The Wife He Left To Drown

I took a bullet for my husband, Christian. As his loyal shield, it was my duty, but his only concern as I bled out was for his fragile "sister," Gisselle.

Days later, we were both kidnapped and trapped on a yacht rigged with a bomb. The captors gave Christian a choice: he could only save one of us.

He didn't hesitate.

"Save Gisselle first!" he screamed across the water.

With her safe, he had the audacity to order me, the wife he'd just condemned to die, to save us all.

"Alexandra, the bomb! Disarm it! Now!"

After years of taking blows for him, after secretly losing our child while protecting his interests, this was my value? A disposable tool to be used and discarded.

I stared at the blinking red light, the seconds ticking away. This time, I wouldn't save him. I would let the world believe I was dead, and finally start living for myself.

Chapter 1

Alexandra Manning POV:

The world went silent around me, the kind of ringing silence that happens right after a gunshot. A strange, heavy quiet swallowed the charity gala, thick and suffocating. My body felt like a torn rag doll, warm blood soaking through the silk of my gown, painting the expensive fabric a grotesque crimson. Pressure built in my chest, a dull, insistent ache.

Christian was there, his hands reaching for me. Not gently, not with the tender concern I craved, but with a frantic, almost rough urgency. He didn't lift me; he hefted me, my arm slung over his broad shoulder. His movements were too sharp, too quick. It was less a rescue and more an extraction, as if I were a piece of damaged property he needed to secure. My head lolled against him, the scent of his expensive cologne and my own blood filling my nostrils.

"Get her to the car, now!" he barked, his voice a tight wire.

As he shifted my weight, my eyes flickered to the chaos around us. Crystal chandeliers still sparkled, reflecting the panic in the faces of the socialites. Just before Christian completely obscured my view, my gaze snagged on a familiar figure being ushered away by another guard. Gisselle. Fragile, pale Gisselle, looking utterly terrified. My stomach clenched, not from pain, but from a sickening premonition.

Adrenaline, a loyal companion through countless security threats, pulsed through my veins. It kept me from blacking out completely. Christian' s grip tightened, his focus entirely on moving me, getting me out of sight. He wasn' t looking at my face. He wasn' t checking my pulse. He was just moving.

In the brief moment he paused to shout orders at a bewildered attendant, his hand still clamped around my waist, I wrestled my phone from my clutch. My fingers, surprisingly steady despite the tremors racking my body, flew across the screen. One name. Drew. I pressed call. I didn' t have time for a full conversation. Just a quick, desperate message.

"Yacht. Hanson. Need backup.