The Wife He Couldn't Erased

Lyara's POV.

The sun was too bright.

10:17 am, and the city was already burning with heat and noise. I sat on the curb across from the bus stop, phone clutched in my hand like it might disappear if I let go.

Seven hours. Seven hours since I'd heard those two men behind the dumpster. Seven hours since I recorded them talking about dumping a body at Ashworth Heights and framing Victor Ashworth.

Choose yourself, Lyara. For once in your life, choose yourself.

The last time I chose someone else, I ended up with nothing. No home. No husband. No mother. Just a positive pregnancy test and $200 to my name.

So why am I still thinking about helping Victor Ashworth?

I stared down at my phone. The screen glared back at me. Evidence that could ruin me or save a billionaire.

My thumb hovered over the delete button.

Delete it. Delete it now before you talk yourself into doing something stupid.

If I kept the video and went to the police, they'd ask questions. Who am I? Where did I get this? Why was I outside the dumpster at 3 am? I had no answers that wouldn't land me in a holding cell. Or worse.

Victor Ashworth was a billionaire. He had lawyers. Security. He didn't need me.

I needed to think about my baby. The little life growing inside me depended on me not getting arrested or killed.

Delete it. Be done. Walk away.

My thumb pressed down.

[Are you sure you want to delete this video? This action cannot be undone.]

I swallowed hard. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely keep the phone steady.

"Bus to Downtown Loop in two minutes!"

The driver's voice snapped me out of it. The city bus pulled up with a hiss of brakes, exhaust fumes rolling over the curb.

I jerked back, shoving the phone into my hoodie pocket before I could confirm delete.

Later. I'll delete it later. On the bus. Where I can think.

I stood up. My legs felt stiff from sitting too long. I dropped two dollars into the fare box and took a seat by the window. The bus was packed. Morning commuters, a woman with a crying toddler.

I leaned my forehead against the cold glass and closed my eyes.

Just get to the hospital. Just get through the appointment. The baby comes first.

The bus lurched forward. The city rolled past in a blur of cars and storefronts. My reflection stared back at me. Pale. Exhausted. Hair tangled under the faded hoodie.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out with a jolt of hope. Loan approval? Please. I'd applied for a $1000 emergency loan yesterday. I needed it for some baby stuff I saw on F.B Marketplace.

The screen lit up.

Not a loan approval.

[City General Hospital: Your 11 am appointment has been rescheduled to 2:45 pm. Please arrive 15 minutes early.]

I groaned and dropped my head back against the seat. "2:45 pm," I muttered. "Of course. Because my life isn't hard enough already."

I was about to lock the screen when another notification slid down from the top.

[BREAKING NEWS: 70-year-old Victor Ashworth's secret is finally out! He's a killer.]

The words hit me like a slap.

I tapped it instantly. The article loaded slowly on my weak data connection.

Photos of Ashworth Heights construction site flooded the screen. Yellow police tape. A body bag on a stretcher. Crowds of protesters outside the gates holding signs: justice for Victor's victim! Ashworth = murderer! News vans lined the street with satellite dishes spinning.

The details matched exactly what the two men said at 3 am.

"Early this morning, a body was discovered at Ashworth Heights construction site. Police confirm the body appears to have been dumped overnight. Witnesses report seeing Victor Ashworth at the site in the early hours. Sources say the billionaire real estate mogul has a history of questionable business practices..."

It was happening. Right now. Just like they planned.

My stomach twisted into a knot. My palms went slick with sweat.

I have the video. I have proof it wasn't him.

I opened my gallery with shaking fingers. The video was still there. Still sitting in my phone, unconfirmed.

My feet started bouncing against the floor of the bus. I couldn't sit still. Couldn't breathe right.

Wait until after the appointment, Lyara. The baby comes first. The baby is all you have left.

But if I waited, Victor Ashworth's company stock would crash. An innocent man would go to prison for a murder he didn't commit.

And it'd be my fault.

I shot to my feet so fast the woman with the toddler gave me a startled look.

"Driver!" I shouted. My voice echoed through the bus. "Stop the bus! Stop it right now!"

The driver slammed the brakes. People grabbed the handrails to stay upright. Someone cursed.

"Lady, we're not at a stop-"

"I need to get off! Now!" I was already shoving past the seats, clutching my phone like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

The bus slowed to a stop at the next corner. The doors hissed open with a blast of hot morning air.

I didn't wait. I jumped down onto the sidewalk, my boots hitting the concrete hard.

The bus pulled away, leaving me standing on the curb with my heart pounding and the city noise roaring around me.

I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I couldn't stay on that bus a second longer.