Harper.
The silk of the wedding dress felt like a cage, tight and unforgiving against her skin. It was supposed to be the happiest night of her life, but a cold dread had been coiling in her stomach for hours.
Caleb walked into the lavish suite, his tuxedo jacket already off, his tie loosened. He didn't smile at her.
“You’re still in that thing?” he asked, his voice flat.
“It’s our wedding night, Caleb,” she said, her voice small.
He laughed, a short, ugly sound. “Right. The wedding night.”
He circled her slowly, like a predator inspecting its catch. His eyes, the same eyes that had promised her forever, were now filled with something that looked like disgust.
“Did you really think this dress would work?” he asked.
“Work?”
“To hide it all. The bulk. The pathetic little scars on your neck from the accident.”
Harper flinched, her hand instinctively flying to her throat. “Don’t.”
“I’m tired of pretending, Harper,” he said, stopping in front of her. “So incredibly tired of having to look at you and act like I’m the luckiest man alive.”
Her heart felt like it had stopped. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about this,” he said, waving a hand at her, at the room, at their entire marriage. “This whole charade. It’s finally over.”
The bedroom door clicked open. Her stepsister, Lara, sauntered in wearing a silk robe that barely covered her perfect body.
“Is she still breathing?” Lara asked, pouting at Caleb.
Harper stared, her mind struggling to connect the pieces. “Lara? What are you doing here? Get out.”
Lara smirked, walking over to Caleb and wrapping her arms around his neck. “I think you mean, what are *you* doing here, sister? This is my room now.”
She leaned in and kissed him, a deep, passionate kiss right in front of Harper. Caleb’s hands settled on Lara’s waist, pulling her closer.
“No,” Harper whispered. The word was a puff of air, useless.
Caleb broke the kiss, his eyes still locked on Harper’s. “Did you really think I wanted you? You were a means to an end. A fat, scarred stepping stone to a fortune.”
“He wanted your money,” Lara purred, running a manicured nail down Caleb’s chest. “And your formulas. Your sad little inheritance was the only attractive thing about you.”
Harper stumbled back, hitting the edge of the bed. “You planned this. All of it.”
“From the day I met you,” Caleb confirmed without a shred of remorse. “Every compliment was a lie. Every touch was a transaction. Do you know how many times I had to force myself not to recoil when you reached for me?”
“He used to say your skin felt greasy,” Lara added, her voice dripping with poison. “He would wash his hands raw after you touched him.”
The cruelty was a physical blow, knocking the air from her lungs. Tears streamed down her face, hot and shameful.
“You’re monsters,” she choked out.
“We’re survivors,” Caleb corrected. “And you’re just in the way.” He walked over to the champagne bucket by the window. He poured a single glass.
“Let’s have a final toast,” he said, his voice sickeningly cheerful. He held the glass out to her.
“I’m not drinking anything from you,” she spat.
Caleb sighed. “Don’t make this difficult, Harper.” He grabbed her jaw, his fingers digging into her flesh, forcing her mouth open. Lara took the glass and tilted it, the cold liquid flooding Harper’s throat.
She gagged and swallowed, sputtering as they let her go.
She collapsed to the floor, coughing.
“What was that?” she gasped.
“A wedding gift,” Lara said, smiling down at her. “Something to help you sleep. Permanently.”
A sharp, searing pain started in her stomach, spreading like fire through her veins. Her limbs grew heavy, her vision blurring at the edges. She could feel her own heartbeat slowing, a struggling drum beat fading to silence.
“It’s a shame,” Caleb said, crouching down to look her in the eyes. “All that brilliance in your head. Such a genius with scents. All of it wasted in such a pathetic package. But don’t worry, your formulas are safe with me.”
“I’ll look so much better on his arm at the product launch, don’t you think?” Lara asked, kicking lightly at Harper’s expensive dress.
Harper tried to speak, to scream, to curse them, but only a faint gurgle escaped her lips. Her body was failing, but her mind was sharp, burning with a hatred so pure it was an agony all its own.
*This isn’t the end,* she thought, the words a silent vow screamed into the encroaching darkness. *I will find you. I will ruin you. I will get my revenge.*
Caleb’s face was the last thing she saw, his smug smile twisting as her world faded to black.
Cold.
Silence.
Nothing.
Then, a gasp.
A desperate, tearing breath that filled her lungs with the sterile, antiseptic scent of a hospital.
Sound rushed in next. The rhythmic, electronic beep of a heart monitor.
Her eyes fluttered open. The ceiling was white. Unfamiliar.
Confusion warred with a primal fear. She was supposed to be dead. She felt the coldness, the finality. How could she be here?
Slowly, shakily, she lifted a hand, intending to touch her face, her scarred neck. A hand entered her field of vision.
It was not her hand.
This hand was slender, elegant, with long, graceful fingers and perfectly shaped nails. The skin was pale and smooth, without a single blemish, a single scar.
She stared, mesmerized and horrified.
She lifted the other one.
It was a perfect match.
Slender. Unscarred. The hands of a stranger.
