PART 1
“Tonight, at two o’clock, take her on deck, tell her you need air, and push her under. If she wakes up, I’ll hold her head underwater myself.”
I heard my mother-in-law say that four days after my wedding.
My name is Clarissa Prescott, and I am thirty-two years old. Until that night, I was convinced that marrying Tristan Harrington had been one of the best decisions of my life.
He was attentive, polite, and charming. His family, originally from San Antonio, owned hotels and real estate developments, and they had important connections. My parents were also wealthy, as my father had built a logistics company in Detroit over forty years.
As a wedding gift, my parents lent us their yacht to spend a week sailing the Gulf of California. We set sail from Loreto accompanied by my in-laws, Charles and Beatrice, along with Tristan’s younger brother Austin, and the crew.
On the first day, I started to feel strangely dizzy.
Tristan gave me two white pills.
“It’s normal, love,” he said gently as he handed me a glass of water. “Your body isn’t used to the movement.”
After taking them, I would sleep for hours. Beatrice would bring me soup, tea, and broth, constantly comforting me.
“Drink this, sweetheart,” Beatrice whispered softly, stroking my hair. “You are the daughter I have always wanted.”
I believed her completely.
On the fourth afternoon, I left my cabin because I had forgotten my cell phone on the lower deck. I could barely walk, and as I went down the staircase, I heard voices near the dining area.
“Is the dose working?” Charles asked.
“Perfect,” Tristan replied with a cold calm. “Two pills and a little more in her food, so she won’t even be able to stand up tonight.”
I froze on the stairs, holding my breath.
“Then we’ll do it today,” Beatrice said firmly. “Make it look like an accidental fall.”
Charles chimed in, asking, “When exactly will we receive the money?”
Tristan let out a little laugh.
“As soon as she’s declared missing,” Tristan explained. “She signed powers of attorney before the trip, and I already have other documents prepared, so we can move almost sixteen million dollars before the Prescotts react.”
I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
But the worst was yet to come.
My parents were traveling to Traverse City the following week, and Tristan had hired two men to cause a road accident.
“Without Clarissa and her parents, nobody bothers us,” Tristan said coldly.
I returned to the cabin, barely knowing how I managed to stay on my feet.
I had a second phone hidden in my luggage, so I activated the recorder and left the balcony door open to catch the sound.
Then I heard another name through the gap.
“And what about Georgia?” Beatrice asked.
“I’ll deal with her later,” Tristan answered dismissively. “She’s much easier to manipulate than Clarissa.”
I took Tristan’s cell phone while he was away, since I knew his password.
Georgia was a colleague at his office, and on his phone, I found intimate messages, photographs, and a folder full of forged powers of attorney, bank instructions, and documents with my name on them.
I photographed everything quickly and set up an automatic email to my father and his lawyer. If I didn’t cancel it before morning, the evidence would surface on its own.
At ten o’clock, Tristan returned with two more pills.
“Take these, darling, they will help you sleep,” Tristan said, handing me the medicine.
I pretended to swallow them, nodding weakly.
“Thank you, I’ll try to rest now,” I murmured.
When he stepped out, I immediately spat them out into a tissue.
At half past eleven, there was a discreet knock on the door.
It was Paige Miller, a woman on the crew.
She came in, turned on the shower to cover our voices, and stared at me.
“I know they’re drugging you,” Paige whispered urgently. “And I know what they plan to do to you.”
“Who are you?” I asked, trembling.
Paige took a deep breath before answering.
“Five years ago, my sister Naomi married a cousin of Tristan’s,” Paige explained. “She disappeared during her honeymoon, and her body was never found.”
I felt a violent chill run down my spine.
“Clarissa, you’re not the first,” Paige insisted. “I’ve found at least six women connected to this family.”
At that moment, we heard heavy footsteps outside.
Beatrice’s voice came clearly through the door.
“Tristan, remember,” Beatrice instructed coldly. “If she wakes up when you throw her, don’t let her scream, just push her head down until she stops moving.”
Paige quickly turned off the light.
And I realized that my marriage had never been a love story.
It had been a death sentence.
PART 2
Paige waited until the footsteps disappeared down the corridor.
“We need to get you out of here before two o’clock,” Paige urged.
She gave me water, hydration salts, and strong coffee while telling me about what she had been researching for two years.
Her sister Naomi had met Simon Harrington, Tristan’s cousin, in Miami, and they married a few months later. During their honeymoon, Naomi supposedly lost her balance and fell off a boat.
They never found the body.
Simon collected a million-dollar insurance payout and kept a lucrative property that Naomi had inherited.
Paige, who had worked as a naval nurse before joining private security, began investigating on her own. She found the same pattern time and again, involving women with property or money, intense romances, quick weddings, and then accidents that were difficult to verify.
“The Harringtons have been doing this for years,” Paige whispered. “Tristan is one of the most skilled, and you’re the most valuable victim they’ve found.”
I showed her the photographs from Tristan’s phone on my screen.
Upon seeing the name of a trust account in Nassau, Paige’s eyes widened.
“That could connect them directly to the other deaths,” Paige noted.
At ten past twelve, we carefully left the cabin.
Tristan had ordered that no one watch the stern because he needed the deck clear for my supposed accident.
We went down to a small tender boat.
Paige was untying the moorings when a harsh scream cut through the dark.
“Where do you think you’re going?” a voice shouted.
It was Austin, running down the stairs toward us.
“Jump!” Paige shouted instantly.
I jumped into the boat and hit my arm against a sharp metal piece, feeling my skin tear wide open.
Paige started the engine right away.
Behind us, Beatrice appeared on the main deck, pointing down at us.
“Grab her! Don’t let her escape!” Beatrice screamed at the top of her lungs.
Austin took another motorboat and started chasing us across the dark water.
His boat was much faster.
Within minutes, he was almost on top of us, bending down to grab our side.
“That’s it, Clarissa!” Austin yelled, reaching over.
I took out a small self-defense spray that my father insisted I carry while traveling, and I sprayed it directly in his face.
Austin cried out and let go of his helm.
His boat swerved sharply and slammed hard into ours.
I was thrown violently into the dark sea.
The cold, black water completely covered me.
Luckily, the safety rope was still attached to my waist, and Paige managed to drag me back aboard.
“You’re not going to die after getting this far!” Paige shouted, pulling me up.
The impact damaged our engine, and to make matters worse, a storm began to form over the gulf.
For hours, the waves tossed us around mercilessly. Salt water seeped into the open wound on my arm, making the pain unbearable.
At dawn, we spotted a small rocky island in the distance.
We arrived practically out of fuel.
Paige improvised a quick first aid treatment on my arm and went out to explore the land, returning an hour later.
“I found something,” Paige said breathlessly. “Behind a hill is an old, abandoned fisheries lookout station with tools and an old emergency radio.”
“Can we make it work?” I asked weakly.
“If we can give it energy, someone might listen to us,” Paige replied.
We worked under the scorching sun for hours.
Paige cleaned the corroded connections and managed to power the equipment using an old solar panel.
She turned on the radio.
We only heard static echoing in the small room.
She tested a frequency, but there was nothing.
She tried another, but met only silence.
I was burning with a high fever, thinking about my parents and about Tristan appearing before the cameras as a heartbroken husband.
Paige slowly moved the dial once more.
Suddenly, a faint voice cut through the interference.
“…emergency unit… identify yourself…” the radio crackled.
We looked at each other in shock.
It was a sign of hope.
But before Paige could answer, we heard a loud sound above our heads.
The heavy noise of helicopter propellers filled the air.
A white helicopter began circling directly over the island.
It was not wearing any visible insignia.
Paige immediately switched off the radio.
