Unwanted Wife: The Mafia Boss's Regret

Bailey POV

A sudden blast of white foam hit me.

It was cold.

It was suffocating.

Then, the fire died.

I lay on the wet deck, shivering uncontrollably as the adrenaline began to crash. A young deckhand stood over me, clutching a fire extinguisher like a weapon.

His eyes were wide with horror.

"Miss Douglas!" he yelled. "Are you okay?"

He was shaking.

And he was the only one who moved.

I looked across the deck.

Jameson was helping Haleigh stand up.

He was kissing her forehead.

Derrick was already getting her a towel.

They hadn't even noticed the fire was out.

"I'm fine," I whispered to the deckhand, though my voice was barely a rasp.

My leg was a mess of blistered red skin.

My dress was ruined.

But the pain clarified everything.

I limped to my cabin.

I locked the door.

I pulled the burner phone from my hidden pocket.

It had survived.

I had one text message.

Jet is fueled. Ready for departure at 0600 hours.

I typed back: I'll be there.

I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror.

My hair was singed.

My face was soot-stained.

But my eyes were dry.

The door handle jiggled.

Then, a key turned in the lock.

Jameson entered.

He stopped dead when he saw me.

His gaze dropped to my leg.

To the angry red burns.

To the melted fabric stuck to my skin.

His face paled.

A flicker of something like horror crossed his eyes.

"Bailey," he said.

He took a step forward.

"Why didn't you scream?"

I laughed.

It was a broken, jagged sound.

"I did scream, Jameson."

He froze.

"I didn't hear you," he said.

"No," I said. "You just weren't listening for me. You were listening for her."

He looked at his hands, shame coloring his cheeks.

"We thought... the grill... Haleigh fell."

"Haleigh scratched her knee," I said, my voice devoid of warmth. "I was on fire."

He looked sick.

Good.

"Let me call the doctor," he said.

He reached for his phone.

"Jameson!" Haleigh's voice drifted down from the deck, bright and oblivious. "Come look! There are dolphins!"

Jameson paused.

He looked at the door.

Then he looked at me.

The choice hung in the air.

Heavy.

Suffocating.

"Go," I said.

"I'll send the medic down," he said.

He turned and left.

He chose the dolphins.

He chose the lie.

I bandaged my leg with the first aid kit under the sink.

I changed into black jeans and a hoodie.

I packed my bag.

I walked up to the deck.

They were all leaning over the railing.

Laughing.

Pointing at the sea.

Jameson had his arm around Haleigh.

The brothers were smoking cigars.

I stood behind them.

The sun was setting.

"Make a wish!" Haleigh shouted to the ocean.

"I wish for a hundred years of this," she said.

Jameson kissed her cheek.

"I wish for loyalty," Derrick said.

I closed my eyes.

I gripped the railing until my knuckles turned white.

I didn't say my wish out loud.

But the universe heard it.

I wish to never see any of you again.

I turned and walked toward the gangplank.

The boat was docking.

They didn't turn around.

They didn't see me leave.

I walked down the pier.

I didn't run.

I walked.

One step after another.

Away from the Blair family.

Away from the Douglas honor.

Away from the man who watched me burn and asked why I was so quiet.

I hailed a cab at the end of the marina.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"The airport," I said.

I looked back one last time.

The yacht was glowing with lights.

It looked beautiful.

It looked like a funeral pyre.

And in a way, it was.

Bailey Douglas died on that boat.

The woman sitting in the back of the taxi was someone else entirely.

And she was never looking back.