Chapter 3 The Dead Husband's Revenge Game

# Chapter 3: The Dead Husband's Revenge Game

I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my mind reeling from Jennifer's pregnancy revelation. Daniel had tried to explain—how getting close to Jennifer was the only way to access Nicholas's inner circle, how the intimacy had been a calculated risk. I understood the logic but couldn't reconcile the betrayal. We'd agreed to put it aside temporarily to focus on our plan, but the tension between us remained palpable.

"They moved Nicholas to a secure wing after the 'heartbeat incident,'" Daniel said, passing me a coffee as I reviewed security footage on my laptop. The urn's hidden speaker had worked perfectly—the rhythmic beating sound triggering at precisely 3 AM had sent the night nurse into hysterics. Hospital security had searched the room but found nothing suspicious about the urn itself, the speaker too well concealed.

"Good. The more unstable his environment, the more likely he'll crack." I rubbed my eyes. "What about Jennifer?"

"She requested police protection this morning. Claims she's afraid Nicholas will send someone after her." Daniel sat across from me, careful to maintain his distance. "The DNA test results should be available next week."

I nodded stiffly. The test would confirm whether the baby was Daniel's or Nicholas's, though the timing made the answer almost certain.

My phone buzzed with an alert from our monitoring system. "Nicholas has a visitor. His lawyer."

We listened as the attorney delivered the bad news: Jennifer had provided damning testimony about Nicholas's involvement in my father's death. The recording of Nicholas removing my father's oxygen tube might be dismissed as inadmissible evidence since I'd obtained it illegally, but Jennifer's firsthand account of the planning would be much harder to discredit.

"They're offering a deal," the lawyer was saying. "Fifteen years, possibility of parole after ten."

"Fifteen years?" Nicholas's voice was hoarse with rage. "For what? I didn't kill anyone!"

"They have evidence suggesting you tampered with Mr. Butler's medication before removing his oxygen. The medical examiner is reopening the case. And now there's the matter of the wedding explosion and your alleged plot against your wife."

"Ex-wife," Nicholas corrected. "And she's the one who planted explosives at our wedding! Why isn't she in the cell next to mine?"

"The explosives were classified as 'non-lethal pyrotechnics' according to the forensic report. Dangerous, yes, but deliberately designed not to cause fatalities. Her legal team is painting it as an elaborate reveal of your crimes, not an assassination attempt."

Nicholas's curse was cut short by a coughing fit. When he recovered, his voice had changed, becoming calculating. "What about Daniel Cross? He's supposed to be dead. His reappearance destroys their entire narrative."

"We're investigating that angle. If we can prove Mr. Cross faked his death as part of a conspiracy to frame you—"

"He did! He's working with Lara. They planned this together."

"We need evidence, Mr. Hill. Speculation won't help your case."

After the lawyer left, we heard Nicholas make a phone call, speaking in hushed tones. "I need access to the offshore account... Yes, the Cayman one... I don't care what you have to do, I need those funds accessible by tomorrow."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "He's planning something."

"He's planning to run," I corrected. "But he won't get far."

That afternoon, I visited the medical examiner's office to provide additional information about my father's decline. As I was leaving, my phone rang—an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Butler? This is Detective Brennan. There's been a development in your case. We found something in the remains of the wedding car. Could you come to the station?"

At the police station, Detective Brennan—a weathered man in his fifties with kind eyes and a skeptical mouth—led me to a small evidence room. On the table lay a charred metal box.

"This was recovered from a hidden compartment in the wedding car," he explained. "Fire-resistant safe, apparently."

"I didn't put anything like that in the car," I said truthfully.

"That's what makes it interesting." He carefully opened the box. Inside was a partially melted gold wedding band. "This ring was inside. It's inscribed."

He handed me an evidence photo showing the inscription: "Forever yours, L."

My blood ran cold. It was my ring to Daniel—the one I'd placed on his finger at our wedding three years ago. The one that should have been at the bottom of the ocean with his "body."

"Do you recognize this?" Brennan asked.

I kept my face neutral. "It looks like a standard wedding band."

"The size is interesting. Too large for a woman, but it has your initial." His eyes studied my reaction. "We ran the serial number. It was purchased by you three years ago."

I chose my words carefully. "Detective, many wedding bands look alike. And 'L' could stand for any name."

"True. But combined with the mysterious appearance of a man claiming to be your deceased husband..." He let the implication hang in the air. "Ms. Butler, if there's anything you'd like to tell me about Daniel Cross, now would be the time."

"My first husband died in a boating accident two years ago. I scattered his ashes myself." The lie came easily—I'd practiced it countless times. "Whatever Nicholas is claiming about the man at the wedding is a desperate attempt to distract from his own crimes."

Brennan didn't look convinced. "The coast guard never recovered a body from that accident."

"The currents were strong that day. The search team told me it was common for..." I let my voice break slightly. "For bodies to be carried out to sea."

He nodded sympathetically, but his eyes remained sharp. "We'll need to verify the identity of the man seen at your wedding. Facial recognition came back with a 76% match to Daniel Cross's driver's license photo."

"Perhaps Nicholas hired someone who resembles Daniel to confuse matters." I stood up. "Is there anything else, Detective? I have a meeting with my lawyers."

As I left the station, my phone buzzed with a text from an encrypted number—Daniel.

"Urgent. Check the news. Meet at backup location B."

I hurried to my car and pulled up a news app. The headline made my stomach drop: "Wedding Car Mystery: Unidentified Male DNA Found on Exploded Vehicle's Controls."

I drove to the backup location—a small storage unit on the outskirts of the city. Daniel was already there, pacing nervously.

"They found traces of male DNA on the detonator," he said without preamble. "Not yours, not Nicholas's."

"Yours?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

He nodded grimly. "I helped you wire the car. We knew this was a possibility."

"Along with my wedding ring to you?" I countered. "The one that should be at the bottom of the ocean?"

Daniel had the decency to look ashamed. "I kept it. I couldn't... I couldn't let it go."

"So you planted it in the car? Why? To what possible end?"

"I didn't plant it there," he insisted. "I kept it in my apartment safe. Someone must have taken it."

"Who else knew about your 'death' besides me?"

"No one." He ran a hand through his hair. "At least, no one who would betray us."

I paced the small storage unit, mind racing. "This changes everything. If they identify your DNA, if they connect it to the ring..."

"They won't." Daniel pulled out his laptop. "I've been monitoring the police database. They don't have my DNA on file from before my 'death.' The sample is degraded from the fire. It buys us time."

"Time for what? The plan is falling apart, Daniel."

"No, it's evolving." He opened the laptop, showing me a series of files. "While you were at the police station, I found something. Nicholas has been moving money—large amounts—to an account connected to this man."

The screen showed a mugshot of a heavyset man with cold eyes and a scar across his cheek. "Raymond Vega. Contract killer, specializes in making deaths look accidental."

My blood ran cold. "He's hiring a hitman."

"To target us, most likely. But there's more." Daniel pulled up another file. "Vega was in Singapore at the same time as Nicholas three months ago."

The implication hit me. "You think Nicholas hired him before? For my father?"

"It fits. Nicholas creates his alibis carefully. He was in Singapore when your father's medication was first tampered with."

I collapsed onto a folding chair, the weight of this revelation crushing me. "We need to tell Detective Brennan."

"With what proof? Everything we have was obtained illegally. We'd implicate ourselves." Daniel knelt before me, taking my hands. "We need to stick to the plan, but accelerate it."

My phone buzzed again—another encrypted message, but not from any number I recognized: "The next explosion will be in your new marital bed. Tick tock."

I showed Daniel the screen, watching his face pale.

"How did they get this number?" I whispered.

"I don't know," Daniel admitted. "But the message is clear. Nicholas is escalating."

"What does he mean by 'new marital bed'? We never consummated the marriage."

Daniel's expression darkened. "He doesn't mean your bed with him." He tapped a few keys on his laptop, bringing up a floor plan of my apartment. "He means where you and I have been staying. He knows I'm alive, and he knows we're together."

My heart raced. "We need to go. Now."

"Not to the apartment," Daniel warned, already packing his equipment. "It's not safe."

As we hurried to the car, my phone buzzed one final time. The message contained only a photograph: a surveillance image of Daniel and me entering the safe house apartment two days ago, the timestamp clearly visible.

Nicholas wasn't just fighting back—he was hunting us.