Stella March - POV
The Institute holiday party has an open bar, which means by 11 PM everyone is too drunk to notice two people who shouldn't be in the building.
December 22nd, 8 PM. String lights transform the main hall into something magical. A massive tree glitters in the corner. Tables overflow with food and champagne. My colleagues wear festive dresses and ugly sweaters. Everyone's laughing. Drinking. Celebrating the holidays.
I'm wearing a red dress Ethan chose. Forced smile painted on. Counting every minute until I can disappear.
"Stella!" Vanessa crashes into me, wine-tipsy and grinning. She smells like peppermint and happiness. "You look amazing! God, Ethan's so lucky."
I hug back. Her arms squeeze tight. Affectionate. Real.
How does someone plan your murder and still hug you like they love you?
"Thanks. You look great too."
Ethan's hand settles on my lower back. His fingers press into my spine—not painful, just claiming. "She does, doesn't she? My beautiful bride."
"Eight more days!" Vanessa raises her glass. "To the happy couple!"
Cheers erupt around us. Glasses raised. Smiles directed at us like we're something precious.
I lift my champagne. Touch it to my lips. Don't swallow.
Ethan notices. Says nothing. But his hand tightens.
At 9 PM, Carter appears.
He's dressed as catering staff. Black pants. White shirt. Black vest. Fake name tag that says "Mike." He refills water pitchers near the bar like he's been doing it for years.
Our eyes meet across the crowded room.
Everything else disappears. Just him. Just me. Just the crime we're about to commit.
"Stella?" Ethan's voice cuts through. "Who are you staring at?"
My heart slams against my ribs. "What?"
"You're looking at something." His eyes scan the crowd. Sweep past the catering staff without recognizing Carter. "Or someone."
"Just zoning out. It's loud in here."
He studies my face. Too long. Too carefully. "You've been distracted all week. Distant. Is something going on I should know about?"
Yes. Everything. I'm planning to steal evidence of my own murder from your office.
"Just wedding stress. Normal cold feet stuff."
His hand slides lower on my back. "Don't get too cold. We're past the point of backing out now."
The threat is clear even through his smile.
The hours crawl. I make small talk. Pretend to drink. Watch Carter work the room like he's invisible. Nobody looks at catering staff. Perfect.
At 10:45, Dr. Webb traps me near the dessert table. "You doing okay, Stella? You seem jumpy tonight."
"Fine. Just tired."
"Pre-wedding exhaustion. Totally normal." He smiles kindly. "Hang in there. It'll all be worth it."
Will it? Or will I be dead before the wedding happens?
At 11:23, half the guests have left. The ones remaining are drunk. Loud. Distracted.
Time to move.
"Bathroom," I tell Ethan. Kiss his cheek before he can respond.
The hallway is empty. Quiet. My heels click too loud on tile. Every sound feels like an alarm.
Carter emerges from a service corridor. No longer in uniform. Dark clothes. Black gloves. Small case in hand.
"Ready?" His voice is barely a whisper.
"No."
"Good answer. Let's go."
We move fast through back hallways. I know these corridors by heart but they feel foreign now. Threatening. Every corner could hide someone who'll ruin everything.
Carter stops outside Ethan's office. Kneels. Opens his case. Lock picks glint in the dim light.
"This takes time," he breathes. "Not like movies. Watch the hall."
I position myself where I can see both directions. My pulse hammers in my ears so loud I almost can't hear approaching footsteps.
Metal scrapes against metal. Carter curses softly. Adjusts his tools. Tries again.
One minute. Two minutes.
Sweat runs down my spine despite the cold.
Finally: a soft click.
The door swings open.
Inside smells like Ethan's cologne. Coffee. Leather. I've been here hundreds of times but never like this. Never as someone breaking the law.
"Top drawer," I whisper. "Black external drive case."
Carter moves to the desk. Pulls the drawer. Locked.
He picks that lock faster. Practice making it easier.
Inside: the black case exactly where I knew it would be.
Carter holds it up. Studies my face. "How did you—"
Footsteps in the hallway.
Close. Getting closer.
Carter's hand clamps on my wrist. He yanks me toward the filing cabinet. The space behind it is narrow. Barely fits one person.
We wedge in together. His body pressed against mine. His hand covers my mouth. His other arm wraps around my waist, holding me motionless.
I can feel every point of contact. His chest against my back. His breath on my neck. His heart pounding—or is that mine?
The footsteps stop outside.
A shadow blocks the light under the door.
Carter's fingers tighten over my mouth. Neither of us breathes.
The doorknob rattles. Someone testing it. Checking.
My vision starts to tunnel. We're caught. This is over. I'm going to jail or I'm going to die and either way—
The footsteps move away. Fade. Disappear.
We stay frozen. Pressed together in the dark. Not moving. Not breathing. Making absolutely sure.
Carter's breath is warm against my ear. "Your pulse is through the roof."
"Yours too."
His arm loosens. Drops away. But neither of us moves immediately. The space is too small. Moving means more contact.
Finally he steps back. Cold air rushes between us.
"We need to finish," he says. Voice rough.
I nod. Can't speak yet.
Carter connects the external drive to Ethan's desktop computer. Starts copying files. The progress bar moves with agonizing slowness.
Three percent. Four percent.
"How long?" I watch the hallway through the cracked door.
"Six minutes. Maybe eight."
An eternity.
Five percent. Six percent.
Ethan's computer pings. New email notification. The preview flashes on screen:
From: Ethan Cross
To: Richard Cross
Subject: Timeline Acceleration
Stella's behavior has changed. Distant, evasive. I think she suspects something. We may need to accelerate timeline. Confirm New Year's Eve still feasible or if we should move sooner.
The words blur. Sharpen. Blur again.
He knows. He's noticed. They might kill me sooner.
"What timeline?" Carter reads over my shoulder. "What happens New Year's Eve?"
I die. Vanessa pushes me. I drowned.
"I don't know." The lie catches in my throat. "But we need to leave. Now."
"Files aren't—"
"Now."
Something in my voice makes him listen. He yanks the drive out. Shoves everything in his bag.
We slip into the hallway. Move fast but not running. Running looks suspicious.
My legs shake. My hands shake. Everything shakes.
We make it to the service exit. Carter pushes me toward the parking lot. "Go back to the party. Act normal. One hour."
I force myself to walk back inside. Fix my hair in the bathroom mirror. My reflection looks wild. Haunted.
I smooth my dress. Practice smiling. Walk into the main hall.
Ethan finds me immediately. "Where were you? I looked everywhere."
"Bathroom. Then got caught talking to Dr. Webb about his daughter's science fair project."
He studies my face. "You look flushed."
"It's hot. Crowded."
His eyes narrow but he doesn't push. "Let's go home. I'm tired."
No. Not yet. I need to meet Carter.
"You go ahead. I'll catch a ride with Vanessa. Girls talk about bridesmaid stuff."
Ethan's jaw tightens. "I'd prefer you come home with me."
"One hour. I promise."
He stares at me. Then nods slowly. "One hour. Don't be late."
He leaves. I waited fifteen minutes. Tell Vanessa I'm leaving. Drive straight to Carter's.
Carter's house. 1:47 AM. Files are decrypting. Progress bars crawling across three laptop screens.
I sit on his couch. My whole body won't stop shaking.
Carter paces. Stops. Turns. "That email. Your fiancé thinks you suspect something. And he's right. You do. You've known all along."
"I told you—"
"Stop lying." His voice is sharp now. Angry. "You knew exactly where that drive was. Exactly what we'd find. You're not investigating them—you already know everything."
My throat closes. The truth wants out. Wants to be spoken.
I died. I drowned. I came back.
But saying it makes me sound insane.
"I can't explain it," I whisper instead. "Not in a way you'd believe."
"Try me."
"You'd think I was crazy."
"Maybe you are. Maybe we both are." He runs his hands through his hair. Frustrated. "But I need the truth, Stella. Whatever it is. Because if Ethan accelerates his timeline, we're out of options."
My phone rings. Ethan's name.
I answer. "Hello?"
"Where are you?" Ice in his voice. "You said one hour. It's been two."
"I'm—Vanessa and I lost track of time. I'm heading home now."
"You're not with Vanessa. I called her. She said you left an hour ago."
My blood freezes.
"Come home," Ethan says quietly. "Right now. We need to talk."
The line goes dead.
I sit holding my phone. Staring at the black screen.
Carter watches from across the room. "He knows."
"Yeah."
"If you go home—"
"I have to. If I don't, he'll know for sure something's wrong."
"Stella—"
"Nine days until New Year's Eve." I stand. Grab my coat. "Unless he moves sooner. Either way, I'm out of time."
I walk out into the December cold. Get in my car.
Ethan is waiting. Suspicious. Angry. Dangerous.
And I'm driving straight toward him with stolen evidence in Carter's possession and lies that are falling apart.
My phone glows: "Where are you? I'm waiting."
I start the engine.
Nine days left to live.
Maybe less.