Chapter 4
She grabbed her phone to check the time. 3:12 a.m.
Adrian was still downstairs in his study. Not sleeping with her. Not faking anymore.
Silently, she slipped from bed, creeping through the dimly lighted room and into the closet. One by one, she removed the jewels he had given her–the pearl earrings he had secured on their anniversary, the diamond bracelet, and ultimately, the wedding ring.
Every item seemed like a lie.
She placed them on the dresser under the gentle glow of the bedroom lamp. Adrian would find them. He would understand.
But by then, it would be too late.
Morning
The silence was deafening.
Isabella, clad in a cream blouse and tailored trousers, descended the large staircase as sunlight streamed through the floor–to–ceiling windows.
Adrian sat in the dining room, clothed in a nice blue suit, a cup of coffee in hand. His gaze raised the instant she walked in. But there was no easy smile this time. No playful charm.
Only stress.
They hadn’t spoken much since their confrontation. He had tried–small banter, a passing touch–but she had given him nothing. And now, when she took her seat across from him, his scrutiny weighted heavy.
“You barely touched your dinner last night,” he commented.
She met his gaze evenly. “I wasn’t hungry.”
Adrian examined her for a beat before setting down his cup. His tone softened. “Isabella, we need to—”
“My flight is early,” she interrupted, grabbing for her juice. “I should leave soon.”
Adrian’s brows wrinkled. “Flight?”
She had told him yesterday night. Had he even been listening?
“For the charity event in London,” she reminded him. “I told you weeks ago.”
Not all of it was a lie. The event was real. She just wouldn’t be attending.
She would be vanishing.
Adrian exhaled, stroking his temple. “Right. I must’ve forgotten.”
Of course, he had.
“How long will you be gone?”
She shrugged. “Two weeks, maybe more.”
Long enough for everyone to assume she was actually gone.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. “You’ve been distant.”
She tensed, fingers clenching on the glass.
He had wrecked their marriage. He had constructed another life behind her back. And yet, he was the one acting like she was the problem?
Forcing composure, she took a leisurely sip of juice. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
Adrian stretched for her hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles.
“I love you, Bella.”
Her stomach twisted.
She heard his voice from that video–low, possessive, saying the same words to Celeste. “She’s mine.”
The impulse to yank her fingers away was nearly excruciating. But instead, she leaned in, pressing a delicate kiss to his cheek.
A final act. A last lie. “I know,” she whispered.
***Departure***
The airport was bustling–passengers rushing to actual destinations, families embracing, flight attendants shouting for boarding.
Isabella, however, had no intention of leaving.
She proceeded with quiet purpose through security, phone clasped tightly in her palm.
Keira’s orders were clear: wait for the signal, board the private plane, and slip out through the restricted service exit.
Her bags would be loaded. The flight would appear routine.
Then, somewhere over the Atlantic, the plane would “crash.”
No one would ever find her body.
There was no other option.
As she stepped onboard the jet, the fragrance of leather and fresh coffee permeated the cabin. The flight attendant greeted her with a nice grin.
“Welcome aboard, Mrs. Marsden.”
Isabella nodded, her farewell nod as Adrian’s wife. “Thank you.”
She buckled in, inhaling deeply.
Her phone vibrated. A message from Keira.
“The route out is apparent. Move now.”
Her pulse quickened. Now or never.
Isabella loosened her belt and, with delicate movements, slipped down the tight corridor toward the back exit.
11/2
Chapter 4
One breath. One step. Keira was already waiting.
Without a word, they vanished into the restricted area, a black private automobile idling just beyond the tarmac.
Minutes later, Isabella Marsden was gone.
The News Breaks
Adrian sat at his desk, flipping through papers when Charlotte, his assistant, came into the room, her face pallid.
“Sir, you need to see this.”
He scarcely glanced up. “Not now.”
“It’s about Mrs. Marsden.”
The papers in his hands stilled. Slowly, he lifted his gaze. “What about her?”
Charlotte hesitated before laying a tablet in front of him.
The headline sent ice through his veins.
BREAKING: ISABELLA MARSDEN’S PRIVATE JET MISSING OVER THE ATLANTIC
His stomach churned.
He read the words again, his mind rejecting them.
“Two hours into its flight, the plane lost all touch with air traffic control. No wreckage has been recovered, and authorities fear a crash. Rescue efforts are ongoing.”
His pulse thundered.
No.
No, this wasn’t occurring.
With shaky hands, he grabbed his phone and dialed her number.
Voicemail.
He called again. And again.
Nothing.
Charlotte shuffled uncomfortably. “Sir… I’m very sorry.”
The chair scraped across the floor as Adrian surged to his feet, nearly toppling it down.
His world was swirling.
Without another word, he walked away, ignoring Charlotte’s voice calling after him.
He needed air.
He needed to breathe. Because this… this wasn’t genuine. It couldn’t be real.
As he drove home, his grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white.
And for the first time in his life–Adrian Marsden felt something dangerously close to terror.
