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Mourning
publish date:
2026-10-30 13:18:10
Latest chapter
His Wife or Her Grave Her Best Friend's Betrayal
Ziva stared out the upstairs window, heart hammering against her ribs. Judy was walking up the driveway.Her best friend since high school. The girl who'd taught her how to do winged eyeliner, held her hair back when she was drunk for the first time.Judy looked disheveled. Hair falling out of its ponytail. Mascara smudged. She kept looking over her shoulder, sharp and restless.But she was alone."Don't go down there." Tyrell's voice came from behind her.Ziva turned. He was standing in the doorway, gun in hand."She's my best friend.""She's been working with James Keene."The words didn't make sense. Her brain rejected them. "What?"Tyrell pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, held it out to her.Bank statements. Wire transfers from an account registered to James Keene to Judith Alvarez. Multiple payments over two years. The last one four days ago. Fifty thousand dollars.Below that, emails. Short. Clinical.Subject at coffee shop on 5th. Met with male, mid-20s. Appe
His Wife or Her Grave The First Rule
The sunlight hurt.Ziva woke to it streaming through dusty windows. For one blissful moment, her mind was blank. Empty. Safe. Then memory crashed back like cold water.James Keene. Timothy's father. Ten years of surveillance. The man from Maine who'd groomed her at sixteen, watched her grow up, sent his son to reel her in like a fish he'd been baiting all along.It was always a trap.Ziva lay still, staring at water-stained plaster above her head. The bedroom was small. Sparse. A twin bed with sheets that smelled like mothballs. Furniture covered in white sheets like ghosts.Tyrell's childhood home.She sat up slowly. Her body ached, muscles sore from tension she'd been carrying for days. How many days had it been since the auction? Three? Four? Time had become a blur of terror and exhaustion.She was still wearing Tyrell's clothes. The sweatpants. The t-shirt that hung off one shoulder.The house was quiet.What if Tyrell had left? What if she was alone here, abandoned in this Gothic
His Wife or Her Grave Mourning
Ziva sat on the floor of Tyrell's childhood home, back pressed against the wall, staring at nothing.The house was quiet. Too quiet. Marcus had left an hour ago to run surveillance checks, leaving them alone. Dust motes drifted through shafts of early morning light filtering through boarded windows. The air smelled like abandonment.She should move. Should do something. Anything.She couldn't.The footsteps they'd heard earlier had been nothing but a raccoon in the attic, Marcus said. “The estate had been empty for fifteen years. Animals got in through broken windows, made nests in the walls.”Not a threat.Just her paranoia.Except it wasn't paranoia when people were actually hunting you, was it?Ziva pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them. She was still wearing Tyrell's oversized sweatpants and t-shirt. The clothes hung on her like a costume. Like she was playing dress-up in someone else's life.Summer. Maine. Sixteen years old.The memory surfaced without permi
His Wife or Her Grave The Reckoning
The phone felt like a live wire in her hand.Ziva stared at the photo on the screen of herself asleep, taken from inside what was supposed to be the most secure building in the city.Someone had been here. Watching her. Close enough to touch.Whoever it was hadn’t left.The realization shook her.She dropped the phone, stumbled backward. "Tyrell."He was already moving, fast. A hidden panel in the wall clicked open and he pulled out a gun."Stay behind me." His voice was calm. The kind of calm that comes when instinct has burned out fear, leaving only precision.Ziva's heart slammed against her ribs as she followed him through the penthouse.Tyrell moved systematically, checking the rooms, behind the furniture, and even the balcony forty stories up.Nothing.He spoke into his phone, never lowering the gun. "Marcus. Full sweep, there’s been a breach."Marcus' voice crackled through. "That's impossible, sir. All entry points are monitored.”"Then explain this." Tyrell stopped at the bat
His Wife or Her Grave The Point of No Return
TYRELL POV Three in the morning and the city looked like a graveyard of light.Tyrell stood at the penthouse windows, forehead against cold glass, watching traffic crawl through streets forty floors below. Normal people. Going home. Living lives that made sense.Behind him, Ziva had finally stopped crying an hour ago.She was curled on the leather couch now, asleep. Still wearing the clothes she’d put on yesterday, his oversized t-shirt and sweatpants that pooled around her ankles. Face streaked with dried tears. Hair tangled. Broken.Because of him.I saved her from one cage and locked her in another.The truth lodged in his chest like a weight he couldn’t dislodge. No logic softened it. No justification erased it.He had stolen her freedom and called it protection.She could’ve been free. If he’d just let her go that night at the auction. Paid someone trustworthy to buy her, disappear her somewhere safe with a new identity and enough money to start over, far away from him.But he c
His Wife or Her Grave The Scandal Breaks
Morning light hurt.Ziva woke in a bed that wasn’t hers, wrapped in sheets too soft to be real, like she’d fallen asleep in one life and woken up trapped in another.Her phone was buzzing. Not just buzzing but vibrating so hard it was rattling against the nightstand.She reached for it, still half-asleep, brain foggy from exhaustion and whatever sedative the doctor had given her last night after she got married.To Tyrell Smart.Her thumb unlocked the screen and suddenly she was drowning in notifications. Texts. Calls. Emails. Social media alerts flooding in so fast the phone couldn’t keep up.The first headline made her stomach drop.‘BILLIONAIRE CEO ACCUSED OF KIDNAPPING AND FORCED MARRIAGE’Her face was right there. Grainy photo from the auction, white dress, terrified expression. Next to it, a professional headshot of Tyrell looking cold and dangerous in a suit.Ziva’s hands started shaking as she scrolled.Each headline was worse than the last, louder, crueler, more certain of a
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