I pressed play. The audio was grainy, recorded from a hidden bug.
David’s Voice: “Don’t worry, Boss. The debt is settled tonight. She’s perfect. An artist, no family connections that matter, clean medical history. And since she’s my legal wife, no one will file a missing persons report when we leave for the ‘honeymoon’.”
Unknown Voice (distorted): “And the delivery?”
David: “Tonight. The cake is laced with a heavy dose of Ketamine. She’ll drop right at the reception. I’ll carry her upstairs to the bridal suite to ‘recover.’ You bring the van to the back. You can take her across the border by morning. Harvest the organs or sell her to the brothels in Eastern Europe, I don’t care. Just wipe my $5 million debt.”
The recording ended with a click.
I sat there, paralyzed. My mind tried to reject it. The flowers. The Paris trip. The way he looked at my paintings.
It was all an investment. I wasn’t a person to him. I was livestock. I was a check he was cashing to save his own life from loan sharks.
“He… he was going to sell me?” I choked out, nausea rising in my throat.
“He was going to kill you, Maya,” Sarah said, glancing at me with tears in her eyes. “He’s not a prince. He’s a cornered rat.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, wiping my face. “We need to hide.”
“No,” Sarah said, her jaw setting. “We are done hiding. We are going to the police station.”
“He has men! He has money!”
“And we have evidence,” Sarah said. She pointed to a small cooler bag in the backseat. “I didn’t just record him. Before the ceremony, I snuck into the catering tent. I stole a sample of the frosting from the top tier—the one reserved for you. It’s in that cooler.”
We pulled up to the precinct. I walked in, a bride in a ruined, glass-filled dress, holding the evidence of my own murder plot.
The police listened to the tape. They tested the frosting sample immediately. The field kit turned a dark, violent purple. Positive for lethal levels of Ketamine.
Back at the Grand Conservatory, David was in full damage control mode. He stood on a chair, addressing the confused guests with a look of practiced anguish.
