Chapter 3 DRONE OF LOVE
# CHAPTER 3: "DRONE OF LOVE"
Two weeks into my resurrection, and Barrett was starting to crack. I could see it in the subtle tells—the way his eyes lingered on me a second too long over breakfast, how he no longer flinched when I delivered his morning kiss, the fact that he'd moved back into the master bedroom (though with a fortress of pillows between us). Most telling of all, he'd stopped asking when I was leaving.
Progress, but not enough. I needed to accelerate my timeline.
I spent the morning in what I now called my "war room"—the walk-in closet Barrett had emptied after my "death." I'd converted it into my command center, complete with monitors showing the security feed of Barrett Industries (hacked with the help of a very expensive and very discreet tech specialist), a calendar counting down to my original death date, and various props for my ongoing campaign to make Barrett fall in love with me.
Today's operation was my most ambitious yet. According to the schedule I'd memorized in my past life, Barrett had a crucial board meeting at 2 PM with potential investors from Shanghai. The deal was worth billions—and I was about to crash it in spectacular fashion.
"Testing, testing," I whispered into my headset. "Falcon, do you copy?"
"I copy, Phoenix," came the response, slightly distorted by static. "Though I still think these codenames are ridiculous."
I grinned. "That's because you lack imagination, Falcon. Are you in position?"
"Affirmative. On the roof of the adjacent building as instructed. I have visual on the target's conference room. Floor-to-ceiling windows, just like you said."
"Excellent. Standby for my signal."
I checked my watch. 1:58 PM. Right on schedule, my tablet showed Barrett entering the conference room, flanked by his executive team. The Chinese investors were already seated, their expressions serious as they exchanged pleasantries.
Barrett took his place at the head of the table, exuding the confidence of a man about to close the deal of a lifetime. If there was one thing my husband excelled at, it was the art of negotiation. I'd always admired that about him, even as I'd come to fear it.
"Falcon, on my mark," I said, watching the feed intently. Barrett was just beginning his opening remarks, his deep voice carrying that hint of authority that had first attracted me to him. "Three... two... one... execute Operation Cupid's Arrow."
"Roger that. Deploying now."
I held my breath, watching the feed as Barrett gestured to the presentation screen behind him. The investors leaned forward, clearly impressed by whatever projections he was showing them.
And then it happened.
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A sleek black drone appeared outside the window, hovering like a mechanical hummingbird. For a moment, no one inside seemed to notice it—until it activated its LED display, flashing bright pink hearts that reflected off the glass.
Barrett was the first to spot it, his sentence cutting off mid-word. The investors turned to follow his gaze, confusion evident on their faces. I zoomed in on Barrett's expression, savoring the moment when annoyance gave way to recognition, and then to dread as he realized what was happening.
"Fire the first payload, Falcon," I instructed.
The drone's bottom compartment opened, and a small object dropped, arcing toward the window. It hit with a soft splat, adhering to the glass—a suction-cup arrow with a heart-shaped tip. Classic.
Barrett was already moving, gesturing for security, but I was just getting started.
"Second payload, Falcon."
This time, the drone released what looked like a small missile. It sailed through the air and—instead of sticking to the window—smashed right through it, sending glass shattering across the conference room. The investors ducked for cover as my specially designed cake bomb detonated, releasing a cloud of pink confectionary dust that settled primarily on the man seated to Barrett's left.
Even through the security feed, I could see Barrett's face transform from shock to fury as he recognized the target of my sugary assault—Andrew Chen, the rival CEO who had been trying to sabotage the deal with the Chinese investors. The very same man who, in my past life, had supplied Barrett with the untraceable poison that had made me "ill" before my fatal yacht trip.
Poetic justice delivered via pastry.
"Final payload, Falcon. Make it count."
The drone hovered lower, dropped a small package through the broken window, then zipped away into the sky. I switched camera views to see Barrett cautiously approaching the package, which had landed directly on the conference table.
He opened it with the wariness of a bomb disposal expert, only to find a sleek remote control inside. Before he could process what it was for, the presentation screen behind him flickered, the investment projections disappearing.
In their place appeared a slideshow titled "100 Reasons to Fall in Love with Diana Montgomery."
Reason #1: She knows your coffee order by heart.
Reason #2: She can crash your meetings in style.
Reason #3: She looks incredible in your dress shirts.
The list continued, each slide accompanied by photos of me—some from our early dating days, others taken just yesterday. Barrett stood frozen, the remote in his hand, as his most intimate relationship was broadcast to his entire executive team and the Chinese investors.
I watched as Barrett's finger hovered over what I assumed was the power button. But then, something unexpected happened. He didn't turn it off. Instead, he flipped through several more slides, his expression unreadable.
Reason #17: She forgives even the unforgivable.
Reason #18: She came back from the dead for you.
Reason #19: She knows your secrets and loves you anyway.
Finally, Barrett seemed to snap out of whatever trance he'd fallen into. He clicked off the presentation, turning to address the stunned investors with what appeared to be an apology. To my surprise, they weren't upset—they were laughing, clearly entertained by the dramatic interruption.
Mr. Chen, however, was frantically trying to wipe pink frosting from his expensive suit, his face a mask of humiliation.
"Mission accomplished, Falcon," I said into my headset. "Rendezvous at the extraction point."
"Roger that, Phoenix. Though I still think you're completely insane."
I smiled. "Insanity is just another word for determination."
Two hours later, I was lounging on the sofa when Barrett stormed into the penthouse. His tie was loosened, his hair slightly disheveled—a rare departure from his usual impeccable appearance.
"Hello, darling," I greeted him cheerfully. "How was your meeting?"
He threw his briefcase onto the counter with more force than necessary. "You know damn well how it was."
I blinked innocently. "Did something happen?"
"A drone," he said through gritted teeth, "crashed through the conference room window. It dropped a cake bomb on Andrew Chen and hijacked my presentation with a ridiculous slideshow about you."
"My goodness," I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest. "That sounds terribly disruptive. Was the deal affected?"
Barrett stared at me for a long moment, and then, to my complete shock, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Actually, Mr. Zhang was impressed by the... what did he call it? 'American passion.' He said any man whose wife would go to such lengths must be worth partnering with."
I couldn't help the genuine smile that spread across my face. "So the deal...?"
"We signed the preliminary agreement," Barrett admitted grudgingly. "No thanks to you."
"On the contrary," I countered, rising from the sofa to approach him. "It sounds like it was entirely thanks to me."
We stood facing each other, closer than we'd been since my return. I could smell his cologne—sandalwood and something distinctly him—and for a moment, I forgot that he had killed me in another lifetime. For a moment, I was simply a woman standing before the man she once loved.
"Why are you doing this, Diana?" he asked, his voice softer now. "The coffee, the blood, the drone... what do you want from me?"
I reached up to straighten his tie, a gesture so familiar it made my heart ache. "I already told you. A second chance."
"At what? Humiliating me? Driving me insane?"
"At us," I said simply. "At being the couple we were meant to be before... everything went wrong."
A shadow crossed his face. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" I challenged. "Three years of marriage, Barrett. Three years of watching you change from the man I fell in love with into someone I barely recognized. Someone capable of—"
"Enough," he cut me off sharply. "Whatever you think happened—"
"I don't think," I interrupted. "I know. But that's not the point. The point is that I'm giving us both a chance to rewrite our story."
He studied me with those dark, inscrutable eyes. "And these ridiculous stunts are your idea of rewriting?"
I shrugged. "They got your attention, didn't they?"
Before he could respond, his phone rang. He checked the screen, frowning. "It's security."
As he answered, I watched his expression shift from annoyance to confusion to alarm.
"What do you mean, an alarm was triggered in my office?" he demanded. "Who—" He stopped, his eyes locking on me. "I see. I'll be right there."
He hung up, jaw clenched. "You bugged my office."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Just the security system. I wanted to make sure you were safe."
"Safe," he repeated incredulously. "You're monitoring my heart rate."
Ah, so they'd found that particular modification. "It's a feature, not a bug," I said lightly. "Your blood pressure has always been a concern of mine."
Barrett closed his eyes briefly, as if praying for patience. "You hacked into the company's biometric security system to monitor my vital signs?"
"Only during meetings," I assured him. "And only because I care."
He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. "Diana, this has to stop. The coffee, the drones, the surveillance—it's crossing every conceivable line."
"Says the man who crossed the ultimate line," I replied, my voice hardening despite my best intentions.
Something flickered in his eyes—guilt? Fear? I couldn't tell. Before I could analyze it further, the penthouse door burst open and four security guards rushed in, led by Thomas.
"Sir," Thomas said urgently, "we've apprehended the hacker."
Barrett's eyes narrowed. "Bring them in."
The guards stepped aside to reveal a young woman with purple hair and a defiant expression. My tech specialist, caught in the act.
"You must be Barrett," she said with remarkable composure for someone in handcuffs. "Your firewall sucks, by the way."
I stepped forward. "Let her go, Barrett. She was acting on my instructions."
Barrett looked between us, understanding dawning. "You hired her to hack my security systems?"
"Among other things," I admitted. "Her name is Zoe, and she's exceptionally talented. You should consider offering her a job instead of pressing charges."
Zoe flashed me a grateful look as Barrett signaled to Thomas. "Remove the cuffs."
Once freed, Zoe rubbed her wrists. "So, are we cool? Because I've got a date in an hour, and I'd rather not spend the night in jail."
Barrett regarded her with a mixture of irritation and reluctant respect. "We're 'cool,' as long as you agree to a full security consultation with my IT department before you leave. I want to know exactly what vulnerabilities you exploited."
Zoe grinned. "Fair enough. Your wife drives a hard bargain, by the way. Made me sign an NDA that would make a government contractor weep."
Barrett's gaze returned to me. "I'm sure she did."
After Zoe and the security team departed, Barrett and I were left alone again, the tension between us palpable.
"You went to extraordinary lengths today," he said finally. "All for what? To embarrass me? To prove you could infiltrate my company?"
I shook my head. "To show you that I'm not the same woman you married, Barrett. I'm not passive anymore. I'm not blind to what's happening around me." I stepped closer, holding his gaze. "And I'm certainly not easy to get rid of."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise," I corrected. "I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."
We stood in silence, the air between us charged with unspoken accusations and unanswered questions. Finally, Barrett broke the stalemate.
"I have a dinner meeting," he said, already moving toward the door. "Don't wait up."
"I won't," I called after him. "But I'll see you at breakfast. Your coffee will be waiting."
As the door closed behind him, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Today's operation had been a qualified success—I'd gotten under Barrett's skin, made an impression on his investors, and publicly humiliated Andrew Chen. Not bad for an afternoon's work.
But Barrett's reaction troubled me. I'd expected anger, even rage—not this strange mix of exasperation and... was it possible... amusement? The way his mouth had almost curved into a smile when he mentioned the Chinese investors' reaction didn't fit with the cold-blooded killer I remembered from my past life.
Something wasn't adding up, and I needed to figure out what it was before my three months were up.
I returned to my war room, studying the countdown calendar on the wall. Sixty-eight days until my original death date. Sixty-eight days to either make Barrett fall in love with me again—or to discover the truth about why he'd wanted me dead in the first place.
Either way, I wasn't going down without a fight.
And I still had plenty of drones.