I stared at the diamond ring on my finger, still unable to believe it was real.
“You’re sure?” I asked for the third time.
Ryan laughed, squeezing my hand across the candlelit table. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Our anniversary dinner was perfect—the expensive restaurant, the wine, the proposal I’d dreamed of for two years.
“I need the restroom,” Ryan said, standing. “Order dessert?”
“Sure.”
I watched him walk away, smiling at my ring.
Then his phone buzzed.
It lay face-up on the seat beside me.
SARAH: Did you tell her yet? Or are you still playing the perfect boyfriend?
My smile vanished.
My hand trembled as I scrolled.
When are you going to end this?
Not yet. I need more time.
You proposed to her??
Trust me. I know what I’m doing.
Footsteps. Ryan returning.
I shoved the phone back and forced a smile.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Just overwhelmed,” I said. “Happy overwhelmed.”
He relaxed. “Good. I booked us a weekend trip. A cabin in the mountains. No cell service. Just us.”
No cell service.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. When Ryan finally snored beside me, I searched his messages.
Sarah Mitchell.
Months of texts.
Once she’s gone, we can be together.
Make it look like an accident.
Life insurance—$500,000.
I dropped the phone.
Ryan was going to kill me.
The proposal wasn’t love. It was a setup.
I thought about calling the police—but fear stopped me. What if he moved faster?
Instead, I planned.
I told my best friend everything. Bought a small voice recorder and hid it in my jacket. Shared my GPS location with friends.
I wasn’t going to run.
Friday came. The cabin was beautiful. Isolated. Exactly as planned.
“No signal,” Ryan said cheerfully.
The recorder was already on.
The next morning, he suggested a hike.
“There’s an overlook,” he said. “You’ll love it.”
At the cliff’s edge, he smiled. “Come closer.”
I stayed back. “I know about Sarah.”
His face changed.
“I saw the messages,” I said. “The insurance. The accident.”
He stepped toward me. “It’s not personal. I need the money.”
“You were going to murder me.”
He grabbed my arm. “You should’ve stayed quiet.”
I screamed.
Then voices exploded from the trees.
“POLICE! LET HER GO!”
Ryan froze. Officers rushed in, guns drawn.
I pulled out the recorder. “I told people.”
Ryan was arrested on the spot. Sarah was arrested that afternoon.
Months later, I sat in court as Ryan was sentenced—twenty-five years. Sarah got fifteen.
I moved away. Started over.
I slipped the engagement ring off my finger and left it behind.
He had planned my death.
But I survived.
