Stella March - POV
Smiling at the man who's going to watch you die requires a specific kind of insanity I didn't know I possessed.
December 18th, 9 AM. I've been sitting in the Institute parking lot for twenty minutes. My hands are fused to the steering wheel. White knuckles. Cramping fingers. I can't make them let go.
Through the windshield, the building looks exactly the same. Gray stone. Glass doors reflecting morning clouds. The sign in bronze letters: Cape Marlowe Marine Research Institute.
Like the world didn't end yesterday.
Like I didn't die and come back.
I force myself to count breaths. In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight. The technique Dad's grief counselor taught me after he died. It didn't work then either.
My phone buzzes. Text from Ethan: "Where are you? Lab meeting in 10."
I stare at his name on the screen. Those letters. Ethan. Five letters that used to mean safety. Now they mean: man who will steal my life's work while I drown.
I type back: "Parking now. Be right there."
My hands shake so hard I have to retype it twice.
I make myself open the car door. Cold air rushes in. December wind cuts through my jacket. I stand. Lock the car. Walk.
Each step toward those glass doors feels like wading through water. Heavy. Wrong. My body knows this is dangerous even if my brain is screaming that I have to maintain normal behavior.
The doors slide open. Warm air. Coffee smell. The low hum of aquarium filters from the lobby tanks. Everything familiar.
Everything poisoned now.
"Stella!"
I freeze. Turn. Ethan walks toward me holding two coffee cups. He's wearing the blue sweater I bought him last Christmas. His smile reaches all the way to his eyes. Warm. Genuine. The smile that made me say yes when he proposed on this same building's roof last spring.
"Morning, beautiful." He kisses my cheek. His lips are warm. He smells like expensive cologne and the mint toothpaste we share. He hands me coffee. "I got your usual. Wedding planning tonight? Mom's freaking out about the seating chart."
The coffee cup is hot against my palms. I grip it. Anchor myself to the heat. To something real and solid.
"Sure. Sounds great."
The words come out flat. Wrong.
Ethan's smile falters. His eyes narrow—just slightly, just for a second. "You okay? You seem off."
My heart slams against my ribs. Twelve hours back and I've already broken character. I'm acting different from the first timeline. He's noticing.
Think. Fix this.
"Just nervous about my presentation." I sip the coffee. It tastes like cardboard and panic. "January 5th is coming up fast. I keep running through the data in my head."
The presentation I'll never give. Because I'll be dead January 1st.
His expression softens. "You'll kill it. You always do." He reaches out. Touches my face. His palm cups my cheek. Thumb brushing my cheekbone. Gentle. Tender.
I hold perfectly still. Every muscle locked. Don't flinch. Don't pull away. Don't scream.
"Thanks," I whisper.
He drops his hand. Studies me for another second. Then nods. "I need to prep for the meeting. See you in the conference room?"
"Yeah. I just need to grab notes from my office."
He walks away. I watch him go. The confidence in his stride. The way colleagues nod and smile as he passes. Dr. Ethan Cross. Brilliant researcher. Respected scientist. Son of pharmaceutical royalty.
Killer.
But I see things I didn't see before. The tension in his shoulders even when he smiles. How his eyes scan the hallway constantly. The way his hand clenched when I mentioned my presentation.
How long has he been planning to murder me?
I walk to the nearest supply closet. Lock the door behind me. Slide down the wall until I'm sitting on cold tile between boxes of pipette tips and bottles of ethanol.
Can't breathe. Can't breathe.
The walls close in. The ceiling drops. I'm back in the water. Atlantic filling my lungs. Pressure crushing my chest. Gold dress dragging me down. Vanessa's face disappearing above me. Darkness. Cold. Dying.
I dig my nails into my palms. Hard. The pain cuts through the panic. Pulls me back.
Not drowning. In a supply closet. Floor is solid. Air is warm.
Alive.
I force myself to stand. There's a small mirror by the utility sink. I look at my reflection. Wild eyes. Pale face. Hair escaping its ponytail.
I splash cold water on my face. Fix my hair. Practice smiling in the mirror.
The smile looks deranged.
Try again. Better. Almost normal.
I can do this. I have to do this. Thirteen days. Just survive thirteen days.
By noon, I've failed at normal three times.
First: staring into space during the lab meeting while Ethan discussed grant renewals. He said my name twice before I heard him. Everyone stared.
Second: jumping when Dr. Marcus Webb touched my shoulder in the hallway. He was just saying hello. I reacted like he'd stabbed me. His eyebrows went up. "You okay, March?"
Third: sitting at my lab bench for thirty minutes staring at the same page of research notes without reading a single word.
Now I'm standing in front of my sample freezer. The locked unit where I keep two years of work. Inside: the peptide compound isolated from deep-sea tube worms. The discovery that destroys antibiotic-resistant bacteria without harming human cells.
Worth forty-two million dollars to Helix Pharmaceuticals.
Worth my life to Ethan and Vanessa.
I could destroy it. Right now. Smash every vial. Delete every file. Burn my notes. Then they'd have no reason to kill me.
Except they would anyway. To make sure I never recreate it. Or they'd torture the research out of me first.
No. The only way out is through.
I spend the afternoon encrypting files. Creating hidden backups on servers Ethan doesn't know about. Password-protecting everything with codes they'll never guess.
If they steal my work, I'll make them bleed for it.
"Dr. March?"
I spin around. Dr. Marcus Webb stands in my doorway again. Senior researcher. Ethan's friend. Forty-something. Kind eyes. Wife and two kids.
"Sorry." He holds up his hands. "Didn't mean to startle you. Again."
"It's fine. I'm just—I'm fine."
"You sure?" He steps inside. Closes the door partway. Lowers his voice. "Because you've been acting strange all day. And I mean that with concern, not judgment. Is something going on? With Ethan? With the wedding?"
Strange. Everyone keeps saying strange.
My laugh sounds broken. "Just pre-wedding jitters. Lots on my mind."
"Right." He doesn't believe me. "Well, if you need anything. Or if something's wrong—"
"I'm fine. Really. Just need to focus better."
He studies me for a long moment. Then nods slowly. "Okay. But my door's open if you need it."
After he leaves, I lock my lab door. Actually lock it. Something I never do during work hours.
I lean against it. Press my forehead to the cool wood. Breathe.
I'm failing. Everyone notices something's wrong. I need to be better at this or Ethan and Vanessa will realize I know. They'll move up their timeline.
They'll kill me sooner.
My phone buzzes at 2:15 PM. Text from Vanessa: "COFFEE NOW. I'm dying without you!"
I stare at the screen. The casual tone. The crying emoji. Like we're normal friends meeting for normal coffee.
Like she won't push me off a lighthouse in thirteen days.
I type back: "Usual place? Give me 20?"
Her response is instant: Three heart emojis and "YESSSS."
I drive to the café on autopilot. Park. Sit in my car staring at the entrance. The same café where we've met every Thursday for seven years. Where she told me about her first boyfriend. Where I cried about Dad. Where we celebrated my engagement.
Seven years of friendship.
All of it a lie? Or did something change? When did she decide I was worth more dead than alive?
I make myself go inside.
Vanessa sits at our usual corner table. She sees me and her whole face lights up. She jumps up. Throws her arms around me. "Finally! I was starting to think you were ghosting me."
Her hug is tight. Warm. She smells like vanilla perfume—the same scent since grad school.
I hug back. Force my arms to work. Try not to think about those arms shoving me backward. Try not to feel the phantom pressure of her hands on my shoulders.
We sit. Order our usual drinks. Peppermint latte for her. Black coffee for me.
"Okay, so." Vanessa pulls out her phone. Pulls up photos. "I found the perfect bridesmaid dresses. Look at this color—it's like deep ocean blue but sophisticated, you know? Not tacky beach wedding blue. And the cut is—Stella? Are you listening?"
I'm not listening. I'm watching her.
Really watching.
The way her eyes crinkle when she smiles. How she tucks hair behind her ear when she's excited. The small scar on her chin from when we went rock climbing in grad school and she fell.
Seven years. Late nights studying. Her holding me when Dad died. Moving apartments together. Inside jokes. Shared dreams.
This woman is going to murder me.
"Stella? Hello?" Vanessa waves her hand in front of my face. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you look at me like you've never seen me before." Her smile fades. "What's going on? And don't say wedding stress because I know you. Something's wrong."
My pulse spikes. I've been staring. Analyzing. Seeing her as a killer instead of a friend.
Quick. Fix it.
"I'm just..." My voice cracks. I let it. Use it. "Everything's changing, you know? Getting married. Moving into Ethan's place permanently. End of an era. We won't be—"
"Hey." Vanessa grabs my hand. Squeezes hard. "Nothing's changing between us. We're sisters. Forever. You understand? Sisters. Marriage doesn't change that."
Sisters.
The word hits like cold water. In thirteen days, you'll kill your sister.
"I know," I whisper.
"Good." She releases my hand. Sips her latte. Her voice goes casual. Too casual. "So how are things with Ethan? I know he's been stressed with all those grant applications. The Helix Pharmaceuticals stuff."
Everything stops.
The café noise fades. My vision tunnels. She mentioned Helix. Casual. Like it meant nothing.
But I saw the flash in her eyes. Brief. Calculated. Watching for my reaction.
She's testing me.
"Fine, I think." I keep my voice light. Curious but not too interested. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, no reason." Another sip. "Just that he's been working late a lot. Meeting with his dad. Seems tense." Pause. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, right? Between you two?"
The question hangs in the air. Loaded. Dangerous.
"Of course," I lie.
She smiles. Nods. Moves on to talk about honeymoon destinations and wedding favors and all the details of a future that will never happen.
But I caught it. That moment. She's already involved with Helix. Already coordinating. The conspiracy isn't starting—it's already in motion.
How long have they been lying to my face?
We hug goodbye outside. Her arms around me feel like a noose.
"Love you," she says into my hair.
"Love you too."
I sit in my car after she drives away. My hands shake on the wheel. Vanessa asking about Helix confirms what I suspected. She's deep in this. She and Ethan have been planning for weeks. Maybe months.
Every smile. Every hug. Every "love you."
All of it fake while they counted down to my murder.
Carter answers his door at 8 PM looking wired. "You're late. I said seven-thirty."
"I had to wait for Ethan to fall asleep."
He studies my face. "You told him you were going to bed?"
"Told him I had a headache. Needed to lie down. He's used to me having migraines during stressful periods." I step inside. "He won't check on me for hours."
Carter's living room has transformed overnight. Three laptops running. Encrypted connections. Burner phones spread across the coffee table. His investigation board is covered with new photos—Ethan, Vanessa, Helix Pharmaceuticals building, financial documents.
"Rule one," Carter says. Hands me a burner phone. "Trust no one. Not your colleagues. Not your friends. Definitely not me."
"I don't trust you."
"Good. That might keep you alive." He gestures at the setup. "We're starting from scratch. Every piece of evidence verified independently. No assumptions. No guesses."
We work in silence for two hours. I guide him to specific financial records. Point out the encrypted files in Ethan's cloud storage. Show him where to look for the Helix correspondence.
Carter's fingers fly across keyboards. Opening files. Cross-referencing. His face is lit by blue screen light. Focused. Intense.
"How did you get into Vanessa's email?" he asks suddenly.
"Her password is her mother's birthday."
"A sixteen-character password with numbers and symbols. You guessed that?"
"I'm good at patterns."
"You're lying."
I don't answer. Keep scrolling through financial transfers. Point to a suspicious payment. "Look at this. December 10th. Fifty thousand dollars from an offshore account to Vanessa's checking. Same day Ethan met with his father."
Carter examines it. Makes notes. But his eyes keep sliding back to me. "These files are encrypted with military-grade security. You're navigating them like you already know where everything is."
"I told you. I've been investigating for weeks."
"No." He closes his laptop. Turns to face me fully. "You haven't. Because some of these files were created three days ago. You couldn't have known they existed."
My stomach drops.
"You're not scared about a future threat, Dr. March. You're traumatized. Like someone with PTSD. Like something already happened." He leans forward. "What happened to you?"
His eyes are too sharp. Too perceptive. Seeing too much.
I stand up. Grab my coat. "I need to go."
"Wait—"
"I'll be back tomorrow. Same time."
"Dr. March—"
I'm out the door. Down the steps. In my car before he can follow.
I drive on autopilot. My hands know the way home. To the apartment I share with Ethan. The place that used to feel safe.
I park outside. Stare up at our third-floor windows. The lights are off now. He's asleep. Waiting for me to come to bed. To curl up next to him like I always do.
I can't.
Can't climb those stairs. Can't unlock that door. Can't lie next to the man who's going to watch me die.
I recline my seat. Pull my coat over me like a blanket. Lock all the doors.
I'll sleep here.
My phone glows: December 18th, 11:52 PM.
Twelve days until New Year's Eve.
I close my eyes. Immediately I'm falling. Wind screaming in my ears. The deck tilting. Vanessa's hands on my shoulders. The moment of weightlessness before the drop. Water rushing up. Impact. Cold. Drowning.
I jerk awake. Gasping. Clawing at my throat. Choking on air.
The car clock shows 3:17 AM.
The apartment windows are dark. Ethan never woke up. Never checked on me. Never wondered where I was.
My phone screen lights up. New text from Carter: "Whatever you're not telling me is going to get you killed. I hope you know that."
I stare at the words. He's right. My lies are going to destroy this. Destroy everything.
But I can't tell him the truth.
Because the truth is: I drowned. I died. I came back.
And the truth sounds insane even to me.
Another text from Carter: "Call me when you're ready to stop lying."
I turn off my phone. Lean my head against the cold window. Watch my breath fog the glass.
Twelve days left.
Twelve days to stop my murder without anyone knowing I've already been killed