at it, fingers numb and clumsy, but it wouldn't release.
"Marcus!" I choked on water. Salt and copper filled my mouth. Blood. My blood. "Marcus, help me!"
He was already unbuckling himself.
The click of his seatbelt releasing was the loudest sound in the world.
He didn't look at me.
"Marcus, please!" I grabbed his sleeve. Water was up to my chin now. "I can't—I can't get it off—"
He pulled his arm away.
Pulled away.
From me.
"You were always so weak, Elena." His voice was calm. Conversational. Like we were discussing the weather. "I needed someone strong. Someone who could actually help me build an empire. Not some naive little girl playing dress-up."
The water covered my mouth.
I thrashed against the seatbelt, lungs screaming. My vision was dimming at the edges. Going gray.
Marcus pushed open his door. Water rushed in faster, pulling him out, pulling him up toward the surface.
I reached for him one last time.
My fingers brushed his shoe.
He kicked away from me.
And then he was gone.
I was alone in the sinking car.
The water closed over my head.
I held my breath. Counted. One. Two. Three. My chest burned. Four. Five. My vision went spotty. Six. Seven.
I couldn't hold it anymore.
I opened my mouth.
Water flooded in. Into my lungs. Choking. Drowning. Dying.
Through the murky darkness, I could see the surface above me. Rippling. Distant. And silhouetted against the moonlight—two figures standing on the bridge.
Watching.
Isabelle's laughter drifted down through the water, muffled and distorted but still recognizable. Still gleeful.
My lungs stopped burning.
Everything stopped.
The cold faded.
The fear faded.
And then—
I gasped.
Air flooded my lungs. Sweet. Warm. Real.
I sat up so fast my head spun.
Sunlight poured through white curtains. Birds were singing. Somewhere downstairs, I could hear my mother humming.
My mother.
Who'd died three years into my marriage.
I looked down at my hands. No cuts. No bruises. The skin was smooth and unmarked.
I touched my face. Dry. Whole.
My phone was charging on the nightstand. I grabbed it with shaking hands.
The screen lit up.
June 14th, 2019.
The day before my wedding.
A sound came out of me. Half sob, half laugh. Broken and raw.
I stumbled to the mirror above my dresser.
The girl staring back at me was twenty-three years old. Round cheeks. Bright eyes. No shadows. No fear. She looked happy.
She looked like she didn't know what was coming.
But I did.
I knew everything.
I pressed my palm against the mirror. The glass was cool and solid under my hand.
Real.
This was real.
I was alive.
And this time—
This time, I whispered to my reflection—
"I remember everything."