Chapter 5
Ryan had been married before?
In four years together, he'd never once mentioned a previous marriage. Not to me. Not to anyone I knew.
I read the note three more times, memorizing every letter, then burned it in the bathroom sink.
If this was real—if Ryan had a first wife who died—then I wasn't his first victim. I was his second.
The hotel safe was in the manager's office behind the front desk. I couldn't just waltz in there. But I knew from previous loops that the hotel manager took his break at 10 AM and left his office unlocked.
I waited. At 10:03, I watched him leave for the coffee station.
Thirty seconds later, I was inside his office.
The safe was mounted in the wall behind a painting. Classic.
I punched in my birthday: 0-3-1-9-9-6.
The safe clicked open.
Inside was a manila envelope. Thick. I grabbed it and stuffed it under my jacket, then slipped out before anyone noticed.
Back in my room, I dumped the contents onto the bed.
My hands shook as I sorted through the papers.
A marriage certificate. Ryan Thomas Carter to Megan Elizabeth Hayes. Dated 2019.
A death certificate. Megan Elizabeth Hayes. Cause of death: drowning. Dated 2020.
A police report. Accidental death during a boating trip. Case closed.
And then—photos. Surveillance images from a marina. Ryan on the boat. Megan struggling in the water.
Ryan standing at the railing.
Watching.
Not helping.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
He'd done it before. He'd married a woman, insured her life, and let her die.
And now it was my turn.
I felt sick. Physically sick. I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up.
Four years. Four years of "I love you." Four years of tender touches and whispered promises. All of it calculated. All of it engineered.
I was never his fiancée. I was his payday.
But knowing this wasn't enough. I had evidence now, but evidence didn't stop bullets or knives or poison. If I went to the police, I'd spend hours in a station—and my killers would find another way.
I needed to survive past midnight. That was still the only goal.
The evidence was my weapon for after. If I could make it to June 16th, I could destroy Ryan Carter completely.
The question was how.
My phone buzzed. Sophie again: [Hey girl! Where are you? Makeup at 1, remember!]
It was 11:30 AM. Natasha would be in the lobby café right about now.
I had a choice. Contact Natasha and risk her being killed again—or stay away from her and use what she'd already given me.
I chose to protect her. I texted from a burner phone I'd bought during a previous loop (yes, I'd learned to prepare): [Natasha, this is Bella. I got your note. Don't come to room 407 today. It's not safe. Meet me at the chapel at 1:30. Back entrance. Come alone.]
Response came quickly: [How did you get this number?]
[It doesn't matter. Trust me. You're in danger.]
A long pause. Then: [Fine. 1:30. Chapel.]
Good. If I could intercept her before whoever killed her last time got to her, I could keep her alive—and get my answers.
But first, I had another problem.
The ceremony was at 2 PM. I was expected at that altar.
If I didn't show up, Ryan would know something was wrong. And if Ryan got suspicious, whoever was monitoring the loop might kill me early.
I needed to play the perfect bride while simultaneously running a murder investigation.
No pressure.
At 1 PM, Sophie arrived with makeup brushes and champagne.
"You ready?" she beamed.
I smiled the way a woman smiles at her executioner.
"Ready."
In four years together, he'd never once mentioned a previous marriage. Not to me. Not to anyone I knew.
I read the note three more times, memorizing every letter, then burned it in the bathroom sink.
If this was real—if Ryan had a first wife who died—then I wasn't his first victim. I was his second.
The hotel safe was in the manager's office behind the front desk. I couldn't just waltz in there. But I knew from previous loops that the hotel manager took his break at 10 AM and left his office unlocked.
I waited. At 10:03, I watched him leave for the coffee station.
Thirty seconds later, I was inside his office.
The safe was mounted in the wall behind a painting. Classic.
I punched in my birthday: 0-3-1-9-9-6.
The safe clicked open.
Inside was a manila envelope. Thick. I grabbed it and stuffed it under my jacket, then slipped out before anyone noticed.
Back in my room, I dumped the contents onto the bed.
My hands shook as I sorted through the papers.
A marriage certificate. Ryan Thomas Carter to Megan Elizabeth Hayes. Dated 2019.
A death certificate. Megan Elizabeth Hayes. Cause of death: drowning. Dated 2020.
A police report. Accidental death during a boating trip. Case closed.
And then—photos. Surveillance images from a marina. Ryan on the boat. Megan struggling in the water.
Ryan standing at the railing.
Watching.
Not helping.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
He'd done it before. He'd married a woman, insured her life, and let her die.
And now it was my turn.
I felt sick. Physically sick. I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up.
Four years. Four years of "I love you." Four years of tender touches and whispered promises. All of it calculated. All of it engineered.
I was never his fiancée. I was his payday.
But knowing this wasn't enough. I had evidence now, but evidence didn't stop bullets or knives or poison. If I went to the police, I'd spend hours in a station—and my killers would find another way.
I needed to survive past midnight. That was still the only goal.
The evidence was my weapon for after. If I could make it to June 16th, I could destroy Ryan Carter completely.
The question was how.
My phone buzzed. Sophie again: [Hey girl! Where are you? Makeup at 1, remember!]
It was 11:30 AM. Natasha would be in the lobby café right about now.
I had a choice. Contact Natasha and risk her being killed again—or stay away from her and use what she'd already given me.
I chose to protect her. I texted from a burner phone I'd bought during a previous loop (yes, I'd learned to prepare): [Natasha, this is Bella. I got your note. Don't come to room 407 today. It's not safe. Meet me at the chapel at 1:30. Back entrance. Come alone.]
Response came quickly: [How did you get this number?]
[It doesn't matter. Trust me. You're in danger.]
A long pause. Then: [Fine. 1:30. Chapel.]
Good. If I could intercept her before whoever killed her last time got to her, I could keep her alive—and get my answers.
But first, I had another problem.
The ceremony was at 2 PM. I was expected at that altar.
If I didn't show up, Ryan would know something was wrong. And if Ryan got suspicious, whoever was monitoring the loop might kill me early.
I needed to play the perfect bride while simultaneously running a murder investigation.
No pressure.
At 1 PM, Sophie arrived with makeup brushes and champagne.
"You ready?" she beamed.
I smiled the way a woman smiles at her executioner.
"Ready."