Chapter 3 - The Edge of the Abyss“You could have made this easier,” Adrian said, taking a step toward me.
“For whom?” I countered, standing my ground despite the trembling in my legs.
“For everyone.”
Celeste moved beside him and rested one hand on his arm. The gesture was openly possessive, a visual confirmation of the texts I had read weeks prior.
“You were never suited for leadership, Helena,” Adrian continued, his tone patronizing. “Your father protected you from reality. You inherited a company you didn’t build, wealth you didn’t earn, and authority you were too timid to use.”
“My father appointed me chief executive before I married you,” I reminded him, my hand resting protectively over my stomach.
“And within two years, you stepped back.”
“Because I trusted my husband.”
He gave a faint, almost pitying smile. “Exactly.”
The word hurt more than I expected. Not because it was true, but because he had converted my trust into evidence of weakness. For four years, he had persuaded me that reducing my role at Ashford Maritime was an act of balance. He told me the board exhausted me. He said I cared too deeply about employees and became emotionally involved in decisions that required distance. When I became pregnant, he began telling directors that stress endangered my health. Gradually, my attendance at executive meetings became unusual. Then unnecessary. Then, in Adrian’s version of events, irresponsible. He had not stolen my authority all at once. He had convinced me to place it in his hands.
“By tomorrow morning,” Celeste said, “the Coast Guard will be searching miles of open water. By next week, the newspapers will be writing about your tragic emotional decline. Adrian will take temporary control of the company, and your father will be too devastated to fight.”
My father, Thomas Ashford, was seventy-one and had recently undergone heart surgery. Adrian believed grief would finish what illness had begun.
Celeste raised her champagne glass. “To new beginnings.”
I looked from her to Adrian. “Does she know about the trust restrictions?”
His eyes narrowed. That was the first moment his confidence shifted.
I continued before he could answer. “Does she know that my controlling shares cannot automatically transfer to a spouse? Does she know the board requires proof of death, not a missing-person report? Does she know what happens if criminal misconduct is involved?”
Celeste’s smile faded.
Adrian crossed the deck in three quick steps and gripped my upper arm. His fingers tightened hard enough to leave bruises. “You always do this,” he said through clenched teeth. “You pretend not to understand, and then you ask questions as though you’ve been watching everything.”
I met his eyes. “Maybe I have.”
For one second, fear entered his face. Then rage replaced it. He dragged me toward the stern railing. The deck tilted slightly beneath us as the yacht crossed a larger swell. Celeste followed, her champagne forgotten on the table.
“Adrian,” she said, more nervous now, “don’t let her keep talking.”
He pulled me closer until the cold metal rail pressed into my lower back. “You should have remained grateful,” he whispered. “You had every comfort in the world. All you had to do was let me lead.”
“You didn’t want to lead,” I said. “You wanted to own what belonged to someone else.”
His breath smelled of bourbon. “You’ll be remembered as a fragile woman who couldn’t survive the pressure of pregnancy.”
“My daughter will be remembered too.”
May you like
Something flickered in his expression, but it was not remorse. “It is better this way.”
He pushed.
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