I applied one last swipe of lipstick and pressed my lips together.
“Scarlett.”
I didn’t respond.
“Scarlett,” he said again, softer. Like that name still meant something. Like he had the right to say it. “I can’t believe you’re actually marrying a man in a comal just to punish me for choosing Alina.”
That made me laugh. God, it was a beautiful sound. Light, musical, poisonous.
I turned slowly, letting him take it all in–my dress, my face, the way my veil caught the light like spilled oil. I walked over to him, hips swaying, heels clicking on marble like countdowns to execution.
When I was close enough to kiss him, I smiled. Sweet. Soft. Almost kind.
“No, Winston,” I whispered, letting my fingertips trace the edge of his lapel. “I’m marrying Colombo to burn you alive.”
His breath hitched.I leaned in just a little more. My lips brushed his cheek as I murmured the rest.
“And I’m bringing your little bitch bride with you.”
I pulled back. “I hope hell has a honeymoon suite.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, broken open and silent.
And I? I turned my back on him like he was a corpse I’d already buried.
Because he was.
The music started low and eerie while the media was swarming outside. I -stepped forward, one heel at a time, down the aisle lined with ghost–white lilies
and marble saints that had seen too much blood to be holy anymore.
All eyes were on me.
Of course they were.
I was dressed like a prophecy–a black bridal gown clinging to every inch of me. There were murmurs. I caught them under the music, soft as sin..
“She’s stunning.”
“That dress–my God.”
“She looks like a curse. Is that really Scarlett?”
19 May
And then there was Alina.
85%1
Tucked to the side with her too–tight curls and too–bright smile, she was chuckling behind her phone. Taking pictures of me–probably mocking them in her little group chat with fake heiresses and drugstore lips. I could almost hear it: “Look at her, marrying a coma just for attention.” She thought she was funny.
But what made me smile was the man sitting beside her.
Winston.
He was stiff, and his eyes were locked on me, but I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink. Was he mad? Or just guilty? Honestly, I didn’t give a damn. He’d chosen her. He’d made his bed.
Now I was walking past him to lay beside another man.
Zacharias Colombo.
He was at the front–laid in a hospital bed propped near the altar like a saint made of sorrow and silk sheets. Tubes threaded through his arms, his chest barely rising under the white linens, Twenty–nine. Unconscious. Royalty in a vegetative state.
The heir.
The myth.
The sleeping prince carved in ivory and bruises. But even like this–barely alive -he was still fucking beautiful. I remembered him. I always had.
Back when I was at university, hiding knives behind my charm and skipping exams to help my father’s men broker arms deals, I would sometimes see Zacharias from a distance. We shared one class–political psychology. He always sat three rows behind me, quiet, brooding, unknowable. I had a crush -on him so sharp it hurt.
Until Alina saw him.
Until Alina said, “Daddy, I want him.”
And just like that, I buried everything I felt like a good daughter. Like a loyal sister. Like a fool.
But now she had Creed, Or Winston. Or whatever his name really was. Now she had her ring and her lies and her spotlight.
And I had this. I walked toward the altar slowly, my heels echoing like pistol
shots
on the old stone floor. The priest–a hollow–eyed man with a voice like dust–began the vows in a tone so quiet I almost didn’t hear them.
2/4 35.25%
iv eves
I kept on Zacharias.
He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch.
But I did. When the time came, I said two words.
“I do.”
And my voice didn’t crack. Not even once.
I leaned down. Closer. Close enough to see the faint stubble on his jaw, close enough to smell antiseptic and something deeper–something like memory. “This kiss is for the cameras,” I whispered softly, almost to myself. “But if you wake up and remember me… maybe we’ll make it real.”
I pressed my lips to his. And that’s when it happened.
A twitch.
A flicker.
The gasp behind me was audible. One of the Colombos stood, clutching their chest.
Zacharias’s eyes fluttered open–slowly, like a blade being unsheathed. Hist lashes lifted, and his gaze found mine like a magnet. His hand moved, barely, but it moved. His fingers grazed mine.
His lips parted, dry and cracked.
“…Scarlett?” he whispered.
The whole chapel exhaled like they’d been holding their breath for a year.
Then came the chaos.
One of the old Colombos staggered to their feet, crossing themselves with trembling hands. Another fumbled for their phone, already dialing. The whispers swept through the pews like wildfire:
“The heir has awakened.”
“The marriage is valid.”
“The bloodline survives.”
And then-
“No.”
A voice, Sharp. Unhinged.
“No no no no–this isn’t real! He wasn’t supposed to wake up!”
Alina.
Chapter 10
12:14 Mon, 19 May G M
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She was on her feet now, knocking over the small chair behind her, her phone clattering to the marble floor. Her smile was gone. Her mask cracked in two. Her voice pitched into something almost childlike in its disbelief.
“She drugged him! Or–or staged this! He hasn’t moved in months–he was mine! He was supposed to be mine!”
All eyes turned to her.
Even Winston’s.
Even our father’s..
But I didn’t turn.
I kept my eyes on Zacharias. My father looked at me like I’d handed him the world on a silver platter. But this time, I didn’t do it for him.
I let my lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile.
“You’re finally awake now,” I whispered, voice smooth as silk but sharp enough.
to slit a throat.
“And I’m your wife.”
