Under the glittering lights, they looked like a picture-perfect couple—the heir apparent and his beautiful bride, a union that would strengthen the Marconi name for generations.
While I stood there like a wet stain on a white rug.
I let out a breathless, bitter laugh and turned to go, but a hand blocked my way.
Piper.
She smiled like she'd already won—like she'd been winning since the day she first spread her legs for my fiancé.
"Leaving so soon?" she cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "But I haven't told you how that old woman died."
My heart stopped.
The garden noise faded to a dull roar, replaced by the thundering of my own pulse.
"What did you just say?"
She leaned in close, her perfume cloying and thick, her voice low enough that only I could hear—a whisper meant for the damned.
"I told her if she wanted the money back, she'd have to film herself doing something… special. You know, the kind men pay for." She grinned, her teeth white and sharp in the lamplight. "But she got all high and mighty. She refused and even had the nerve to insult me and my mom."
A twisted laugh escaped her painted lips.
"So I gave her what she deserved."