After Faking My Death, My Stalker Husband Drowned

The changing room smelled of rubber and fear-sweat from countless others who'd stood where I stood now. My hands trembled as I struggled with the wingsuit's zipper, the fabric feeling like a shroud against my skin. Through the thin walls, I could hear Gabriel's voice, low and urgent, speaking to someone on his phone.

"Just fifteen more minutes," he was saying. "Yes, she's doing it. You'll see."

My phone vibrated against the bench where I'd set it down. Harper's name flashed on the screen—seven missed calls. My best friend never called more than twice unless something was wrong. I reached for it, but the door swung open and Gabriel stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding my phone.

"You won't need that." He picked it up, powering it off with deliberate slowness. "This is about trust, Tessa. You need to trust me completely."

"Harper's been calling—"

"Harper doesn't understand us." He slipped my phone into his pocket, then moved behind me to help with the wingsuit's straps. His fingers were cold against my neck. "She never has. Always filling your head with doubts."

The instructor knocked and entered without waiting for permission. "Mrs. Bennett? We need to get you fitted with the parachute and helmet."

I wanted to tell him I'd changed my mind. That no sane person would ask their pregnant wife to do this. But Gabriel's hands were firm on my shoulders, and his reflection in the mirror wore that smile—the one that never quite reached his eyes anymore.

"The weather window is perfect," the instructor continued, oblivious to my terror. "Clear skies, minimal wind. Couldn't ask for better conditions."

They strapped the parachute pack to my back, the weight of it making me stumble. Gabriel steadied me, his breath warm against my ear.

"Remember," he whispered, "this is for us. For our family. One jump, and everything changes."

The helmet came next, fitted with an earpiece and small camera. The instructor explained the basics—how to spread my arms, how to control my descent, when to pull the chute. His words blurred together, meaningless sounds against the roar of blood in my ears.

"The landing zone is marked with orange smoke," he said. "Just aim for that. Your husband will be monitoring your progress from here."

Gabriel led me outside, where the cliff edge waited like an executioner's block. The wind hit harder here, trying to push me back, as if nature itself was warning me away. My legs locked, refusing to move those final steps.

"I can't." The words came out as a sob. "Gabriel, please. The baby—"

"The baby will be fine." His grip tightened on my arm. "Women do extreme sports while pregnant all the time. You're being dramatic."

He guided me to the jump platform, a wooden deck that extended out over nothing. Five thousand feet down, the valley floor looked like a child's model, tiny trees and a ribbon of river so far below they seemed unreal.

"On three," the instructor said, checking my straps one final time. "Remember, arms out, body straight. Count to ten before pulling the chute."

I turned to Gabriel, searching his face for any sign of the man I'd married. "Why are you doing this?"

For just a moment, his mask slipped. I saw something raw and desperate in his eyes, something that might have been guilt or fear or both. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket, and the mask snapped back into place.

"Because I love you," he said, stepping back. "Now jump."

The instructor began counting. "One..."

My heart hammered against my ribs. The edge of the platform seemed to pulse, drawing me forward even as every instinct screamed to run.

"Two..."

Gabriel's hand went to his pocket, touching his phone. Checking the time? Or something else?

"Three!"

I jumped.

The world exploded into wind and terror. The ground rushed up even as I seemed to hang suspended, the wingsuit catching air, spreading my arms into wings I never wanted. The earpiece crackled to life, and I heard Gabriel's voice, clear despite the roar of wind.

"Perfect, Tessa. You're doing perfect."

Ten seconds. The instructor had said count to ten. My hand moved to the ripcord, fingers closing around it. I pulled.

Nothing happened.

I pulled again, harder. The cord came free in my hand, severed cleanly as if cut with a knife. Through the earpiece, I heard Gabriel's voice again, but he wasn't talking to me.

"See what I mean, Olivia? See how dangerous it is? I tampered with the parachute just to show you what could happen."

The ground rushed closer, and I finally understood. This was never about trust.

This was murder.