the little girl told him to open his dead wife’s closet. what adrian found inside proved the wrong woman had died that night.

The smell of gasoline and damp wood filled the enclosed space of the boathouse as the boat’s engine sputtered and roared louder.

“You killed Claire over money,” Adrian said, taking a slow step forward, keeping his eyes locked on the trembling barrel of the gun. “You stole her identity, you forged her signatures, and when she found out, you murdered her.”

“She was weak!” Madison screamed, her voice echoing off the wooden rafters, nearly drowning out the sound of the idling motor and the rain pounding on the roof. “She had everything—wealth, a dynasty, a husband who adored her—and she wanted to throw me in prison just because I wanted a fraction of what she wasted on charity gala dresses! I earned every cent of my position, Adrian! I built this company beside you while she sat at home playing the devoted wife!”

“She never played anything,” Adrian said softly. “She loved this family. And she saw right through your mask from day one.”

Madison’s face contorted into an ugly, mask-like rage. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

“Then join her in the lake!”

She fired.

The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed like thunder inside the wooden boathouse.

At the exact microsecond she pulled the trigger, Adrian threw himself sideways, diving behind a heavy oak storage crate. The bullet splintered the wood inches above his head, sending wood chips flying into his hair.

Before Madison could adjust her aim to fire a second shot, Adrian kicked the heavy wooden crate forward with all his might.

The crate slid across the slick concrete floor, slamming directly into the hull of the speedboat with a violent crash.

The impact jolted the boat sharply to the left. Madison lost her footing on the wet deck, her arms flailing wildly as she slipped backward.

Bang!

Her second shot went wild, blowing a hole straight through the corrugated tin roof of the boathouse.

With a sharp cry, Madison lost her balance entirely and tumbled backward off the side of the boat, plunging headfirst into the dark, freezing waters of the lake slip.

Adrian scrambled to his feet and ran to the edge of the dock.

The water churned violently as Madison resurfaced, gasping for air, her heavy silk gown acting like a lead weight dragging her down into the deep, dark water.

“Adrian! Help me!” she choked out, thrashing frantically, her hands clawing desperately at the slippery wooden pilings of the dock. “I can’t swim! Adrian, please!”

Adrian stood at the edge of the dock, looking down at the woman who had lied, stolen, and murdered her way into his life—the woman who had stolen three years of peace from him and nearly destroyed everything Claire had left behind.

For a second, the dark temptation crossed his mind to simply stand there and watch.

Then he remembered Emma’s frightened eyes in the ballroom. He remembered Claire’s final, desperate phone call. And he remembered who he was.

Adrian reached down, grabbing a heavy coiled length of nylon rescue rope from the dock post, and tossed it toward her.

“Grab the rope, Madison!” he shouted over the storm.

Madison lunged forward with her last remaining strength, her fingers catching the frayed end of the rope. Adrian planted his boots firmly against the planks and pulled with all his weight, dragging her shivering, soaked body up onto the wooden dock.

As Madison collapsed onto the boards, coughing up lake water and trembling uncontrollably, the heavy thud of running boots echoed from the entrance of the boathouse.

Lieutenant Miller and four state troopers burst through the sliding doors, their weapons drawn, flashing lights illuminating the dark interior.

Miller took in the scene: Madison lying on the dock in handcuffs moments later, the smoking gun lying near the edge, and Adrian standing tall in the center of the room, looking out across the dark, peaceful waters of the lake.

“Mr. Westwood,” Miller said, lowering his weapon. “Are you alright?”