I lay beneath the thin quilt, eyes closed but mind wide awake.
The soup’s broth still clung to my tongue, bitter and metallic.
I could taste the extra pills—one more than the prescribed two. My throat tightened, but I swallowed, pretending the nausea was the sea’s after‑effects.
Through the thin wall of the suite, I heard Adrian’s low voice.
“She’ll be out before the storm hits, right?”
Douglas chuckled, the sound echoing off the polished wood.
“At exactly 02:13, when the wind picks up. The crew will be below; the deck will be empty.”
Marianne’s whisper slipped like a silk scarf.
“Then we push. The ocean will take her.”
Adrian answered, his tone calm as if reciting a bedtime story.
“Just a gentle nudge. She’ll think she slipped.”
My heart hammered, yet I kept my breathing slow, the rise and fall of my chest a perfect mimic of sleep.
“The trust fund clears when the authorities file a missing‑person report,” Douglas added, the word “report” hanging in the air.
“And the Prescott family? The mountain road—” Adrian’s voice trailed, “—will be gone by Monday.”
I memorized every detail: the storm’s arrival at 02:13, the planned push, the extra pills.
When the voices faded, I whispered to the darkness, “I’m still alive.”
My fingers brushed the edge of the nightstand, feeling the hidden vial I’d taken from my father’s emergency kit—a tiny glass bottle, sealed, waiting.
Feigning Nausea, The Deck’s Terror
The next morning, light filtered through the curtains, but my stomach churned like the sea.
“I need fresh air,” I announced, voice trembling just enough to sound sincere.
Adrian looked up, concern etched on his brow.
“You’re still not steady. Let’s get you to the aft deck, Natalie.”
I smiled weakly, the act of nausea a perfect cover.
He guided me to the door, his hand steady on my arm.
The hallway smelled of salt and champagne, the echo of laughter still lingering.
When we stepped onto the deck, the wind slapped our faces, the yacht’s lights flickering as clouds gathered.
Suddenly, a rogue wave crashed against the hull, a wall of foamy water roaring beneath us.
Adrian’s footing slipped; his hand slipped from the rail.
I clutched the cold metal rail, my knuckles white, feeling the ship shudder.
“Hold on!” I shouted, my voice drowned by the wind.
His body lurched forward, the wave throwing him over the side.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the slick metal, the spray, and the dark sea yawning below.
I felt his weight pull at the rail, the rope of his fingers loosening.
“No—” I gasped, the word lost in the howl of the storm.
Adrian’s silhouette was swallowed by the churning water, the rail trembling under the force.
My breath caught, eyes wide, as the railing slipped from his grasp and my own hand slipped with it.
Everything blurred—the crashing wave, the flashing lights, the taste of the medicine on my tongue—leaving only the terror of whether I, too, would be pulled overboard.
Natalie Slips the Antidote
I felt the游艇摇晃，我的心跳得飞快。我必须保持清醒。我从父亲的应急包里拿出事先藏好的小瓶解药，藏在手心。
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