The Deserted Wife

My anniversary flight was about to board when my husband' s assistant, Chloe, appeared, tears streaming down her face, begging for my ticket because her mother was supposedly dying. It was absurd, but I told her to find another way, unaware of the trap I was walking into.

When I arrived home, my husband, Liam, confronted me, accusing me of abandoning Chloe. He then offered me a glass of water, which, unbeknownst to me, was drugged. I woke up alone, stranded in a scorching desert, the sun a blazing inferno above me.

A helicopter appeared overhead, and I saw Liam with Chloe, who was holding a phone, livestreaming my torment with the hashtag #AvaWalksTheDesert. They boasted about my family' s supposed bankruptcy and ordered me to apologize to Chloe. When I refused, Liam' s bodyguards took my shoes, leaving me barefoot on the burning sand, where rusty nails were then dumped in front of me.

I forced myself to walk, nails piercing my feet, leaving a trail of blood. The doctor on board screamed that I was losing too much blood, but Liam was unconcerned. Then, a sack of highly venomous desert vipers was dumped in my path, preying on my deepest fear.

I stood frozen, paralyzed by terror, as one viper slithered toward me and bit my calf. The doctor cried out for antivenom, but Chloe "accidentally" knocked the vial, shattering it. Liam, more concerned with his pride and the livestream than my life, demanded I apologize to Chloe and the camera for his "show."

"Never," I rasped, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Just as Liam' s bodyguards forced me to my knees, a military-grade helicopter descended from the sky.

Chapter 1

The airport buzzed with the low hum of people going places. I checked my watch. My flight was boarding in an hour. It was a last-minute booking on a budget airline, but it didn't matter. All I cared about was getting home to Liam for our anniversary.

Just as I found a seat near the gate, a frantic voice called my name.

"Ava!"

I looked up. It was Chloe Miller, my husband's assistant. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy. She looked like a mess.

"Chloe? What are you doing here? What's wrong?"

She rushed to me, grabbing my arm. Her grip was tight.

"Ava, please, you have to help me."

Her voice was choked with sobs.

"My mom... she's in the hospital. It's bad. I have to get home, but every flight is booked. This is the only one."

She pointed a trembling finger at the gate sign. My flight.

"Please, can I have your ticket? I'll pay you back, I'll pay double! I need to see her."

I stared at her. The request was absurd. This wasn't a bus pass; it was a plane ticket with my name on it.

"Chloe, that's impossible. I can't just give you my ticket. The name won't match your ID."

I tried to be gentle, but the whole situation felt wrong.

"You can say you're me!" she pleaded, her voice getting louder. "Please, Ava. My mom could be dying."

Her desperation felt theatrical. I pulled my arm away.

"No, Chloe. That's fraud. And I'm going home for my anniversary with Liam. Find another way. Rent a car, take a train. There are options."

Her face fell. The tears stopped abruptly, replaced by a cold, hard glare I had never seen before. She straightened up, her "angelic" mask slipping.