Chapter 1 - The Locked Honeymoon Suite
The lock clicked behind me before the ship had even cleared the Florida coastline.
One soft click.
That was all.
Not loud enough to alarm anyone in the hallway.
Not dramatic enough to belong in a nightmare.
Just a neat, controlled sound inside a luxury honeymoon suite decorated with red rose petals, gold heart balloons, warm lamps, champagne on ice, and a white bed that suddenly looked less romantic than staged.
I was still wearing my wedding dress.
White lace fitted tightly over my ribs.
A bridal veil pinned beneath my dark-brown hair.
White heels already hurting my feet.
My bouquet rested in both hands, the flowers slightly crushed from hours of photographs, congratulations, hugs, and pretending not to notice the way Gregory’s fingers tightened around my waist whenever I spoke too freely.
The cruise suite smelled like roses, expensive champagne, and ocean air.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Atlantic was turning black-blue under the evening sky.
Inside, Gregory Hartman stood by the locked door in his open white dress shirt, black formal trousers, and dress shoes, smiling like the wedding had been the performance and this room was the truth.
“Now we’re finally alone,” he said.
His voice was calm.
That made it worse.
He walked toward his leather suitcase near the wardrobe.
At first, I thought he was reaching for a change of clothes.
Then I watched his hand disappear beneath a folded jacket.
My body knew before my mind accepted it.
Always watch the hands.
Gregory slowly pulled out an aluminum baseball bat.
Silver.
Clean.
Too deliberate to be an accident.
Too strange to be explained away.
A baseball bat in a honeymoon suite.
My new husband lifted it near his shoulder and looked at me as if he had been waiting all day to show me the real shape of marriage.
“My father taught me how to control a wife.”
For one second, I heard the wedding again.
The minister’s voice.
The waves at the dock.
My maid of honor laughing while fixing my veil.
Gregory whispering, “Forever starts now,” before kissing me under white flowers.
Then the suite came back.
The locked door.
The bat.
The bed covered in rose petals.
My bouquet shaking only because I was holding it too tightly.
I lowered the bouquet onto the bed.
Carefully.
Gently.
I remember that detail more than anything.
Not because the flowers mattered.
Because I did not want him to make every beautiful thing part of the threat.
Gregory smiled when I set them down.
He thought I was surrendering.
That was his first mistake.
He had been making small mistakes for months.
Not obvious ones.
Not the kind people warn you about in clean, dramatic language.
His mistakes came dressed as concern.
“You don’t need to drive yourself. I’ll take you.”
“Why are you still friends with women who act single?”
“My mother thinks your military stories make people uncomfortable.”
“You don’t have to sound so independent all the time.”
“You’re my fiancée now. You should want us to move as one.”
At first, I told myself he was old-fashioned.
Protective.
A little intense.
Everyone said that about him.
Gregory Hartman, the charming real-estate heir with the perfect jawline, the polished laugh, the moneyed family, the expensive manners.
His mother called him “traditional.”
His father called him “decisive.”
His friends called him “alpha.”
I should have listened to what all those words were trying to hide.
At the engagement dinner, his father raised a glass and said, “A strong husband keeps a peaceful home.”
Everyone laughed.
I didn’t.
Gregory noticed.
Later that night, he squeezed my wrist under the table and whispered, “Don’t embarrass me in front of my father.”
I pulled my hand away.
He apologized before dessert.
Flowers arrived the next morning.
A handwritten card.
I hate when I feel like I’m losing you.
That was how he worked.
Pressure.
Regret.
May you like
Romance.
Repeat.
