Chapter 1 - The Anchor's Drop
The Mediterranean sun beat down mercilessly on the pristine teak deck of the yacht, illuminating a scene of calculated cruelty. When the heavy anchor vanished beneath the waves, dragging the chain with brutal speed, Selene laughed so hard her diamond necklace flashed in the brilliant light — until the chain jerked back like the ocean itself had changed sides.
Only five minutes earlier, her husband, Elias Moreau, had been kneeling on the wooden deck with his hands tied behind his back, his white shirt torn at the shoulder and his breathing uneven. The sea was bright, the sky was calm, and the yacht looked too beautiful for the kind of betrayal unfolding on it.
Selene stood above him in a red resort dress, her blonde hair moving in the wind as if she were posing for a magazine cover. Beside her, Marco leaned against the railing in a blue shirt and white trousers, smiling as though cruelty were just another expensive habit.
“Look at him,” Marco said, loud enough for Elias to hear. “The great Elias Moreau, helpless on his own yacht.”
Elias did not beg; he only looked at his wife. For twelve years, he had built a fortune from nothing—hotels, villas, shipping contracts, and risky investments that eventually made him immensely rich. Selene had despised the lean years when Elias was poor, yet she loved playing the devoted martyr who had suffered beside him. She remembered his exact coffee order, touched his hand during grueling board meetings, and wept tears of joy when he surprised her with this very yacht for their anniversary.
Now, she looked at him as if waiting for an annoying household chore to finish.
Unbeknownst to them, a small black camera above the cabin door blinked a faint red, hidden masterfully in the smoked glass reflection. Elias glanced at it once, anchoring his last shred of hope in its silent lens, while Selene remained blinded by her own arrogance.
“You don’t have to do this,” Elias said, his voice steady despite the impending doom.
May you like
Selene stepped closer, her expression devoid of guilt, reeking only of cold impatience. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, “I waited years for you to become rich enough to lose.”
Marco laughed, and Selene joined him. Behind Elias stood Dario, the hired bodyguard, silent behind dark sunglasses, his hand resting heavily on Elias’s shoulder. The iron chain scraped viciously against the deck as Dario and Marco executed the final push. The cold brine rushed up to greet Elias, swallowing him whole as the anchor pulled him into the abyss.
