Chapter 3

The next day, I headed to the bank and moved everything I owned into a brand new offshore account.

Part of it was my savings from before the marriage, and the rest was what I made from investing these past few years.

Charles probably thought I was broke and would have to depend on that so-called charity he calls alimony.

But what he didn't know was that I never expected anything from him.

As I walked out of the bank, my phone rang. It was Robby.

"Elena, did you and that rascal Charles get into a fight?" Robby's voice was laced with worry.

I felt a gentle warmth in my chest. In that icy Sterling family, Robby was the only one who ever truly cared about me.

I made up an excuse. "No, Grandpa Robby. I'm just a bit tired and wanted to stay somewhere else for a few days."

"Nonsense!" Robby shouted, his voice full of energy. "That rascal showed me the divorce papers. I swear, I'll give him a good beating."

I could totally picture him on the other end, huffing and puffing, his face all red and angry.

I said softly, "Grandpa Robby, please don't get upset. It's bad for your health. It was my own choice, so don't blame him."

There was a long silence on the other end.

"Elena, I feel truly sorry," Robby said. "Don't worry. Even if you're not the Sterling family's granddaughter-in-law anymore, you'll always be like my granddaughter.

"If anyone dares to mess with you, they'll have to answer to me first."

My eyes grew hot with tears. "I know, Grandpa Robby."

After hanging up, I stood at the street corner, looking up at the gloomy sky.

The second phase of my plan was about to kick off.

Ryan helped me find a private yacht and a trustworthy captain.

To the public, I was just out on the water alone, trying to clear my head after the divorce.

I casually let a few of my so-called friends know about it.

I knew those women would sell the news to Vivian the second they heard it.

Vivian needed to see me completely defeated before she could really savor her so-called victory.

Just as expected, it wasn't long before my phone was flooded with insincere messages pretending to be concerned.

The gloating was obvious between the lines, barely disguised.

I responded to each one with a courteous reply, then blocked every single number.

The day I headed out to sea, the weather was perfect. I stood on the deck in a white dress, the breeze playing with my hair.

Ryan stood on the shore, his expression hard to read.

I waved at him, letting him know I'd be fine.

The yacht slowly pulled away from the dock, heading out into the open sea.

According to the plan, the captain staged a "shipwreck" in a spot where the signal was weak.

He sent out a distress call, then led me onto a prepped speedboat, and we sped off.

Half an hour later, when the rescue team arrived, all they found was the overturned yacht and a white silk scarf drifting on the waves.

That scarf was mine.

That night, the news exploded. [Kingston socialite Elena, presumed lost at sea after a post-divorce getaway. Her whereabouts remain unknown.]

I sat by the window of a café in Astoria, scrolling through the news on my phone as I took a sip of coffee. It was bitter, but it jolted me awake.

My phone started blowing up.

There were calls from Robby, my parents, and a bunch of numbers I didn't recognize, but they all looked like they were from Kingston.

I didn't pick up any of them.

The only call that got through was from Charles.

I stared at his name flashing on the screen, hesitated for a moment, then picked up.

But before he could say anything, I set my phone down on the table, letting the noise from Astoria spill into the call.

Car horns blared, people chatted, and the café's music played softly in the background.

On the other end, there was a long, heavy silence.

I could totally picture his face right now, brows furrowed, probably thinking, 'Is this for real?' or just not believing what he was hearing.

After a full minute, he finally spoke, his voice rough and strained. "Elena? Where are you?"

I didn't say a word.

Charles pressed, his voice trembling, "You're still alive, aren't you?"

I lifted my coffee cup, blew gently across the rim so the sound drifted through the line, then ended the call.

I powered off the phone, removed the SIM card, and tossed both into the trash can beside my table.

Charles, let the games begin.

This time, I was the dealer.