"Are you sure you want to marry him?" Joan's brow furrowed. "There are plenty of ways to make their lives miserable without throwing yourself into the fire."
She shook her head immediately. "Absolutely not. The way he looked at her just now made me sick."
She paused, something clicking behind her eyes. "Wait—you said there were other ways. What did you mean?"
I didn't answer directly. Instead, I asked her a question.
"The kidnapping in our last life. Have you ever wondered who was behind it?"
Joan's expression went blank. She frowned, thinking hard—then her head snapped up, pupils contracting.
"It was... Gwendolen Pruitt?"
"Yes." I confirmed her suspicion.
Gwendolen was my cousin.
She'd been born rotten, cruelty woven into her very bones.
Back in school, she'd led the pack of bullies—once locked a classmate in the bathroom and doused her with ice water, all because the girl was prettier than her. When the incident blew up, she got slapped with a major disciplinary mark. Later, she beat someone badly enough to land them in the hospital, made the evening news, and earned herself a stint in juvenile detention.