Travis’s breath caught. The remote slipped from his fingers as he stared at the screen. The camera zoomed in on the bride, her hair lighter, her features slightly different. But he saw it.
The curve of her lips. The way she tilted her head.
His heart slammed into his ribs.
“Zoe,” he whispered.
Madison snapped to attention, her face draining of color. “No,” she rasped, shaking her head. “No, that’s not possible. She’s dead. She’s —”
Travis bolted upright, grabbing his phone with trembling fingers. The wedding had already happened — hours ago.
He dialed.
“Who are you calling?” Madison screeched.
Travis didn’t answer. The line rang, and every second stretched like torture until a smooth, smug voice answered.
“Hello, Travis,” Preston drawled.
Travis’s throat tightened. “Where is she?” he rasped. “Where’s my wife?”
Preston chuckled, low and vicious. “Your wife?” he echoed, voice dripping with mockery. “I think you’re confused, Travis. My wife is right here.”
Travis’s vision blurred with rage. “Put her on the phone,” he demanded, voice cracking.
There was a beat of silence, and then —
“I’m not your wife,” a voice said, soft and lethal. “My name is Emily.”