THE MIDNIGHT TIDE TURNS AGAINST US

The edge of the sliding glass frame dug into the tender meat of Naomi’s palm. She pressed herself tighter against the recessed teak bulkhead, the silk of her printed sarong fluttering against the polished chrome track. Just feet away on the open deck, Julian adjusted his cuffs, his maroon blazer catching the blood-red rim of the setting sun. Beside him stood Marcus, his oldest confidant, holding a small package wrapped in ivory paper and secured with a flat gold ribbon.

""How much did you give her?"" Marcus asked, his tone dry, practical, devoid of pity.

Julian’s smirk didn't reach his eyes. ""Enough. By midnight, she won’t even know what’s happening.""

Every breath in Naomi’s throat solidified into jagged glass. For three years, she had built an empire with Julian Vance, believing his tender words, financing his offshore acquisitions, and letting him slip inside the deepest vaults of her family’s legacy. She had thought tonight was a private voyage to celebrate their upcoming wedding off the private reefs of Saint Martin. Instead, the vintage burner phone in her bronze clutch hummed against her ribs like a dying wasp.

Her fingers trembled as she lowered her hand from her mouth. She had to breathe silently. If either man turned and spotted her reflection against the tinted saloon door, her life was forfeit before the boat ever made harbor. She reached inside the clutch, pulling out the battered black plastic device. The screen illuminated a single text message sent ten minutes prior from an anonymous contact: He emptied the escrow at four. Do not drink the vintage.

She looked toward the champagne chilling in the silver bucket beside the roses. A fine white residue coated the inside rim of her crystal flute. Julian laughed softly on the deck, tapping the gift box. He was burying her at sea, legally and physically.

Naomi dialed the only number saved in the burner’s log. Two rings echoed in the earpiece. The voice on the other end was gravelly, curt, and cold.

""Tell me you’re not on the water,"" the voice said.

""I am,"" Naomi whispered, her gaze fixed on Julian’s back. ""And he’s planning on me being dead in four hours.""