The Devoted Husband

An early autumn wind swept along the river.

Reporters had already descended on the scene. They crowded outside the police tape, broadcasting live.

“Stella Whitmore, Fairhaven’s leading society figure and the newly appointed CEO of Whitmore Group, was involved in a car accident on the night of her civil wedding. She remains missing, and her condition is unknown. Half an hour ago, police discovered what appears to be her coat beside the river—”

“Julian Whitmore’s here!”

Someone shouted. Every camera swung toward him.

He was still wearing his hospital clothes.

Time for another performance.

Julian stumbled forward and snatched up my bloodstained coat. His eyes immediately reddened.

“It’s hers. We bought matching ones together.” His voice broke. “Stella, please don’t do this to me. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you? This is my fault. I should have protected you!”

He clutched his hair in apparent agony. Even the reporters looked close to tears.

Julian turned straight toward the cameras.

“Whoever caused this accident, whoever is behind it, I’m begging you. Please don’t hurt my wife. Bring her back to me safely. Whatever you want, whatever it costs, I’ll pay it!”

He had beautiful eyes, the kind that made tenderness seem effortless.

Now he shed his crocodile tears for the cameras, unaware that my ghost stood just outside the frame, watching him coldly.

At the height of his performance, he cried my name and coughed up a mouthful of blood.

A wave of shock passed through the crowd. Camera shutters rattled nonstop.

What a devoted husband.

Missing his wife so desperately that he was coughing blood.

Not becoming an actor had been a terrible waste of his talent.

The sight of that loving, lying face made me want to vomit.

Then I noticed a cold, mocking gaze from somewhere beyond the crowd.

It didn’t belong with all that sympathy.

I turned.

A tall, lean man stood alone on a low rise, his black high-collared coat hanging open. The wind lifted its hem around him. He was perfectly still, yet everything about him felt dangerous.

When I recognized that almost unnaturally handsome face, I froze.

Lucian Blackwood.

Wasn’t he supposed to be at an economic summit in Switzerland?

Then I understood.

He must have heard I was missing and rushed back to see for himself.

He was probably delighted.

Everyone in Fairhaven knew that Lucian Blackwood, heir to Blackwood Holdings, and Stella Whitmore, the Whitmores’ glamorous young CEO, were bitter enemies.

For some reason, I drifted over to him.

Of course he couldn’t see me.

His gray-blue eyes narrowed as he watched Julian, who was surrounded by layer after layer of reporters.

“Stella Whitmore.” My name left his mouth quietly, edged with cold amusement. “Your taste in men is fucking atrocious.”

For the first time in my life, I agreed with him.

Yes. Bad enough to get me killed.

“Sir.”

Lucian’s private assistant, Miles Reed, approached and stopped two paces behind him.

“They’re on their way. They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

Who were they?

Before I could hear anything else, Julian collapsed in front of everyone, apparently overcome with grief.

They carried him to a car.

I couldn’t get far from him. That invisible pull forced me into it too.

As we left, I looked back through the window.

Lucian was still standing there. Black hair. Black coat.

Like a piece of the night everyone else had forgotten.