Chapter 2 Heartbeat in the Urn

# Chapter 2: Heartbeat in the Urn

The hospital room reeked of antiseptic and burned flesh. I adjusted my black sunglasses and smoothed down my conservative skirt suit as I approached the nurse's station. Three days had passed since the wedding explosion, and Nicholas had been transferred from the emergency burn unit to a private room under police guard.

"I'm here to see Nicholas Hill," I said to the nurse, who eyed me suspiciously.

"Name?" she asked, checking her computer.

"Lara Butler." I didn't use 'Hill.' I never would.

Her eyes widened in recognition. "Oh! You're the—"

"Yes," I cut her off. "I brought him something." I gestured to the ornate wooden box in my hands.

She glanced at it nervously. "I'll need to check that."

"Of course." I placed it on the counter and opened it just enough for her to peek inside without giving away its true contents. "It's just a memento. To remind him of what he's lost."

After a security guard inspected the box and found nothing immediately dangerous, they escorted me to Nicholas's room. A police officer nodded at me before stepping aside from his post at the door.

Nicholas lay in the hospital bed, his face and arms wrapped in bandages. His legs had suffered third-degree burns, and according to the doctors, he would need extensive skin grafts. The explosion had been carefully calculated—not lethal, but devastatingly painful and permanently scarring. Just like what he had done to my heart.

His eyes fluttered open as I entered, widening in fear when he recognized me.

"Get out," he rasped, his voice hoarse from smoke inhalation.

"Hello, Nicholas." I set the wooden box on his bedside table. "I brought you a gift."

"Haven't you done enough?" He tried to reach for the call button, but I gently moved it away.

"The police officer is right outside," I reminded him. "I just wanted to have a private conversation."

"About what? How you tried to kill me?" His eyes darted to the door. "They know I'm innocent. It's your word against mine about your father. And that man on the balcony—some actor you hired to frame me."

I laughed softly. "Is that what you're telling yourself? That Daniel isn't real?"

"Daniel is dead," Nicholas spat. "Drowned in a boating accident two years ago. Everyone knows that."

"And yet, there he was." I opened the wooden box. "But that's not why I'm here."

I pulled out what appeared to be a small, elegant urn. Nicholas's face contorted in confusion.

"What the hell is that supposed to be?"

"Your future," I replied, placing it on the table where he could see it clearly. "Inside is what remains of your freedom, your reputation, and your fortune."

I pressed a hidden button, and a small screen embedded in the urn flickered to life. Nicholas's eyes widened as he recognized the footage: himself in a private offshore bank, transferring millions from my father's accounts. Another clip showed him meeting with a known hitman six months ago. Then, most damning of all, Nicholas speaking directly to the camera: "Once the old man is dead and I marry his daughter, we'll be set for life. Just make it look natural."

"This is a copy," I explained. "The originals are with my lawyers, who have instructions to release everything to the police if anything happens to me."

"You edited those," he whispered, but the uncertainty in his voice betrayed him.

"Did I? Perhaps you'd like to explain that to a jury." I leaned closer. "Oh, and Jennifer has been very cooperative with the authorities. Turns out, the prospect of a murder charge makes people reconsider their loyalties."

Nicholas's monitors began beeping faster as his heart rate spiked. "You bitch," he hissed. "You planned this all along."

"Not all along," I admitted. "Only after I found my father's journal detailing his suspicions about you. He was investigating you before he died. Did you know that?"

The color drained from what little I could see of Nicholas's face.

"He never trusted you," I continued. "And he was right. But he made one mistake—he underestimated how far you would go."

A nurse poked her head in. "Is everything okay? His heart rate is elevated."

"We're fine," I smiled reassuringly. "Just discussing some emotional matters."

Once she left, I turned back to Nicholas. "The urn stays here. A reminder of what awaits you."

As I headed for the door, Nicholas called out, "This isn't over, Lara. You think you've won, but you have no idea what's coming."

I paused, hand on the doorknob. "Neither do you, Nicholas. Neither do you."

I left the hospital feeling lighter than I had in months. The hard part was done—Nicholas was trapped in a web of his own making, and soon he would face justice for my father's murder. Now I could focus on the next phase of the plan.

Daniel was waiting for me in a rental car two blocks away. His face was partially obscured by a baseball cap and sunglasses—we couldn't risk anyone recognizing him yet. Not until we were ready.

"How did it go?" he asked as I slid into the passenger seat.

"Exactly as expected. He's terrified." I buckled my seatbelt. "The monitoring device is in place?"

Daniel nodded. "The urn has a direct audio feed to my phone. We'll hear everything."

I leaned back against the headrest, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that had carried me through the wedding and the hospital visit was fading, leaving me hollow.

"Hey." Daniel's hand found mine. "You okay?"

I turned to look at him—this man who had once been my husband, who had faked his death to protect me, who had spent the last two years gathering evidence against Nicholas. His face was thinner than I remembered, with new lines around his eyes. But his touch still felt the same.

"I will be," I said. "Once this is over."

He squeezed my hand before putting the car in drive. "It's almost over. I promise."

We drove in comfortable silence to the safe house—a modest apartment in a neighborhood where people minded their own business. Daniel had rented it under a false name six months ago, preparing for this moment.

Inside, the walls were covered with photos, documents, and timelines—the physical manifestation of our revenge plan. In the center was a large photo of my father, smiling in his garden just weeks before his death.

"I spoke to the detective today," Daniel said, hanging his jacket on a hook by the door. "They've frozen Nicholas's assets based on the evidence we provided."

"And Jennifer?" I asked, kicking off my heels.

"Singing like a canary. She claims Nicholas coerced her, that she was afraid for her life."

I scoffed. "She was perfectly happy to help kill me for a share of my inheritance."

"True, but her testimony is valuable." Daniel pulled out his phone and connected it to a speaker. "Let's listen in on our friend."

The audio feed from the urn was clear. We could hear Nicholas's labored breathing, the beeping of hospital monitors, and occasionally a nurse checking his vitals. Nothing interesting yet, but soon he would receive visitors—lawyers, friends, perhaps accomplices we didn't yet know about.

"How long until he discovers the monitoring device?" I asked.

"If he's smart, he won't touch the urn at all. But Nicholas has never been as clever as he thinks." Daniel poured two glasses of whiskey and handed one to me. "To phase two."

I clinked my glass against his. "To justice."

We spent the evening reviewing our next steps. The revelation of Daniel's existence had thrown a wrench into Nicholas's defense strategy, but we knew he wouldn't go down without a fight. He still had resources, connections, and most dangerously, nothing left to lose.

Around midnight, my phone buzzed with a news alert. I opened it to find my own face staring back at me under the headline: "Wedding Bomber or Vigilante Justice? The Explosive Truth Behind Society's Wedding of the Year."

I scrolled through the article, which painted me either as a vengeful, unhinged woman or a brave survivor seeking justice, depending on which "sources close to the couple" they quoted.

"They're calling me the 'Explosive Bride,'" I said, tossing the phone to Daniel. "Apparently, I'm trending."

"Fame was always part of the plan," he reminded me. "The more public this is, the harder it is for Nicholas to squirm out of it."

"I know. It's just strange seeing my life dissected like this." I yawned, the exhaustion finally catching up to me.

"Get some sleep," Daniel said gently. "I'll keep monitoring the feed."

I nodded and headed to the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed without bothering to change. Just as I was drifting off, Daniel's voice jolted me awake.

"Lara! Something's happening!"

I rushed back to the living room. Daniel had turned up the volume on the speaker, and the sound of a woman's voice—not a nurse—filled the room.

"It's Jennifer," I whispered, recognizing her instantly.

She was sobbing, her words barely intelligible. "They know everything, Nicky. I had to tell them. I couldn't—they were going to charge me with attempted murder."

"Shut up," Nicholas hissed. "The room could be bugged."

"I'm pregnant," Jennifer blurted out. "I'm pregnant, and I don't know what to do."

There was a long silence before Nicholas spoke again, his voice dangerously low. "Get rid of it."

Jennifer's sobs grew louder. "I can't. I'm already three months along. I've been hiding it—"

"Three months?" Nicholas interrupted. "That's impossible. We were careful."

"Not always," Jennifer whispered. "Remember after Daniel's memorial service? When Lara was sedated?"

My blood ran cold. I looked at Daniel, whose face had gone rigid with shock.

"That can't be right," Nicholas was saying. "Three months ago I was in Singapore for most of the time. We only met twice."

"Well, it happened," Jennifer insisted. "And now I'm carrying your child while facing criminal charges."

"Lower your voice," Nicholas demanded. "And listen carefully. That baby is a complication we don't need. Take care of it, or I will."

The threat in his voice was unmistakable. Jennifer's crying abruptly stopped.

"Are you threatening me?" she asked, her voice suddenly stronger.

"I'm stating a fact. A baby connects us. Evidence. I won't go to prison because you got sentimental about a cluster of cells."

We heard movement, then Jennifer's voice, now distant from the microphone: "You're a monster. I should have seen it sooner."

The door slammed, followed by Nicholas cursing under his breath.

Daniel turned down the volume and looked at me. "Three months ago... that timing doesn't work."

"No," I agreed, my mind racing. "Three months ago, you were still in hiding, and Nicholas was indeed in Singapore for most of the month. The only man Jennifer was seeing regularly was..."

"Me," Daniel finished, his expression grim. "Under my cover identity. When I was gathering evidence and getting close to their circle."

The implications hit me like a physical blow. "You slept with Jennifer?"

"It wasn't—" Daniel ran a hand through his hair. "It was part of the operation. She knew things about Nicholas, about your father's death. I needed her to trust me."

I stepped back, suddenly needing space. "And you didn't think to mention this part of your 'operation' to me?"

"I was going to tell you after everything was over. It meant nothing."

"Clearly it meant something to her," I snapped, gesturing at the speaker. "She's pregnant with your child, Daniel!"

Before he could respond, the audio feed erupted with a bloodcurdling scream. We both froze, then rushed to turn up the volume.

It was a night nurse, her voice high with terror. "Doctor! Doctor, come quick!"

"What's happening?" Nicholas demanded.

"The—the urn," the nurse stammered. "I was checking your vitals and I heard... I heard..."

"Heard what?" Nicholas shouted.

"A heartbeat," the nurse whispered. "There's a heartbeat coming from inside that urn."