PART 2 — The Woman Who Knew Too Much

“Ryan, why does your wife work this flight?”

Ashley’s voice cut through first class.

Every head in the first row turned.

Ryan looked at me.

I looked at him.

For the first time in nine years, I watched my husband realize that he had nowhere to hide.

The envelope from Patricia was still inside my hand.

Eight words.

He is not going to Cancun for love.

I folded the paper once and slipped it into the inner pocket of my uniform.

Then I walked toward first class.

Ashley was still staring at me.

“Is she really your wife?”

Ryan opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Ashley looked at me again.

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

One word.

That was all I gave her.

Her face went completely still.

Ryan finally whispered, “Valerie—”

“Please remain seated, Mr.

Carter.”

His jaw tightened.

Ashley turned toward him.

“You told me you were divorced.”

Ryan’s face changed.

“Ashley, this isn't the place.”

“You said the papers were already signed.”

“I said we were handling it.”

“You said she moved out.”

Ryan glanced at me.

“She did.”

I almost laughed.

I had spent nine years living in the same house with him.

I had cooked his meals.

Paid the household bills.

Remembered his appointments.

Washed his shirts.

Sat beside him at funerals.

Held his hand when his father died.

And apparently, according to the story he had sold this woman, I had already disappeared.

Interesting.

I leaned toward Ashley just enough to keep my voice professional.

“Ma'am, if you need anything during the flight, please let me know.”

She stared at me.

“You're really going to act like this is normal?”

I paused.

“No.”

Her eyes widened.

“But this is my workplace.”

Then I walked away.

Behind me, I heard Ryan whisper her name.

“Ashley.”

“You lied to me.”

“Ashley, listen.”

“You said she was unstable.”

“I never said—”

“You said she was obsessed with you.”

Silence.

I continued down the aisle.

The other flight attendant looked at me with wide eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Perfectly.”

That was the funny thing about years of being underestimated.

People assumed calm meant broken.

Sometimes calm meant finished.

The boarding doors closed twelve minutes later.

I stood at the front of the aircraft while the captain made his announcement.

Flight 782.

Dallas to Cancun.

Three hours and twelve minutes.

Three hours and twelve minutes trapped thirty thousand feet above the Gulf with the man who had lied to me for months.

But I had no intention of spending them fighting.

I had something better.

Evidence.

The aircraft began to taxi.

Ryan didn't look at me.

Ashley did.

She stared at me as if I were a puzzle she couldn't solve.

Once we reached cruising altitude, first-class service began.

I pushed the champagne cart forward.

Ryan immediately shook his head.

“No champagne.”

Ashley looked at him.

“You ordered it.”

“I changed my mind.”

I stopped beside them.

“Your special request included champagne service.”

Ryan's eyes met mine.

“Just water.”

“Of course.”

I poured water into two glasses.

Ashley barely touched hers.

Then she leaned toward me.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Certainly.”

“How long have you been married?”

Ryan closed his eyes.

“Ashley.”

She ignored him.

“Nine years.”

Her expression changed.

“Nine?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed.

“And you've been separated?”

“No.”

Ryan's hand slammed softly against the armrest.

“Valerie.”

I looked at him.

“What?”

His voice dropped.

“Enough.”

I smiled.

“I'm working.”

Ashley stared at him.

“You told me nine months.”

Ryan froze.

Nine months.

So that was the timeline.

He had told her our marriage was effectively over nine months ago.

I remembered exactly what had happened nine months earlier.

Ryan had asked me to sign a refinancing document.

I had refused.

Not because I didn't trust him.

Because I had discovered something strange.

The document transferred ownership of several construction properties into a new company.

Carter Development Holdings.

A company I had never heard of.

Ryan had told me it was a routine restructuring.

I hadn't signed.

Three weeks later, his attitude toward me changed.

He became colder.

More impatient.

More desperate for me to leave.

At the time, I thought it was because of Ashley.

Now I wasn't so sure.

The envelope in my pocket suddenly felt heavier.

Patricia's photograph.

Ryan.

Ashley.

A courthouse.

And Patricia herself.

Why?

The plane continued toward Cancun.

I finished first-class service and returned to the galley.

My phone vibrated.

One message.

From an unknown number.

Don’t confront Ryan until you know what is in the Carter Trust.

I stared at the screen.

Another message appeared.

Your husband thinks you don’t know about the $4.8 million transfer.

My heart stopped.

Then a third.

Ask him who owns the Cancun property.

I looked toward first class.

Ryan was whispering urgently to Ashley.

His face was pale.

I took a screenshot.

Then I deleted nothing.

Because now I understood.

This wasn't simply an affair.

Ryan hadn't lied about Cancun because he wanted a romantic vacation.

He was going somewhere.

For something.

And somehow, I was connected to it.

The cabin lights dimmed.

Passengers settled into their seats.

I looked at the passenger manifest.

Ryan Carter.

Ashley Monroe.

Anniversary celebration.

First class.

And beside their names was a booking code.

I had noticed it earlier but hadn't thought much about it.

Now I recognized the pattern.

Corporate group booking.

Not personal travel.

I pulled up the reservation details on the crew system.

The ticket wasn't purchased by Ryan.

It had been purchased by a company called

Carter Coastal Ventures LLC

.

My pulse quickened.

Carter Coastal Ventures was not Ryan's construction company.

It was one of the shell companies I had discovered three months earlier.

The same company that had received money from Carter Development Holdings.

Four point eight million dollars.

I stared at the screen.

Then I looked toward Ryan.

He was asleep.

Or pretending to be.

Ashley was awake.

She was looking directly at me.

I stepped back into the galley.

My phone vibrated again.

This time the message contained an address.

Marina Vista Resort.

Suite 1804.

Then:

That’s where Ryan is going tomorrow.

Not today.

Today he needs you to believe Cancun is the destination.

I read it twice.

What did that mean?

Then another message appeared.

Check the return passenger list.

I opened it.

Ryan Carter.

Ashley Monroe.

But the return date was four days later.

There was another passenger attached to their booking.

Patricia Carter.

My mother-in-law.

I felt cold.

She wasn't simply warning me.

She was involved.

And suddenly the courthouse photograph made sense.

Patricia wasn't helping Ryan hide an affair.

She was helping him hide something else.

Something involving me.

I locked my phone.

Then I heard footsteps.

Ryan stood in the galley doorway.

“Valerie.”

I turned.

“What do you need?”

He looked around.

“Can we talk?”

“We're in the middle of a flight.”

“I know.”

His voice was different.

Not arrogant.

Not angry.

Afraid.

“What happened to you?” he whispered.

I stared at him.

“Nothing happened to me.”

“You're acting strange.”

“No.”

I smiled.

“I just stopped explaining myself.”

He looked at me for several seconds.

Then he stepped closer.

“Whatever you think you saw—”

“I saw you board a plane with another woman.”

“Valerie—”

“I saw the anniversary reservation.”

“That was Ashley's idea.”

I almost laughed.

“Was the lie about Austin her idea too?”

His expression hardened.

“You don't understand.”

“I understand perfectly.”

“No, you don't.”

He lowered his voice.

“This trip isn't what you think.”

That sentence landed exactly where he intended.

But instead of reacting, I asked:

“Then what is it?”

He stopped.

For the first time, Ryan realized he had walked into his own trap.

“You'll find out soon.”

“That's not an answer.”

“It will be.”

Then he turned.

I watched him walk back to his seat.

I didn't stop him.

Because now I knew something important.

Ryan was nervous.

And nervous men made mistakes.

I intended to let him make several.