Chapter 7
That night, Ethan made pasta in the villa's kitchen while the storm raged on. The eye of the system wouldn't pass until morning, he told us. We were locked in for at least another twenty-four hours.
We ate in near-silence around the dining table — the same table where, just last night, we'd laughed and toasted to my future.
Now my husband's body lay upstairs, covered in a sheet, and every bite of food felt like swallowing glass.
Ethan ate at the head of the table — Ryan's seat, though he didn't know it. He made casual conversation, asking about our jobs, our college years, how we'd all met.
"Drama club," Harper told him. "Senior year. That's where the five of us became inseparable."
"Drama club," Ethan repeated. "So you're all performers."
The way he said it made it sound like an accusation.
After dinner, Ethan excused himself to check his boat's radio — still dead — and the moment the front door closed behind him, Harper pulled us into a huddle.
"He's getting too close," she whispered. "He already knows the knife was wiped. He's noticed there are no marks on Lily's hands. He's going to keep digging until—"
"Until what?" I demanded. "Until he finds out which one of you actually killed Ryan?"
Four sets of eyes stared at me.
"Lily—" Harper began.
"No. Stop protecting me from the truth." My voice was shaking, but I forced the words out. "One of you killed him. I know it. I know it wasn't me because apparently I was locked in the bathroom all night. So which one of you did it?"
The silence stretched until it was unbearable.
Finally, Nadia spoke. "It doesn't matter who did it."
"Of course it—"
"It doesn't matter," Nadia repeated, her voice steady and fierce, "because whoever it was, they did it to save you. And the rest of us helped cover it up to protect you. So either we all go down, or none of us do."
I stared at her. At all of them. These women — my best friends, my sisters in everything but blood — had killed my husband and conspired to hide it. For me.
The weight of it was crushing.
"Mara," Harper said, pivoting to business. "Can you do it?"
Mara hesitated. "Hypnosis isn't exact. And it works best on willing subjects."
"Then we make him willing," Harper replied.
I suddenly understood. They were planning the same thing they'd apparently done to me — manipulate his memory.
"You hypnotized me," I said. It wasn't a question.
Mara's face tightened with guilt. "You were going to turn yourself in, Lily. You were screaming, hysterical. You grabbed the knife and said you deserved to die too. We had to—" She stopped herself, blinking hard. "We did what we had to do."
"But I didn't do it," I said, confused. "You said my hands—"
"We made you believe you didn't," Mara corrected quietly. "We rebuilt your memory so you'd wake up confused but clean. We locked you in the bathroom so you'd think you'd been unconscious the whole time."
My head was spinning. "So I did kill him?"
Nobody answered.
"Did I kill him?"
"Lily," Grace said. "That's the wrong question."
"Then what's the right one?"
Grace took both my hands in hers. "The right question is: do you trust us enough to let us protect you one more time?"
The door rattled — Ethan returning from outside.
"Quick," Harper whispered. "We stick to the plan. Mara drugs him tonight. Nobody breaks."
But something in me had cracked open — a fissure in the wall they'd built inside my mind. I could feel the truth pushing against it like water behind a dam.
And I wasn't sure I wanted to keep it out.
Ethan walked in, shaking rain from his hair, and smiled at us.
"Who wants coffee? I found some good stuff in the pantry."
Harper returned his smile — perfect, warm, practiced.
"I'll make it," she offered. "It's the least we can do for the man keeping us safe."
We ate in near-silence around the dining table — the same table where, just last night, we'd laughed and toasted to my future.
Now my husband's body lay upstairs, covered in a sheet, and every bite of food felt like swallowing glass.
Ethan ate at the head of the table — Ryan's seat, though he didn't know it. He made casual conversation, asking about our jobs, our college years, how we'd all met.
"Drama club," Harper told him. "Senior year. That's where the five of us became inseparable."
"Drama club," Ethan repeated. "So you're all performers."
The way he said it made it sound like an accusation.
After dinner, Ethan excused himself to check his boat's radio — still dead — and the moment the front door closed behind him, Harper pulled us into a huddle.
"He's getting too close," she whispered. "He already knows the knife was wiped. He's noticed there are no marks on Lily's hands. He's going to keep digging until—"
"Until what?" I demanded. "Until he finds out which one of you actually killed Ryan?"
Four sets of eyes stared at me.
"Lily—" Harper began.
"No. Stop protecting me from the truth." My voice was shaking, but I forced the words out. "One of you killed him. I know it. I know it wasn't me because apparently I was locked in the bathroom all night. So which one of you did it?"
The silence stretched until it was unbearable.
Finally, Nadia spoke. "It doesn't matter who did it."
"Of course it—"
"It doesn't matter," Nadia repeated, her voice steady and fierce, "because whoever it was, they did it to save you. And the rest of us helped cover it up to protect you. So either we all go down, or none of us do."
I stared at her. At all of them. These women — my best friends, my sisters in everything but blood — had killed my husband and conspired to hide it. For me.
The weight of it was crushing.
"Mara," Harper said, pivoting to business. "Can you do it?"
Mara hesitated. "Hypnosis isn't exact. And it works best on willing subjects."
"Then we make him willing," Harper replied.
I suddenly understood. They were planning the same thing they'd apparently done to me — manipulate his memory.
"You hypnotized me," I said. It wasn't a question.
Mara's face tightened with guilt. "You were going to turn yourself in, Lily. You were screaming, hysterical. You grabbed the knife and said you deserved to die too. We had to—" She stopped herself, blinking hard. "We did what we had to do."
"But I didn't do it," I said, confused. "You said my hands—"
"We made you believe you didn't," Mara corrected quietly. "We rebuilt your memory so you'd wake up confused but clean. We locked you in the bathroom so you'd think you'd been unconscious the whole time."
My head was spinning. "So I did kill him?"
Nobody answered.
"Did I kill him?"
"Lily," Grace said. "That's the wrong question."
"Then what's the right one?"
Grace took both my hands in hers. "The right question is: do you trust us enough to let us protect you one more time?"
The door rattled — Ethan returning from outside.
"Quick," Harper whispered. "We stick to the plan. Mara drugs him tonight. Nobody breaks."
But something in me had cracked open — a fissure in the wall they'd built inside my mind. I could feel the truth pushing against it like water behind a dam.
And I wasn't sure I wanted to keep it out.
Ethan walked in, shaking rain from his hair, and smiled at us.
"Who wants coffee? I found some good stuff in the pantry."
Harper returned his smile — perfect, warm, practiced.
"I'll make it," she offered. "It's the least we can do for the man keeping us safe."