Chapter 2 - The Husband Waiting DownstairsJenna reacted before I did.
For seven days, I believed it was an accident.
On the eighth, I learned she had died trying to save me.
My name is Alice Monroe, and the last photograph ever taken of my sister Claire shows the two of us standing beside each other beneath an arch of white roses.
I am wearing my wedding dress.
Claire is wearing lavender.
Ryan Mercer—my brand-new husband—is standing on my other side, smiling like the happiest man alive.
Looking at that photograph now, I notice something I missed that afternoon.
Claire wasn't looking at the camera.
She was looking at Ryan.
And she looked terrified.
Claire and I had never been the kind of sisters who called each other every morning or finished each other's sentences.
She was five years older, cautious where I was impulsive, suspicious where I preferred to trust people.
After our parents died within eighteen months of each other, Claire became even more protective.
Sometimes unbearably so.
Especially after I met Ryan.
He was charming, successful, handsome, and attentive in a way that made me feel like the center of the world.
Claire hated him almost immediately.
Three weeks before the wedding, she came to my apartment without warning.
I opened the door and found her standing there in the rain.
“Alice, cancel the wedding.”
I laughed because I thought she was joking.
She wasn't.
“Claire—”
“He isn't who you think he is.”
“Then tell me who he is.”
Her face tightened.
“I can't. Not yet.”
That made me furious.
“You expect me to destroy my relationship based on that?”
“I expect you to trust me.”
“Why?”
The word came out crueler than I intended.
Claire flinched.
But neither of us apologized.
On my wedding morning, she tried once more.
She found me alone in the bridal suite, fastening earrings in front of the mirror.
“You still have time,” she whispered.
I turned around.
“For God's sake, Claire.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Alice—”
“If you can't explain yourself, stop trying to ruin this for me.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
I had never seen Claire cry easily.
“I hope I'm wrong,” she said quietly.
Then she hugged me.
Hard.
Far too hard for an ordinary wedding-day hug.
She whispered something against my hair.
“I love you. Whatever happens, remember that.”
I thought she was being dramatic.
Three hours later, I married Ryan.
The ceremony was beautiful.
Sunlight poured through stained glass. My hands trembled inside Ryan's as we exchanged vows.
At the reception venue, champagne waited on silver trays and a string quartet played beneath chandeliers.
But Claire never arrived.
At first I was annoyed.
Then worried.
Then terrified.
Ryan kept telling me she was probably making a scene.
“That's Claire,” he murmured. “She wants attention.”
Except Claire wasn't answering.
Neither were the two people who had offered to drive behind her from the church.
At 5:47 p.m., a police officer walked into my wedding reception.
I knew before he spoke.
Claire's car had left the road less than three miles from the church.
It struck a retaining wall.
She died before paramedics arrived.
My wedding dress was still on when I identified her body.
Seven days later, after the funeral, I was sitting alone in Claire's apartment when someone knocked.
It was her best friend, Jenna Hart.
She looked like she hadn't slept in a week.
“Alice,” she said, “Claire left something with me.”
From her handbag, she removed a cheap black phone.
Then an envelope.
My name was written across the front in Claire's handwriting.
“What is this?”
Jenna locked the apartment door behind her.
“Claire told me that if anything happened to her, I had to wait seven days before giving you these.”
My stomach turned cold.
“If anything happened?”
Jenna nodded.
“She was afraid someone was watching her.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
My hands began shaking before I finished the first line.
Alice, whatever you do, DON'T trust your husband.
I kept reading.
Do not confront Ryan.
Do not tell him about this phone.
Do not tell anyone where you got it.
I found evidence that he has been lying to you since the day you met him.
My vision blurred.
At the bottom, Claire had written one final sentence.
And Alice—my accident may not be an accident.
I looked up at Jenna.
“This is insane.”
“I wish it were.”
I stared at the phone.
“What's on it?”
“I don't know. Claire wouldn't tell me.”
My thumb pressed the power button.
The screen illuminated.
No password.
Just a photograph of Claire and me as children standing between our parents.
There were only four apps.
Photos.
Messages.
Voice Recorder.
Files.
I opened Voice Recorder.
Twenty-three recordings appeared.
The newest had been made at 3:18 p.m.
My wedding day.
I pressed play.
For several seconds, there was only static.
Then Claire's frightened voice filled the room.
“It's confirmed. Ryan knows I've been investigating him.”
A door slammed somewhere in the recording.
Claire gasped.
Then whispered:
“If you're hearing this, Alice, I probably didn't make it to you in time.”
Another sound came through.
A man's voice.
Distant.
But unmistakable.
“Claire!”
I stopped breathing.
Because I knew that voice.
Ryan.
My husband.
Claire whispered one final sentence.
“He followed me from the church.”
Then came the sound of her car engine starting.
And the recording ended.
At that exact moment, my own phone buzzed on the coffee table.
A message from Ryan appeared.
Where are you, sweetheart?
Before I could answer, another message arrived.
May you like
I'm coming to get you.
And from somewhere downstairs, I heard the apartment building's front door open.
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