They forgot I was a Special Forces survival instructor. The priest was midway through his eulogy when the heavy cathedral doors slammed open. I walked down the aisle, still covered in snow and blood, holding the iron padlock they used to trap me. “Sorry I’m late to my own funeral”
PART 1: The Trap
Dominic called this trip an “anniversary getaway” to repair our marriage. He drove us deep into the unforgiving, jagged mountains of Montana, to a defunct, isolated cabin completely off the grid.
But the moment I stepped inside to drop my bags, the heavy pine door suddenly slammed shut behind me.
Clack! The horrifying, metallic screech of a heavy iron padlock sliding into place cut through the howling wind outside.
“Dominic!” I screamed, lunging forward to pound my fists against the thick wood. “Open the door! This isn’t funny!”
I rushed to the cracked windowpane and wiped away the frost. My heart stopped. Outside, standing on the porch as a violent blizzard rolled over the peaks, Dominic wasn’t alone. Leaning into him, wrapped in an expensive white fur coat, was Chloe—the glamorous mistress whose crimson lipstick I had found smeared on his legal documents.
Dominic held up his hand, smirking. In his palm rested my military satellite phone and my heavy winter parka. He had meticulously stripped me of my survival gear while packing the truck.
“It was never about your career or us, Vivienne!” Dominic shouted over the wind, the absolute, cold-blooded indifference in his eyes screaming volumes. “It was about the money. The military life insurance, the house, the pension. You’re worth so much more to me dead than alive.”
“Let’s go, babe,” Chloe giggled soullessly. “It’s freezing out here, and we have a hundred-thousand-dollar memorial service to plan.”
Dominic offered one last, mocking smile. “By tomorrow morning, the blizzard will have done my job for me. Rest in peace, Lieutenant.”
They turned in unison, leaving me entirely alone as the sub-zero temperatures seeped into the dark cabin. I sank to the dusty floorboards. The man I had sworn to love had just signed my death warrant with a smile.
But the paralyzing grief only lasted a single minute.
I closed my eyes. I took a deep, shuddering breath, letting the freezing air fill my lungs. And when I opened my eyes, the weeping, betrayed wife was dead. They had meticulously set a trap, but they forgot one crucial detail: I am a Special Forces survival instructor. And you cannot freeze a fire.
