Chapter 1

At 2:00 AM, I scrolled past a viral post.

The headline read: **[My husband’s first six wives are all dead. I’m number seven.]**

It was posted three years ago.

The account had already been deactivated.

But screenshots of the post had been reshared over thirty thousand times.

I stared at the image on my screen, a cold shiver running down my spine.

It wasn't because of the text.

It was because—

The face of the woman in that screenshot looked exactly like mine.

My name is Hazel. I’m twenty-eight.

Three months ago, I married Julian Vance.

He is fifteen years older than me. He is a prominent tech mogul in Seattle—elegant, generous, and incredibly charming. He spent two whole years chasing me before I finally said yes.

Everyone told me how lucky I was.

"Hazel really hit the jackpot. How did she land a guy like him?"

"He's handsome, filthy rich, and completely devoted. He’s a catch of a lifetime."

"I heard his late wife passed away years ago. He stayed single for so long, and now he’s finally moving on."

Hearing those words always made my heart flutter.

Julian really was perfect.

He remembered every little thing I liked. He would drive thirty minutes in the middle of the night just to get me my favorite dessert. He would bring warm takeout to my office when I worked late. He would hold me and soothe me until midnight whenever I was upset.

From the day we met to the day we married, he had never once raised his voice at me.

On our wedding day, he looked at me, his eyes rimmed with red.

"Hazel," he whispered, "I’ve finally found you."

I thought this was what perfect love looked like.

Until today.

It was the weekend. Julian had gone to the office for a meeting, leaving me home alone to clean up the study.

Usually, he didn't let me in here, claiming it held highly confidential business documents.

But today, he had smiled and told me I could tidy it up if I wanted to.

I began taking the books out one by one to dust them. When I reached the third shelf, I noticed a hollow panel behind a row of encyclopedias.

Inside the hidden compartment was a thick, heavy manila folder.

I hesitated for a second, but curiosity won. I opened it.

Inside were six sets of files.

On the first page of each file was a small passport photo.

Six different women.

Different faces, different ages, but all strikingly beautiful.

Attached to the back of each file was a series of documents.

A copy of a marriage certificate.

A death certificate.

A deed to a cemetery plot.

The very last page was a handwritten spreadsheet.

Name, age, date of marriage, date of death, cause of death.

First wife: Audrey, 26. Married: 03.12.2015. Died: 01.08.2016. Cause of death: Car accident.

Second wife: Chloe, 25. Married: 06.21.2016. Died: 02.14.2017. Cause of death: Drowning.

Third wife: Brooke, 27. Married: 09.03.2017. Died: 05.19.2018. Cause of death: Fall from a balcony.

Fourth wife: Diana, 26. Married: 11.11.2018. Died: 07.23.2019. Cause of death: House fire.

Fifth wife: Elena, 28. Married: 01.05.2020. Died: 10.30.2020. Cause of death: Carbon monoxide poisoning.

Sixth wife: Fiona, 27. Married: 04.17.2021. Died: 02.08.2022. Cause of death: Accidental fall.

My hands began to shake violently.

Julian had told me he only had one late wife, who died of an illness.

But there were six.

Six women. Six wives. Six death certificates.

The longest marriage lasted a year and two months. The shortest was only nine months.

Was he marrying them?

Or was he murdering them?

I flipped to the very last page.

The seventh wife.

The page was mostly blank, except for one completed row:

Name: Hazel.

Date of Marriage: 03.12.2024.

Date of Death: —

Cause of Death: —

I stared at the blank spaces, and my blood ran absolutely cold.

Right then, the sound of the front door unlocking echoed through the house.

Julian was back.