For three straight months, every night I lay next to my husband, there was a strange, sickening smell… And every time I tried to clean the bed, he got irritated. The moment he left on a business trip, I cut open the mattress. What I found inside made my heart stop.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice cutting through the heavy air of the bedroom.

Julian smiled—a bitter, hollow smirk that made my skin crawl. "You know who I am. You wouldn't have that look in your eyes if you hadn't looked inside."

"Julian Ross," I said the name clearly, letting him know I knew every detail. "You're a thief. A murderer. You killed my father."

His smirk faded, replaced by a dark, dangerous glare. He took a step toward me, but I didn't back down.

"I didn't want to kill your father, Rachel," he said coldly, his voice devoid of any remorse. "Frank Vance was a stubborn man. He was offered millions to drop that indictment, but he refused. He thought he was a hero. So my employers handled him."

"And you?" I spat, tears of burning outrage rising in my eyes. "You married his daughter! You spent eight years pretending to love me!"

"It was business at first," Julian said, taking another slow step closer, his hands relaxed at his sides like a predator closing in on trapped prey. "I needed a ghost identity after the Chicago heist. I needed to know if your father had passed his prosecution files to anyone else before he died. Who better to monitor than his grieving daughter?"

"You monster," I whispered.

"Over time, you were a convenient cover, Rachel," he continued casually. "A quiet life in suburban Houston. A sweet, innocent wife who never asked questions about my travel. Until that damn money started decaying."

He looked down at the cut mattress with deep disgust. "Twelve million dollars in chemical dye... ruined by humidity and rot. And now, you've ruined the arrangement."

"It's over, Julian," I said, my thumb pressing hard against the emergency button inside my coat pocket. "The police know. The FBI knows. You're never getting out of this."

Julian chuckled softly, reaching slowly into the back of his waistband. He pulled out a sleek, suppressed semi-automatic pistol.

"The police don't know anything yet," he said calmly, aiming the weapon directly at my chest. "You haven't left this house. You think you're smart, Rachel, but you're just a schoolteacher who got too curious. I'm going to shoot you, burn this house to the ground, and be on a private flight out of Galveston before the fire department even arrives."