My husband’s Million-Dollar Murder Plot - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“Mr. Blake, you once mentioned a job opportunity for me. Is the offer still on the table?”

Standing by the window, I watched Victor dramatically perform his role as the grieving husband on the pier while making the call.

“Lillian Carter? A sudden change of heart, I see. Weren’t you all about staying home to care for your husband before? Now you’re ready to get back into the grind?” Samuel Blake’s teasing tone made me smile wryly.

When Victor and I got married, he insisted I quit my job and focus on being a full–time wife. At the time, I had just been offered a promising promotion, and Samuel had presented me with an incredibly tempting deal.

But Victor’s words-“I don’t want you to tire yourself out. I just want you to be the happiest woman alive“-had swayed me completely. I resigned without hesitation.

Looking back, that may have been the moment he started severing my ties to the outside world. If I ended up dead, there would be no one left to question his narrative or demand justice.

“I guess I was too naive back then to realize that, for a woman, a career is her greatest shield,” I said.

Samuel chuckled, clearly pleased.

“Glad to see you’ve come around. The company’s main operations are now based in Harbor City. Would you be willing to relocate?”

“Of course,” I replied without hesitation.

“I’ll have my assistant book your flight.”

The call ended, and I let out a relieved breath place to a familiar face seemed like the safest option. Victor and Ruby, no matter how resourceful, wouldn’t dare make a move on me in the company of my colleagues.

The next day, as soon as I landed, a notification from the family photo–sharing album popped up on my phone. I opened it and froze. Victor had uploaded over a dozen explicit photos of himself with Ruby.

They were everywhere–against the hotel’s floor–to–ceiling windows, in the bathtub, on the dining table…

As I scrolled through, I noticed something else. With each picture, Ruby seemed to be flaunting more jewelry.

The final photo revealed her wearing an unmistakably new, extravagant diamond ring. Victor could never afford something like that not on his own. Then it clicked. The insurance policy. One of its clauses had been troubling me since I first uncovered it.

According to the terms, my disappearance for fifteen days would qualify as an accident. A full month would legally declare me dead. Clearly, Ruby had exploited her position to draft such irregular clauses, likely releasing funds prematurely.

It was blatant insurance fraud–grounds for severe legal repercussions. Victor and Ruby had kept this a tightly guarded secret. But now, convinced I was gone, they didn’t even bother removing me from the shared album.

I saved every incriminating photo as evidence. They didn’t even bother removing me from the shared album. I saved every incriminating photo as evidence.

Over the next month, Victor played the role of a grieving widower for the public while secretly indulging in a life of luxury with Ruby.

They burned through our savings at an alarming rate, dining at expensive restaurants, shopping for designer goods, and taking lavish trips.

Finally, the day came. One month since my “disappearance.” The time to legally confirm my death had arrived. Victor and Ruby returned to the country, eager to cash in on their charade.

I watched them enter the police station, application forms in hand, ready to finalize my “death.”

Exchanging a determined glance with my lawyer, I took a deep breath. It was time for this deceitful duo to face justice. Victor handed the paperwork to the officer, his face carefully crafted into an expression of sorrow.

“Officer,” he began, his voice tinged with grief, “my wife fell overboard in a tragic accident. We’ve searched tirelessly, but there’s no sign of her. I believe it’s time to officially confirm her death.”

Ruby stood beside him, her eyes brimming with anticipation. The officer reviewed the documents carefully and then nodded solemnly. “If there’s no contrary evidence, we’ll proceed with the standard procedure. Sir, my condolences for your loss…”

Just as he was about to stamp the papers, I burst into the room, my voice sharp and clear.

“Not vet!”

Just as he was about to stamp the papers, I burst into the room, my voice sharp and clear.

“Not yet!”

Every head turned toward me in stunned silence.

“I’m the victim of that so–called accident,” I declared, stepping forward. “I am not dead!”