Chapter 3

The once-luxurious jet was now nothing more than a hollow aluminum can, tossed by the winds of its descent.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper, gripping the headrests as I dragged myself up the tilted aisle. Kian had left the reinforced door to the cockpit flight deck swinging ajar in his frantic rush to escape. I slipped inside.

It was surprisingly spacious—no wonder Maren loved hiding out in here.

Throughout our entire marriage, Kian had guarded this space. Whenever I asked for a tour of his workplace, his face would darken with patronizing anger.

"You aren't authorized crew, Soraya. It's a million-dollar machine with highly sensitive equipment. If you break a toggle, do you honestly think you can afford to replace it?"

After enough scoldings, I had stopped asking.

How ironic that in this life, I finally got access to the cockpit—only to realize it had been Kian and Maren's private love nest all along.

I pulled myself into the Captain's seat and let out a dry, hollow laugh.

Right in the center of the primary console was a bright, custom vinyl decal: Maren Corvin.

I had heard of teenagers putting "girlfriend seat" stickers on the passenger side of their beat-up cars, but sitting here in a commercial jet, the sheer audacity of it was staggering.

I reached out to rip the offensive sticker off the dashboard, but as my fingers brushed the vinyl, I noticed a line of text scrawled in black Sharpie just beneath it.

If we cannot share a bed in the light, we will share a grave in the deep.

My cheek suddenly felt cold. I reached up and wiped away a stray tear. I wasn't crying because I was sad; I was crying at the absolute absurdity of it all. They had literally etched a suicide pact into the dashboard. They had planned to die together.

Through the shattered remnants of the radar screen, the churning black surface of the ocean rushed up to meet me. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness swallow me as memories flooded my mind.

Before Maren, Kian and I hadn't possessed a fiery, passionate marriage, but we had been respectful. That all changed the day Maren was dumped by her tech billionaire.

I remembered standing in the airport terminal, holding Kian's hand, when she ran toward us in floods of tears and threw herself into his arms.

It was the first time I ever laid eyes on Maren Corvin. Kian had shot me a glare before sliding his fingers out of my grasp to embrace her.

When I angrily tried to pull her off him, Kian snapped. He publicly berated me, warning me not to interfere with a "colleague in crisis."

From that day on, Maren was unemployed, yet Kian still defended her as his "co-worker." As a prestigious airline captain, he somehow found the time to buy her breakfast, fix her plumbing, change her lightbulbs, and even demand that I brew her heating herbal teas whenever she had period cramps.

Whenever I reached my breaking point and screamed at him for the humiliation, he always recycled the same gaslighting script:

"Maren is going through a devastating time. Could you try having an ounce of basic empathy? You got the ring, Soraya. We're married. Do I need to be chained to your waist 24/7 for you to be satisfied?"

The memories that had once caused me agonizing heartache now only filled me with bone-deep exhaustion.

I kept my eyes shut, listening to the shrieking wind, waiting for either the end or a new beginning.

A deafening, earth-shattering roar tore through the cabin. The windshield imploded under the catastrophic pressure of the water.

Massive, razor-sharp shards of reinforced glass shot violently into the space, yet miraculously, the violent currents swept the deadliest projectiles just inches past my left shoulder, missing me entirely.

As I watched a jagged piece of glass embed itself deeply into the left bulkhead, a sudden realization hit me.

Once, Maren had stalked my social media and left a bizarre, cryptic quote on her own page: I belong on his left side, right next to his heart.

No wonder Kian had survived the previous timeline without a scratch while Maren died on impact.

Because of their pathetic, romanticized vow, she had positioned herself squarely on his left during the crash, taking the full, lethal brunt of the structural collapse. Their toxic love story was the exact thing that had killed her.

I was a strong swimmer, but the sheer force of the sinking wreck was overwhelming. Weighed down by the physical toll of my pregnancy, I swallowed mouthfuls of freezing saltwater. My strength gave out, and the darkness dragged me under.

When I finally opened my eyes again, I was blinded by the harsh, fluorescent lights of a coastal regional medical facility.

Seeing me stir, a nurse rushed to my bedside. "Oh, don't try to sit up yet. You're terribly weak. Let me page the doctor!"

Before she hurried out into the hallway, she clicked on the wall-mounted television, probably hoping to keep me distracted.

The local news broadcast was running a special report on the jet crash from two days ago. But as the anchor spoke, the words scrolling across the bottom ticker made my blood run ice-cold.

Trans-Aero confirms zero casualties in miraculous water landing.

Zero casualties?

Then what the hell was I?

The attending doctor walked in, catching me as I tried to push myself up, my head spinning. "Easy there! A private fishing crew pulled you out of the water just in time. Do you remember a family contact number? I need to notify someone you're here."

I stared blankly for a moment before rattling off Kian's phone number. I didn't want to speak to him, but legally, he was my only listed next of kin.

The doctor dialed the number, shooting me a sympathetic look before putting the call on speakerphone.

Kian answered on the third ring. His voice was slightly raspy, but remarkably relaxed. "Who is this?"

Before the doctor could answer, a woman's sickeningly sweet whine echoed in the background. "Kian, my foot is still throbbing."

Kian chuckled—a warm, indulgent sound. "You big baby. Who told you to be so clumsy? Hold still, let me put the ointment on it."

The doctor rolled his eyes at the domestic bliss spilling from the speaker and cleared his throat. "Am I speaking to Kian Rainer? Your wife, Soraya, is currently a patient at the coastal regional medical facility."

The line went dead silent.

Then came the sound of a glass shattering, followed by Maren's distressed shriek.

"That's a lie," Kian hissed, his relaxed tone instantly replaced by frantic, paranoid aggression. "The jet fuel ignited on the water. The aircraft burned out completely. Who the hell is this, and what kind of sick scam are you pulling?!"