Chapter 3 - Captain’s Table
At seven thirty, Gregory escorted me into the ship’s private dining salon as though nothing had happened.
His hand rested against the small of my back.
To everyone else, it looked affectionate.
I could feel the warning in his fingers.
Captain Marcus Bennett greeted us near the windows.
Beside him stood the ship’s head of security, Elena Ruiz.
She was in her forties, composed, watchful, and far more interested in body language than small talk.
I recognized the type immediately.
Elena recognized something in me too.
“Mrs. Hartman.”
“Ashlynn is fine.”
Gregory squeezed my waist.
“My wife is still adjusting to the name.”
Elena’s eyes dropped briefly toward his hand.
Then back to my face.
Dinner began.
Gregory performed beautifully.
He told stories.
He made everyone laugh.
He touched my shoulder.
He poured my wine.
He played the perfect new husband.
Then Captain Bennett mentioned that the ship would reach Nassau the following morning.
Gregory interrupted.
“We won’t be going ashore.”
I looked at him.
“That’s news to me.”
He laughed.
“Ashlynn hates tourist crowds.”
“I actually wanted to go.”
Silence flickered around the table.
Gregory’s smile held.
“You told me yesterday you preferred staying aboard.”
“No.”
I lifted my glass.
“I didn’t.”
Elena watched both of us carefully.
After dinner, I excused myself to the restroom.
Elena followed two minutes later.
She washed her hands beside me without looking over.
“Do you feel safe returning to your cabin?”
I stared at her reflection.
That question changed everything.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because I have worked security long enough to recognize when someone is measuring exits.”
My throat tightened.
I had been doing exactly that.
“I’m fine.”
Elena dried her hands.
“That wasn’t my question.”
I looked toward the door.
Then whispered.
“My husband threatened me with a baseball bat.”
Her expression became still.
“Is the weapon still inside the cabin?”
“Yes.”
“Were you injured?”
“No.”
“Do you want security intervention?”
I almost said yes.
Then I remembered the postnuptial agreement.
Claire.
Gregory’s apparent control over my access.
And the possibility that I had no idea who aboard this ship worked for the Hartmans.
“I want documentation.”
Elena nodded slowly.
“Come with me.”
We entered a small staff office connected to the salon corridor.
She opened a secure incident form.
I gave her the facts.
No exaggeration.
No speculation.
Just facts.
When we finished, Elena printed a reference number and slipped it into my hand.
“If anything changes, call extension seven-seven-seven from any ship phone.”
I tucked the paper into my bra.
Then Elena lowered her voice.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Your husband contacted security before dinner.”
My stomach dropped.
“About me?”
“He claimed you experienced a psychological episode in the suite and became violent.”
I stared at her.
“He attacked me.”
“I believe evidence.”
She held my gaze.
“And right now, both of you are creating it.”
The door opened.
Gregory stood there.
Smiling.
May you like
“Creating what?”
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