Chapter 7
The wedding still pushed through. No delays. No doubts. No shame. Every big name in the Masterson underworld showed up like it was the damn coronation of a king. Mafia dons, arms dealers, cartel heirs, senators with bloody hands. All dressed to the nines and smiling for cameras like they weren’t sitting on piles of bodies.
And me? I was tucked away in the back corner of the ballroom. Wearing a muted lilac sheath dress that used to be Hakeem’s favorite. Subtle. Vintage. Clean. Just like he liked his wife to look. But I wasn’t his wife anymore. Not really. Now I was just a shadow in the room. Watching him stand there, in front of everyone, marrying Margaret Lawrence.
The woman he swore was dead. The woman he used to cry over in his sleep. The woman he once buried, then pulled back from the grave like she was some cursed jewel he couldn’t stop chasing. And he was smiling. That same damn smile he gave me the day he asked me to marry him. Like the whole world was right in front of him. It burned.
I heard the whispers start before the ceremony even began.
“That’s Hakeem’s old wife, right?”
“She actually came? Shit. If that were me, I’d have set this whole place on fire.”
“You think she’s got the balls? She used to beg him just to eat dinner with her after Margaret came back. She’s a trained dog now.”
“Didn’t he strap her brother to a crane once? Just to scare her into dropping a lawsuit?”
“Yeah. Loyalty’s not optional in Hakeem’s circle. It’s survival.”
Every word sliced deeper than the last. I sat there like stone. No reaction. Not even a blink. I’d learned how to survive under Hakeem’s gaze. I knew how to act like it didn’t hurt. But it
did.
The officiant’s voice cut through the room, clear and loud.
“Do you, Hakeem Lyon Masterson, take Margaret Elaine Lawrence as your lawful wife?”
I held my breath. Hakeem looked at Margaret like she hung the goddamn moon. He brushed her hair behind her ear, smiled soft and low, and said, “I do.”
And just like that, whatever was left in me snapped. But I couldn’t stand it. Didn’t scream. I stayed in my chair and watched my nightmare get sealed with a kiss.
Then came the next part.
“And now, the ring bearer will bring the rings.”
Aziel walked out, tiny feet slow against the polished floor, wearing that rose–colored suit that Margaret had picked. My baby brother. Tears lined in his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. I saw Hakeem glare at him from the altar and he immediately looked down. He handed over the ring.
The one he made for me The one that used to sit on my finger “The Eternal Rond he’d
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The one he made for me. The one that used to sit on my finger. “The Eternal Bond,” he’d
called it. Custom–made. Blood diamond. Worth enough to buy a small island. Now it was sliding onto Margaret’s hand.
The crowd clapped. And Hakeem kissed his bride like she was the final piece of his empire. But even with his lips on Margaret, his eyes searched for me. He wanted to see me crack. Wanted me to be broken. Humiliated. Still his. But I looked back. And I smiled. That was the last thing he saw.
Because right then, the ceiling above the ballroom blew open.
BOOM.
Glass shook. Chandeliers trembled. A wave of gasps tore through the room as photos started raining from the rafters like a goddamn blizzard. Black and white. Full color. Explicit. Private. All of Margaret. Her in bed. Not with Hakeem. But with others. Politicians. Rivals. Enemies. Women. Men. Some of them married. Some of them dead. One photo showed her laughing, blood on her hands. Another showed her whispering into the ear of a known traitor. And another–my favorite–showed her handing off a brown envelope to one of the same men who tried to assassinate Hakeem’s father.
Gasps turned into screams. Someone shouted, “Is this real?!” Cameras flashed. Phones were already uploading the images live to every underworld server.
And in the chaos, smoke bombs rolled in. Thick. Blinding. Black and hot with chemical stench. The orchestra dropped their instruments. Guests stampeded for the exits. Security lost their damn minds.
And in the middle of it all, a figure darted up the aisle, snatched Aziel by the waist, and vanished into the smoke. Right on time.
I grabbed my clutch, kicked off my heels, and ran. Straight into the women’s bathroom. Locked the door. Dropped the bag on the counter. My hand was already shaking when I pulled the scalpel out. Deep breath.
I sliced just beneath the skin of my upper arm. The pain was sharp. Steady. Blood ran down in long rivulets, soaking the sink. But I didn’t stop until I felt it. A hard little speck lodged in my flesh. I dug it out with the tip of the blade. My vision blurred but I held steady. Finally, it popped free. Tiny. Metallic. Still blinking red. Hakeem’s tracker.
I wrapped it in tissue, opened the window, and pressed it into the gloved hand waiting outside. The man didn’t say a word. Just disappeared into the night. I stared after him. Then whispered, “Goodbye, Hakeem.” I kicked off the rest of my dress, pulled on the black pants and hoodie I’d stuffed inside the stall earlier, climbed out the bathroom window-
And ran. I didn’t look back.
Inside the ballroom, the smoke was starting to clear when Margaret let out a piercing cry.
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Everyone turned. She staggered toward the altar, hand clutching her chest, eyes wild. Then, right in front of the crowd, she collapsed. Hakeem caught her just before she hit the floor. “Margaret?” he called, panic lacing his voice for the first time that night. “Margaret!”
Her eyes fluttered. Her lips trembled. He roared for a medic. Security scrambled. Guests stared. And somewhere through the noise, someone whispered:
“She did this.”
“Harmony.”
That was all it took. Hakeem turned, fire in his eyes, and shouted my name like a death
sentence.
“HARMONY!”
His voice shook the walls. But I was already gone.
And this time? I wasn’t coming back.
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