The candle on my table flickered, casting dancing shadows across the white tablecloth. Three hours. I'd been sitting alone at Le Bernardin for three hours, nursing a glass of water while couples around me enjoyed their anniversary dinners, Valentine's celebrations, or simply Tuesday night dates. The waiter approached for the fifth time, sympathy etched in the lines around his eyes.

"Another few minutes, Mrs. Bennett?" he asked gently.

I nodded, forcing a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Yes, please. My husband is... he's just running late."

He was beyond late. The reservation had been for seven, and the restaurant would close at eleven. The elegant watch Gabriel had given me last Christmas—a consolation prize for spending Christmas Eve with Olivia after she'd had a "crisis"—showed 10:15 PM.

My hand drifted to my belly, the small but distinct bump a reminder of what should have been a joyous third anniversary. Five months pregnant with our first child, I'd hoped tonight would be different. That Gabriel would finally see me—truly see me—as his wife, not just the woman who kept his home while he remained emotionally tethered to his first love.

My phone buzzed against the table, the screen illuminating with Gabriel's name. Not a call. A text.

*Can't make tonight. Olivia needs me for her wingsuit prep. I'll make it up to you.*

The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. No apology. No acknowledgment that today marked three years of our marriage. Just another cancellation because Olivia needed him. Wingsuit flying—another in her endless series of extreme sports that mysteriously required Gabriel's immediate attention.

"Mrs. Bennett?" The waiter had returned, concern evident in his voice. "Would you like me to bring your meal?"

I shook my head, gathering my purse and coat. "No, thank you. I need to go."

Outside, the March wind bit through my wool coat as I hailed a cab. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, taking in my evening dress and carefully applied makeup, now streaked with tears.

"Bad date?" he asked sympathetically.

"Bad marriage," I whispered, more to myself than to him.

Our Fifth Avenue brownstone was dark when I arrived home. I moved through the silent rooms, turning on lamps, creating warmth in a house that had never truly felt like home. In our bedroom, I changed out of my dress—the one I'd spent weeks choosing, hoping it would make Gabriel look at me the way he used to, before Olivia reappeared in our lives.

I was sitting at my vanity, removing my earrings, when I heard the front door open. Heavy footsteps on the stairs, then Gabriel appeared in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the hallway light.

"You're home early," he said, loosening his tie. No mention of the missed dinner. No apology.

"The restaurant closes at eleven," I replied, my voice steadier than I expected. "I didn't see the point in eating alone any longer."

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Tessa, don't start. Olivia is attempting something incredibly dangerous. She needs proper guidance."

"And on our anniversary, that guidance had to come from my husband?"

"This again?" Gabriel's tone sharpened. "You're being melodramatic. It's the pregnancy hormones making you emotional."

I stood, anger finally breaking through the hurt. "It's not hormones, Gabriel. It's three years of being second choice. It's watching my husband drop everything—including his pregnant wife on their anniversary—because another woman called."

He stepped toward me, his expression darkening. "Careful, Tessa. Don't push me on this."

The warning in his voice made me step back, my hand instinctively moving to protect my belly. Gabriel noticed the gesture and his face softened into something that might have looked like remorse to someone who didn't know better.

"Get some sleep," he said, turning away. "You're tired and upset. We'll talk in the morning."

I lay awake for hours, listening to Gabriel work in his study downstairs, the occasional ping of his phone telling me exactly who was messaging him at two in the morning.

When morning came, Gabriel entered our bedroom with a smile that didn't reach his eyes and an envelope in his hand.

"I have a surprise," he announced, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We're going on a trip. To Colorado."

He handed me the envelope containing two first-class tickets. My heart raced as I noted the destination—a small airport near the Rocky Mountains.

"Mountains?" I whispered, my throat tightening. Gabriel knew about my crippling fear of heights. He'd seen me have panic attacks just looking out from our apartment's tenth-floor balcony.

"It'll be romantic," he insisted, his smile fixed and unnatural. "Just what we need to reconnect."

As he spoke, his phone buzzed. He glanced down, and I caught Olivia's name flashing on the screen. His fingers moved quickly to respond, and something cold settled in my stomach.

"When do we leave?" I asked, trying to keep the tremor from my voice.

"Today," Gabriel replied, not looking up from his phone. "Pack quickly. Our flight leaves from JFK in three hours."

At the airport, Gabriel guided me through security with a firm hand on my lower back. His touch, once comforting, now sent shivers of dread down my spine. My hands shook as I placed my carry-on on the conveyor belt, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

"Ready for our adventure?" Gabriel asked, his smile not reaching his eyes as he led me toward our gate.

I nodded mutely, unable to voice the fear growing inside me. As we boarded the plane, his phone buzzed again. Another text from Olivia. Another secret smile on my husband's face.

What was waiting for us in Colorado? And why couldn't I shake the feeling that this trip had nothing to do with saving our marriage?

The small plane touched down on a private airstrip carved into the Colorado mountainside, and my stomach lurched—not from the landing, but from what I saw through the window. Jagged peaks stretched endlessly into a steel-gray sky, their snow-capped summits disappearing into low-hanging clouds. My fingers dug into the armrest as vertigo hit me even from inside the aircraft.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Gabriel's voice held an edge I'd never heard before, sharp as the mountain ridges surrounding us.

I couldn't answer. My throat had closed up the moment we'd begun our descent through the mountains. He knew—God, he knew—how heights paralyzed me. How I'd spent our honeymoon in Switzerland locked in our hotel room, unable to even look at the Alps through the window.

"Come on, Tessa." His hand closed around my wrist, firm but not quite gentle. "We're here."

The cold hit like a physical blow as we stepped onto the tarmac. March in Colorado was brutal, the thin air making each breath feel insufficient. A black SUV waited nearby, engine running, and Gabriel guided me toward it with that same insistent pressure on my back.

"Where are we going?" I managed to ask as we climbed in.

He didn't answer immediately, checking his phone instead. Another message from Olivia—I could tell by the way his jaw tightened, the slight curve of his lips. When he finally looked at me, his eyes held a strange intensity.

"There's something I need you to do," he said. "For us. For our family."

The SUV wound up narrow mountain roads, each turn revealing drops that made my vision blur. I pressed myself against the seat, eyes fixed straight ahead, trying not to see the guardrail-less edges where the road fell away into nothing.

"Gabriel, please. Where are we going?"

"To prove a point." His voice was calm, reasonable, as if we were discussing dinner plans. "Olivia wants to try wingsuit flying. Do you know how dangerous that is?"

My heart stuttered. "What does that have to do with—"

"Everything." He turned to face me fully, and I saw something desperate in his expression. "She won't listen to me. Says I'm being overprotective. But if she sees someone else try it, sees how terrifying it really is..."

The realization hit me like ice water. "No. Gabriel, no. I can't—"

"Just once." His hand found mine, squeezing too tight. "One demonstration. That's all I'm asking."

"I'm pregnant!" The words tore from my throat. "I'm five months pregnant, and you want me to—"

"It's perfectly safe when done correctly." He squeezed harder. "There will be instructors, proper equipment. I just need her to see..."

The SUV stopped. Through the windshield, I saw a small building perched on a cliff edge, colorful parachutes and wingsuits visible through its windows. My whole body began to shake.

"I can't." Tears streamed down my face. "Gabriel, you know I can't. The heights, the baby—"

"Do this for our family." His voice softened, becoming the gentle tone I'd fallen in love with years ago. But underneath it was something else—a thread of steel that wouldn't bend. "Do this one thing, Tessa, and I promise you—I'll focus only on you. On us. On our child."

He helped me from the car, my legs barely supporting me. The wind up here was vicious, cutting through my coat like it was tissue paper. The building seemed to teeter on the edge of the world, nothing but sky and death beyond it.

"Mr. Bennett!" A man in his thirties approached, all smiles and enthusiasm. "Everything's ready as you requested. Your wife can suit up inside."

I grabbed Gabriel's arm. "Please. Please don't make me do this."

For a moment, something flickered across his face—doubt, maybe, or even guilt. Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, and his expression hardened again.

"Think of it as conquering your fear," he said, guiding me toward the building. "For our baby. Don't you want to be brave for our child?"

Inside, the walls were covered with photos of people in wingsuits, arms spread like flying squirrels as they plummeted through clouds. My knees buckled, and only Gabriel's grip kept me upright.

"I'll be monitoring everything," he promised, his lips close to my ear. "Trust me, Tessa. Have I ever let anything happen to you?"

I wanted to scream that this was letting something happen. That asking his acrophobic, pregnant wife to jump off a mountain was insane. But the instructors were already approaching with equipment, and Gabriel's hand on my back was pushing me forward, forward, toward a edge I couldn't see but could feel waiting for me like an open mouth.

And somewhere in the distance, I swear I heard his phone buzz again.

The changing room smelled of rubber and fear-sweat from countless others who'd stood where I stood now. My hands trembled as I struggled with the wingsuit's zipper, the fabric feeling like a shroud against my skin. Through the thin walls, I could hear Gabriel's voice, low and urgent, speaking to someone on his phone.

"Just fifteen more minutes," he was saying. "Yes, she's doing it. You'll see."

My phone vibrated against the bench where I'd set it down. Harper's name flashed on the screen—seven missed calls. My best friend never called more than twice unless something was wrong. I reached for it, but the door swung open and Gabriel stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding my phone.

"You won't need that." He picked it up, powering it off with deliberate slowness. "This is about trust, Tessa. You need to trust me completely."

"Harper's been calling—"

"Harper doesn't understand us." He slipped my phone into his pocket, then moved behind me to help with the wingsuit's straps. His fingers were cold against my neck. "She never has. Always filling your head with doubts."

The instructor knocked and entered without waiting for permission. "Mrs. Bennett? We need to get you fitted with the parachute and helmet."

I wanted to tell him I'd changed my mind. That no sane person would ask their pregnant wife to do this. But Gabriel's hands were firm on my shoulders, and his reflection in the mirror wore that smile—the one that never quite reached his eyes anymore.

"The weather window is perfect," the instructor continued, oblivious to my terror. "Clear skies, minimal wind. Couldn't ask for better conditions."

They strapped the parachute pack to my back, the weight of it making me stumble. Gabriel steadied me, his breath warm against my ear.

"Remember," he whispered, "this is for us. For our family. One jump, and everything changes."

The helmet came next, fitted with an earpiece and small camera. The instructor explained the basics—how to spread my arms, how to control my descent, when to pull the chute. His words blurred together, meaningless sounds against the roar of blood in my ears.

"The landing zone is marked with orange smoke," he said. "Just aim for that. Your husband will be monitoring your progress from here."

Gabriel led me outside, where the cliff edge waited like an executioner's block. The wind hit harder here, trying to push me back, as if nature itself was warning me away. My legs locked, refusing to move those final steps.

"I can't." The words came out as a sob. "Gabriel, please. The baby—"

"The baby will be fine." His grip tightened on my arm. "Women do extreme sports while pregnant all the time. You're being dramatic."

He guided me to the jump platform, a wooden deck that extended out over nothing. Five thousand feet down, the valley floor looked like a child's model, tiny trees and a ribbon of river so far below they seemed unreal.

"On three," the instructor said, checking my straps one final time. "Remember, arms out, body straight. Count to ten before pulling the chute."

I turned to Gabriel, searching his face for any sign of the man I'd married. "Why are you doing this?"

For just a moment, his mask slipped. I saw something raw and desperate in his eyes, something that might have been guilt or fear or both. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket, and the mask snapped back into place.

"Because I love you," he said, stepping back. "Now jump."

The instructor began counting. "One..."

My heart hammered against my ribs. The edge of the platform seemed to pulse, drawing me forward even as every instinct screamed to run.

"Two..."

Gabriel's hand went to his pocket, touching his phone. Checking the time? Or something else?

"Three!"

I jumped.

The world exploded into wind and terror. The ground rushed up even as I seemed to hang suspended, the wingsuit catching air, spreading my arms into wings I never wanted. The earpiece crackled to life, and I heard Gabriel's voice, clear despite the roar of wind.

"Perfect, Tessa. You're doing perfect."

Ten seconds. The instructor had said count to ten. My hand moved to the ripcord, fingers closing around it. I pulled.

Nothing happened.

I pulled again, harder. The cord came free in my hand, severed cleanly as if cut with a knife. Through the earpiece, I heard Gabriel's voice again, but he wasn't talking to me.

"See what I mean, Olivia? See how dangerous it is? I tampered with the parachute just to show you what could happen."

The ground rushed closer, and I finally understood. This was never about trust.

This was murder.