Chapter 1: The Night of the Storm

Rain hammered against the windshield like a thousand desperate fingers, and the wipers groaned in protest as Mark Holloway gripped the steering wheel tighter. The headlights sliced through the darkness, illuminating the lonely stretch of road that wound through the cliffs. A storm had rolled in faster than the forecast predicted, turning the night into a blur of shadows and panic. He was driving too fast. He always did when he was angry.

Beside the fireplace back home, Eleanor Holloway sat motionless, a cup of untouched tea cooling in her trembling hands. The storm outside had begun just after he left, and she had watched the trees bend like whispers of warning. Something in her gut twisted — that old instinct she could never explain. They had argued again, this time about the company’s finances, but underneath it, something deeper had been brewing. Secrets. Ones she never dared to voice aloud.

Miles away, Mark’s car skidded as thunder cracked above. The tires lost grip, and the vehicle veered violently toward the guardrail. His heart pounded, time slowed, and for one fleeting moment, his thoughts weren’t of anger but of regret the look in Eleanor’s eyes before he slammed the door. Then came the plunge. Metal screamed as the car tumbled down the ravine, swallowed by darkness and rain.

By dawn, the police found the wreckage half-submerged in the river. They said it looked like an accident. The local papers called it tragic. But when the officers came knocking, Eleanor didn’t cry. She stood perfectly still in her black robe, her eyes glassy, her voice calm. She only asked one question “Did anyone else see him before he left?”

At the funeral, whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through dry leaves. Neighbors murmured about the argument they overheard. Some said she didn’t look like a grieving widow; others said shock could do strange things. But Eleanor didn’t care about any of them. What haunted her wasn’t the accident it was the letter she found tucked in Mark’s briefcase two nights later.

The paper was smudged from the rain, but one line was clear: “If she finds out, everything falls apart.”

That single sentence became a knot in Eleanor’s chest. Who was she? What was Mark hiding? Each question dug deeper into the cracks of her sanity. The world thought the story ended in the crash, but for Eleanor, it had only begun.

As the night wind howled through the empty house, she poured herself another cup of tea, staring out into the storm-soaked garden. Somewhere in the darkness, she thought she saw a figure move. The shape lingered just long enough to make her heart race before fading into the rain.

And then

the phone rang.