The Hamptons stretched before us like a postcard—mansions gleaming in the distance, the ocean a ribbon of blue on the horizon. I'd been looking forward to this weekend for months. Our third anniversary. Just Tyson and me, away from the city's chaos and Sarai Greene's shadow.

"I thought this was our anniversary trip," I said quietly as our car pulled up to the hotel. My voice sounded small even to my own ears.

Tyson checked his watch, his expression unreadable. "It is."

"Then why is Sarai coming?"

His jaw tightened. "She's here for business reasons. The Nakamura deal requires her expertise."

"On our anniversary weekend?" I couldn't keep the hurt from my voice.

"Don't be childish, Diana." His tone cut through me like ice. "This trip serves multiple purposes."

Before I could respond, Sarai appeared on the hotel steps, her sundress fluttering in the breeze. She waved, her smile bright and predatory.

"Tyson! I've ordered champagne for us to celebrate the deal." She glanced at me, her eyes cool. "Oh, Diana. I didn't realize you were joining us."

"I'm his wife," I said, hating how defensive I sounded.

Tyson's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then back at me with irritation. "We need to go. The meeting starts in twenty minutes."

---

The argument escalated as we drove along the coastal road. Dark clouds gathered overhead, matching my mood.

"This is supposed to be our time together," I insisted, my hands gripping the door handle. "Our anniversary."

"For God's sake, Diana." Tyson's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Must you constantly remind me of obligations I never asked for?"

"Obligations?" The word felt like a slap. "Is that what our marriage is to you?"

"Pull over," Sarai said suddenly from the back seat. "I need some air."

Tyson obeyed without hesitation, swerving onto the roadside shoulder. The tires kicked up gravel as we stopped.

"Sarai, we'll be late," I protested.

She ignored me, opening her door. "I'm getting out. This conversation is nauseating."

The first raindrops began to fall as she stepped onto the gravel shoulder. The sky darkened ominously.

"Tyson," I pleaded, "please don't do this."

He turned to me, his eyes cold. "You can walk back and think about your attitude."

"What? It's miles to the hotel!"

"Maybe the exercise will help you appreciate what you have instead of complaining about what you don't." He was already out of the car, moving around to open Sarai's door properly.

I sat frozen as they spoke in low voices, their heads bent close together. Then Sarai laughed—that musical sound I'd come to dread—and Tyson's lips curved upward in response.

"Are you coming or not?" he called to me, already sliding back behind the wheel.

The first crack of thunder split the air.

"I can't believe you're doing this," I whispered.

"Believe it," he replied coldly. "Your choice is simple: come with us and be quiet, or walk back alone."

I stared at him through the rain-streaked windshield, this stranger who wore my husband's face. "I'd rather walk."

The car door slammed. Through the window, I saw Sarai's triumphant smile as she settled into the passenger seat—my seat.

"Suit yourself," Tyson called through the glass. "Maybe some time alone will improve your perspective."

The car pulled away, spraying muddy water across my clothes. I stood there, watching them disappear down the winding road as the storm broke fully around me.

---

Hours later, I stumbled along the roadside, soaked to the bone and shaking with fever. My designer heels had broken miles ago, my stockings torn from stumbling through the underbrush. Lightning illuminated the empty road ahead.

"Please," I whispered to no one, "someone help me."

A car rounded the bend, its headlights blinding me. For a moment, I thought it might be Tyson coming back—but the vehicle slowed, then stopped.

"Miss? Are you alright?" An elderly couple peered through the rain-streaked window.

I tried to speak, but my teeth were chattering too badly. The woman hurried out with an umbrella.

"Oh my God, you're freezing! Come with us right now."

The hospital lights were too bright, the sheets too rough against my skin. Pneumonia, the doctor said. Hypothermia. Multiple contusions from falls.

"Is there someone we can call for you?" the nurse asked gently.

I shook my head. There was no one to call.

---

Three days passed in a haze of antibiotics and fever dreams. No flowers. No cards. No visits.

On the fourth day, Tyson finally appeared in my hospital room doorway. His suit was impeccable, his expression distant.

"You look terrible," were his first words.

"Thank you for noticing," I whispered, my throat raw.

He glanced at his watch. "This is becoming inconvenient."

"Inconvenient?"

"The press is asking questions about why my wife is hospitalized. It's creating rumors that could affect our stock price."

I stared at him, unable to comprehend his priorities. "I almost died, Tyson."

"Don't be dramatic. You're alive, aren't you?" He checked his phone, frowning at the screen. "I need to get back to the meeting."

"Meeting? With Sarai?"

His eyes narrowed. "Yes. Unlike you, she understands the importance of punctuality and professionalism."

As he turned to leave, I heard him speaking into his phone: "I'm handling the Diana situation. It won't interfere with our plans."

The door closed behind him with a soft click that echoed in my chest like a gunshot.

The marble mausoleum loomed against the gray sky, its cold beauty a fitting monument to my mother's memory. I'd come here every month since her death, finding solace in the quiet dignity of her final resting place. Today, though, something felt wrong.

Yellow caution tape blocked the entrance. Workers in coveralls moved around with power tools, their voices echoing against stone walls that had stood silent for generations.

"What's happening here?" I asked a man carrying a measuring tape.

"Renovation," he replied without looking up. "Marshall family commissioned a modernization. New security systems, improved lighting."

My blood ran cold. "But this is a burial site. My mother's remains are here."

He shrugged. "That's above my pay grade, ma'am. We're just following orders."

I pushed past him, my heart pounding as I made my way to my mother's niche. The familiar brass plaque was gone. In its place was a blank wall, the opening sealed with fresh concrete.

"No," I whispered, pressing my palms against the cold stone. "No, no, no."

A familiar laugh cut through my panic. Sarai stood at the mausoleum entrance, her red coat vibrant against the gray surroundings.

"Oh, Diana," she said with mock sympathy. "I thought you should know about the improvements."

"Improvements?" My voice cracked. "Where are my mother's ashes?"

Sarai's smile didn't reach her eyes. "There was an unfortunate accident during the renovation. Some of the urns were... misplaced."

"Misplaced?" I grabbed her arm. "That's my mother you're talking about!"

"Calm down," she said, pulling away. "I convinced Tyson this modernization was necessary. The old ways are so... outdated."

I spun around to see Tyson standing behind us, his expression unreadable.

"You authorized this?" I demanded. "You knew they would disturb her remains?"

"It's just old bones, Diana." His voice was flat. "Your emotional attachment is irrational."

Tears blurred my vision as I fell to my knees. "Those are my mother's ashes! The woman who gave you her corneas so you could see!"

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. He stepped forward, his polished shoe connecting with my ribs. I gasped as pain shot through my side, sending me sprawling onto the cold marble floor.

"Enough with this hysteria," he snarled. "Your mother is dead. She's been dead for years. Her remains are irrelevant to our life now."

I curled into myself, protecting my side as tears streamed down my face. "How can you be so cruel?"

Sarai's hand rested possessively on Tyson's arm. "Perhaps Diana needs help with her emotional instability."

---

"The water immersion therapy has shown remarkable results," Dr. Mercer explained, his voice clinical as he gestured toward the stainless steel tank. "For patients with your... attachment issues."

I backed away, my heart hammering against my ribs. The tank was large enough to submerge a person completely, its surface rippling with unnatural calm.

"No," I whispered. "I can't do this."

Sarai's perfectly manicured hand closed around my wrist. "Diana, this is for your own good. Your fear of water stems from childhood trauma, doesn't it? This will help you confront those fears."

"You know I'm terrified of water," I pleaded with Tyson, who stood watching with detached interest. "Please don't do this."

"The shock might help you accept reality," he replied coldly. "About our marriage. About your place in it."

Two attendants gripped my arms as I struggled. They forced me onto a wooden cross-shaped structure, binding my wrists and ankles with leather straps.

"Tyson!" I screamed as they lifted me toward the water. "Don't let them do this!"

His face remained impassive as they lowered me into the tank. The cold water enveloped me, stealing my breath as it closed over my head.

Panic exploded in my chest. My lungs burned as I fought against the restraints. Just when black spots danced before my eyes, they pulled me up.

I gasped desperately for air, coughing and sputtering.

"Again," Sarai instructed calmly.

They lowered me once more into the freezing darkness. This time, I felt something slither against my leg—a snake, its scales rough against my skin.

My scream was swallowed by water as terror consumed me completely.