Chapter 1

"How's the water temperature, honey?"

Caleb Rivers stared at the woman in the bathtub — she had stopped struggling — and laughed like a man who had lost his mind.

For a $300 million inheritance. To marry his pregnant mistress. Caleb had held his wife's head underwater with his own hands until she stopped breathing.

But when he turned to dispose of the body, he realized the woman he had just killed was his mistress.

At that same moment, a high-definition video landed on his phone.

His wife — who was supposed to be dead — was sitting on the deck of a cruise ship, swirling a glass of red wine, smiling at him with cold amusement:

"Darling, are you happy with the little gift I left you?"

Water splashed across the bathroom floor.

Caleb pressed the back of the woman's head down hard, the veins on his hand bulging.

The water in the bathtub churned violently.

The woman thrashed beneath the surface, her hands clawing desperately at Caleb's arms.

Her nails dug deep into his flesh, dragging long, ragged scratches across his skin.

Blood ran down his forearm and dripped onto the pure white edge of the bathtub — a sight that turned the stomach.

But Caleb didn't let go. He pressed harder, forcing her head deeper underwater.

"Don't blame me, Veronica."

He spoke through gritted teeth, his face twisted with the effort. "Blame yourself for refusing to step aside. Blame yourself for being barren — for standing in the way of my son!"

The struggling beneath the surface grew weaker.

Bubbles rose from the bottom of the tub, fewer and fewer, until there were none at all.

The woman's hands went limp and drifted in the water like strands of seaweed.

Caleb stood there, breathing hard, eyes locked on the blurred shape of her face beneath the surface. He held on for a full five minutes before he finally let go.

His legs gave out. He slid down onto the wet tile floor, gulping in air thick with steam.

His head was buzzing.

Not with fear.

With euphoria — three years of suppressed rage finally set free.

Veronica Rose was dead.

That cold, untouchable woman who had always looked at him like she was doing him a favor — she was finally dead.

Starting today, the New Energy Technology Company in her name — valued at $300 million — belonged to him.

Not only would he have the money, he could finally bring Monica Bennett‌ home without hiding a thing.

Monica was carrying his child. A boy.

"Sir… are you in there?"

Mary, the housekeeper, spoke from outside the bathroom door, her voice small and trembling.

Caleb's whole body went rigid. A flash of cold violence crossed his eyes.

He shot to his feet, grabbed a bath towel, and threw it over the bathtub, covering the pale body beneath.

"What is it?" He kept his voice low, forcing it to sound calm.

"Ma'am… ma'am isn't picking up her phone. The office called — they said there's an urgent document she needs to sign…" Mary's voice came through the door, edged with unease.

"She's in the bath. She can't come pick up he phone. Leave the document in the living room — I'll bring it to her."

"But… I thought I heard something — a really loud noise coming from in there…"

The door handle turned.

Caleb's pupils shrank.

The bathroom door swung open a crack. Mary pushed her head through.

Her gaze moved past Caleb and landed on the bathtub covered by the towel.

One corner of the towel had slipped.

A pale, stiff arm was showing. Dark bruises from the struggle still marked the skin.

The color drained from Mary's face. Her knees buckled, and she nearly hit the floor.

"Ma'am… ma'am…"

"Shut up!"

Caleb lunged at her. He grabbed her by the collar, hauled her into the bathroom, and slammed the door behind them, twisting the lock.

"What are you doing?! You killed her! I'm calling the police!"

Mary fought back hard, reaching into her pocket for her phone.

Caleb was faster. He ripped the phone from her hand and hurled it at the wall.

The screen shattered.

"Call the police?" Caleb let out a cold laugh. He reached back and grabbed the marble candle holder sitting on the vanity.

Without a moment's hesitation, he brought it down hard on the back of Mary's head.

Thud.

A dull, heavy sound.

Mary didn't even have time to scream. Her eyes rolled back, and she crumpled into a heap on the floor, blood pooling around her.

Caleb dropped the bloodied candle holder and looked down at the two bodies on the floor. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face.

"Anyone who gets in my way dies."

Then — a fist hammering against the door from outside.

"Caleb! Open up! Why is this door locked in the middle of the day! Where's that little bitch Veronica? Tell her to come out here and make me something to eat!"

It was Caleb's mother.

Brenda Rivers.

Caleb took a deep breath, grabbed a towel to wipe the blood from his hands, and opened the bathroom door.

Brenda was standing right outside, muttering curses under her breath, a bag of live fish from the market still dangling from her hand.

She took one look at Caleb covered in blood, then at Mary lying on the bathroom floor — and her hand jerked in shock. The fish slipped free and flopped around on the tiles.

"What… what the hell happened?!" Brenda's eyes went wide, her voice shaking uncontrollably.

Caleb grabbed her arm and pulled her into the bathroom, pointing at the bathtub.

"Mom, Veronica's dead."

Brenda sucked in a sharp breath. Her legs gave out and she collapsed onto the toilet seat.

"You… you actually killed her? Weren't we supposed to stage a car accident next month? How could you do this at home!"

"She started going through the company accounts today. I can't keep the embezzlement hidden much longer. Next month is too late." Caleb's jaw tightened. "Mom, stop talking and help me get rid of the body."

Brenda stared at the pale hand hanging over the edge of the bathtub and shook her head frantically.

"I can't… I can't handle blood… Son, this is murder — we could get the death penalty!"

"Death penalty?!" Caleb grabbed Brenda by the collar and yanked her up, his eyes bloodshot. "She's dead, which means three hundred million in assets is ours. You're always going on about wanting a big house and grandkids, aren't you? If we clean this up, all of that is ours!"

The words three hundred million and grandkids hit Brenda like a switch. The fear in her eyes vanished, replaced instantly by greed.

She bit her lip and pushed herself to her feet.

"You're right! For my grandkids! The bitch died well!"

Brenda rolled up her sleeves, exposing her thick arms.

"So what do we do, son? Chop her up and flush her down the drain?"

"No time for that. Get her into the chest freezer in the basement for now. Tonight I'll drive her out to the incinerator outside the city."