Chapter 2
Daniel Grayson's office smelled like old leather and expensive decisions.
He laid out the trust documents before me—papers I should have read years ago but never did because Marcus always said he'd "handle the legal stuff."
"Your father established the Cross Family Trust before his death," Daniel explained, adjusting his glasses. "It holds approximately fifty-two million dollars in diversified assets. The trust matures on your thirtieth birthday—January fifteenth of next year."
"And if I die before then?"
Daniel's expression flickered with concern. "If you pass away before the maturity date with no direct heirs, the fund enters a sixty-day contestation period. Your legal spouse would have primary claim."
There it was. The reason Marcus married me.
The reason Marcus was going to kill me on January eighteenth—three days after the transfer.
"Can I change the beneficiary?"
"You can, but it requires your personal appearance before the trust's board of executors, along with government-issued ID and—"
"When is the next board meeting?"
"December twentieth."
Less than two months away. Plenty of time—unless Marcus figured out what I was doing.
"One more question." I leaned forward. "Has anyone else inquired about this trust recently?"
Daniel hesitated, flipping through his files. "Actually, yes. Six months ago, a woman named Vanessa Holt contacted our office claiming to be your personal representative. She requested copies of the trust structure and maturity conditions."
My blood ran cold, even though I already knew.
"What did you tell her?"
"Nothing. We only communicate with beneficiaries directly. That's why we kept trying to reach you." He paused. "Ms. Cross, is there something I should know?"
I met his eyes. "Not yet. But soon."
...
That evening, I returned to the penthouse. Marcus was in his study, speaking on the phone in a low voice. I pressed my ear to the crack in the door.
"—she refused to sign. I don't know what's gotten into her."
A pause.
"No, she didn't mention your name specifically, but she brought you up in context. Something felt off."
Another pause.
"I know the timeline, Vanessa. I know we can't afford to wait. But if I push too hard right now, she'll get suspicious."
I heard his chair creak as he leaned back.
"We'll do it on the eighteenth as planned. The balcony railing is already loosened. But I need her to sign the transfer first. Once the money hits the company account, there's no tracing it back."
I stepped away from the door, my heart hammering—not from fear this time, but from confirmation.
Every word matched my memories.
January fifteen: trust matures, money transfers.
January eighteen: I "jump" from the balcony.
January nineteen: Marcus inherits everything.
In my previous life, I spent those final months blissfully ignorant, baking him dinner and asking if he was stressed at work.
This time, I opened my phone and began recording.
I returned to the bedroom and pulled out the burner phone I'd bought that afternoon. I texted the only person from my past life who ever showed me genuine kindness—my college roommate, Sophie Park, now a forensic accountant.
*Soph, it's Elena. I need your help tracing financial transactions from a private company. Completely off the record. I'll explain everything.*
The reply came in under a minute.
*Girl, where have you been for 3 years?? I'm in. Send me what you have.*
I smiled and started typing.
Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Marcus appeared at the bedroom door, his expression perfectly arranged into one of concern.
"Hey. About earlier—I'm sorry I pressured you about the documents. You're right. There's no rush."
He walked over and placed his hands on my shoulders, bending to kiss my forehead.
"I just worry about the company, you know? But you're more important than any business deal."
His lips were warm against my skin. The same lips that told Vanessa he loved her. The same lips that would tell police I'd been struggling with depression.
"It's okay," I said, smiling up at him. "I know you're just looking out for us."
He relaxed visibly. "That's my girl."
After he left, I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand.
The game had only just begun.
He laid out the trust documents before me—papers I should have read years ago but never did because Marcus always said he'd "handle the legal stuff."
"Your father established the Cross Family Trust before his death," Daniel explained, adjusting his glasses. "It holds approximately fifty-two million dollars in diversified assets. The trust matures on your thirtieth birthday—January fifteenth of next year."
"And if I die before then?"
Daniel's expression flickered with concern. "If you pass away before the maturity date with no direct heirs, the fund enters a sixty-day contestation period. Your legal spouse would have primary claim."
There it was. The reason Marcus married me.
The reason Marcus was going to kill me on January eighteenth—three days after the transfer.
"Can I change the beneficiary?"
"You can, but it requires your personal appearance before the trust's board of executors, along with government-issued ID and—"
"When is the next board meeting?"
"December twentieth."
Less than two months away. Plenty of time—unless Marcus figured out what I was doing.
"One more question." I leaned forward. "Has anyone else inquired about this trust recently?"
Daniel hesitated, flipping through his files. "Actually, yes. Six months ago, a woman named Vanessa Holt contacted our office claiming to be your personal representative. She requested copies of the trust structure and maturity conditions."
My blood ran cold, even though I already knew.
"What did you tell her?"
"Nothing. We only communicate with beneficiaries directly. That's why we kept trying to reach you." He paused. "Ms. Cross, is there something I should know?"
I met his eyes. "Not yet. But soon."
...
That evening, I returned to the penthouse. Marcus was in his study, speaking on the phone in a low voice. I pressed my ear to the crack in the door.
"—she refused to sign. I don't know what's gotten into her."
A pause.
"No, she didn't mention your name specifically, but she brought you up in context. Something felt off."
Another pause.
"I know the timeline, Vanessa. I know we can't afford to wait. But if I push too hard right now, she'll get suspicious."
I heard his chair creak as he leaned back.
"We'll do it on the eighteenth as planned. The balcony railing is already loosened. But I need her to sign the transfer first. Once the money hits the company account, there's no tracing it back."
I stepped away from the door, my heart hammering—not from fear this time, but from confirmation.
Every word matched my memories.
January fifteen: trust matures, money transfers.
January eighteen: I "jump" from the balcony.
January nineteen: Marcus inherits everything.
In my previous life, I spent those final months blissfully ignorant, baking him dinner and asking if he was stressed at work.
This time, I opened my phone and began recording.
I returned to the bedroom and pulled out the burner phone I'd bought that afternoon. I texted the only person from my past life who ever showed me genuine kindness—my college roommate, Sophie Park, now a forensic accountant.
*Soph, it's Elena. I need your help tracing financial transactions from a private company. Completely off the record. I'll explain everything.*
The reply came in under a minute.
*Girl, where have you been for 3 years?? I'm in. Send me what you have.*
I smiled and started typing.
Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Marcus appeared at the bedroom door, his expression perfectly arranged into one of concern.
"Hey. About earlier—I'm sorry I pressured you about the documents. You're right. There's no rush."
He walked over and placed his hands on my shoulders, bending to kiss my forehead.
"I just worry about the company, you know? But you're more important than any business deal."
His lips were warm against my skin. The same lips that told Vanessa he loved her. The same lips that would tell police I'd been struggling with depression.
"It's okay," I said, smiling up at him. "I know you're just looking out for us."
He relaxed visibly. "That's my girl."
After he left, I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand.
The game had only just begun.