I disguised myself as a walking corpse—a widow hollowed out by grief.

Eleanor and Mike buzzed around me like flies, their conversation barely registering in my consciousness.


"…What about Liam's Jersey City apartment? And those stocks of his—we should get a lawyer on those immediately." Eleanor examined her fresh manicure, discussing my dead husband's assets as casually as afternoon tea plans.

"Mom, that's pocket change," Mike cut in impatiently. "The real prize is the Blackwood Group shares."

I kept my eyes down, fingers absently tracing the cool leather of the armrest.


Chloe sat beside me, clutching my hand with a concerned expression.

"Don't listen to them, Ava," she whispered. "Liam's barely gone and they're already… how could they?"


Her voice carried the perfect blend of outrage and sympathy—two days ago, it might have moved me to tears.

But now, it only made my stomach turn.

I didn't pull away, just let her hold my hand while feeling the false warmth from her palm. My gaze drifted past her shoulder to Eleanor and Mike's greedy faces, then down to Liam's gray cashmere sweater I was wearing.

Once doubt takes root, it grows wildly, feeding on every inconsistency it finds.

Not one of them truly grieved for Liam.

They only cared about dividing his wealth, like vultures tearing at a still-warm corpse. Meanwhile, my "best friend" played my guardian angel, keeping me trapped center-stage in this carefully orchestrated tragedy.

Late that night, I locked myself in the study.

The apartment was so quiet I could hear electricity humming in the walls.

I opened my laptop, its cold glow illuminating my bloodless face.

My hands trembled slightly—not from grief, but from the terrifying thrill of approaching truth.

Chloe, my best friend. I'd trusted her completely, even giving her a supplementary card linked to my credit account "for emergencies."

Now, this was definitely an emergency.

I logged into my banking portal with ice-cold fingers, watching the progress bar inch forward as it retrieved the supplementary card transactions.

When the records appeared, my breathing stopped.

The third day after Liam's "death."

Bahamas, Nassau.

Versace Boutique: $32,000.

Michelin three-star restaurant "Ocean's Whisper": $6,800.

"Heaven's Gate" private resort, one-week accommodation prepayment: $180,000.

Each transaction was like another slap across my face.

The Bahamas… how ironic. Liam had promised countless times to take me there for a romantic getaway to see the world's most beautiful pink beaches.

He'd finally gone—just with someone else by his side.

I stared at "Heaven's Gate," my fingers flying across the keyboard.

Social media. Hashtags. Check-in records.

Like a woman obsessed, I searched everything related to the resort, scrolling through endless tourist photos of blue waters and pool parties, hunting for two familiar faces I now despised.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

They'd been careful, leaving no public traces.

But they missed something. Chloe was too vain to completely disappear. Her public account was silent, but she'd definitely have an alt account—somewhere to document her real life away from prying eyes.

I tried every possible username combination—her birthday, her cat's name, her favorite movie characters…

Minutes ticked by as the sky outside shifted from black to deep blue.

Just as I was about to give up, I spotted an account I'd nearly missed.

The profile picture showed a woman's back on a pink beach, sunset turning her red hair to gold.

I clicked on it, my heart hammering.

The latest post was from twelve hours ago.

A photo.

In the background: a villa balcony with an unobstructed ocean view. In the foreground: a shirtless man in beach shorts embracing a bikini-clad woman from behind, his arms wrapped intimately around her waist.

Though his face wasn't fully visible—just his muscular back and profile—I recognized him instantly.

My husband Liam. The man I'd loved for five years. The man I thought was buried in cold river waters.

And the woman in his arms, smiling brilliantly, a diamond necklace glittering around her neck…

My mind went blank with a deafening buzz.

That necklace was the birthday gift I'd given Chloe last month.

In that moment, the last remnant of grief in my heart froze solid and shattered into a thousand pieces.

I made a crazy decision.

I booked the first flight to the Bahamas.

Early next morning, I emerged from my room dragging an empty suitcase.

"Ava, where do you think you're going?" Eleanor blocked my path.

"Getting some air," I replied with a blank expression. "Liam always talked about this ocean. I need to see it."

My voice was flat as still water, my eyes vacant enough to fool anyone.

Chloe emerged from her room at the commotion. "Ava, I don't like the idea of you traveling alone. Let me come with you."

"No," I shook my head, forcing a weak smile. "I need to be alone. Thank you, Chloe."

Thank you for showing me the truth.

I didn't check into any airport hotel.

After landing, I rented a car and drove straight to Heaven's Gate resort.

The oceanfront villa section.

At dusk, the setting sun painted the sea a brilliant orange-red. Like a ghost, I silently approached the villa from the photos.

Hidden behind a lush palm tree, my heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst through my chest.

The villa's floor-to-ceiling windows were uncurtained, the living room blazing with light.

Then I saw something I would never forget as long as I lived.

Chloe wore only a black bikini with a sheer white cover-up, her wet red hair clinging to her shoulders. She straddled Liam's lap, arms wrapped around his neck.

Liam's hands roamed freely over her body, sliding from her waist to her ass, squeezing possessively.

They kissed passionately, tongues entwined, making wet sounds that seemed to carry through the glass.

Chloe trembled under his touch, her red hair wild. She pushed him away with a smile, tilting her head back to say something.

In the next moment, Liam laughed, scooped her up in his arms, and carried her toward the bedroom.

Chloe's laughter penetrated the thick glass—so carefree, so joyful—cutting into my heart like a poisoned blade.

I saw it clearly—that sparkling diamond necklace I'd given her, swinging with her movements.

I didn't leave.

I stood like a soulless statue in the shadows, watching.

As darkness fell, the bedroom light came on. Through half-drawn curtains, I could see the silhouettes of two intertwined bodies.

I could make out their movements, hear Chloe's rising and falling moans mixed with Liam's deep grunts.

That bed… I recognized that bed.

It was the custom piece by a famous designer that Liam and I had selected together in Milan when we got married.

Now my best friend was on our marriage bed, passionately fucking my "dead" husband.

One hour passed. Maybe two.

Time had lost all meaning.

Finally, the bedroom light dimmed.

After a while, the balcony door slid open, and two figures in bathrobes stepped out.

Liam held Chloe from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder, fingers tracing patterns on her bare skin.

They nestled together, gazing at the dark ocean, whispering like the world's most perfect couple.

I stood behind my palm tree across the manicured lawn, silently watching.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I didn't even feel pain.

My body and heart had gone completely numb.

I just watched, my eyes recording every detail like a high-definition camera—every movement, every expression—burning it all into my memory.

Then I turned and walked away without a backward glance.

On the drive back to the airport, I booked the first flight to New York.

Watching the tropical scenery blur past my window, all sadness and confusion had vanished from my eyes, replaced by cold, deadly purpose burning with hellfire.

I knew exactly what to do now.

Liam. Chloe.

Your vacation is over.

Now it's my turn.