Chapter 2

The hospital air was cold and smelled of antiseptic. A single, harsh fluorescent light hummed above us in the private waiting room the Beaumonts had arranged. It wasn' t a gesture of kindness; it was a way to keep us hidden, to control the situation.

Sophia and I sat on a stiff leather couch, our ruined wedding dresses a grotesque reminder of the day' s horror. We had refused to change. The bloodstains felt like the only real thing left.

A doctor finally came in, his face grim. He avoided our eyes.

"I' m sorry," he said, the words practiced and hollow. "Their injuries were too severe. We did everything we could, but they didn' t make it."

The humming of the light was the only sound in the room. Sophia let out a choked sob that tore through the silence. My own grief was a heavy, suffocating weight in my chest, leaving no room for air, no room for tears.

They were gone. Our kind, gentle fathers, who had worked their whole lives with calloused hands so we could have a better future, were dead. Murdered on our wedding day.

The doctor mumbled his condolences again and quickly left, as if he couldn' t bear to be in the same room with our pain.

A few minutes later, I heard voices from the hallway. Liam and Ethan. Their tone wasn' t sad or regretful. It was irritated.

"Is Bella okay?" Liam asked. "She was so shaken up. We should get her home."

"I gave her a sedative," Ethan replied. "She' s resting in one of the other rooms. Poor thing, having to go through that. I' ll kill those bastards if they ever..." He trailed off, probably realizing they were already dead. "Well, good riddance."

My blood ran cold. They weren' t talking about us, their wives. They weren' t mourning our fathers. Their only concern was for Isabella Stone.

Isabella. The girl they had both grown up with, the daughter of a neighboring wealthy family. I had heard the stories. They were both infatuated with her, had been since they were teenagers. A beautiful, delicate girl who always seemed to need their protection. I had thought it was a silly childhood crush, that their feelings for Sophia and me were real.

I was a fool.

The scene from the wedding replayed in my mind, crystal clear this time. I saw Isabella standing near the gardens. I saw her glance around, a sly, calculating look on her face when she thought no one was watching. I saw her deliberately hook her finger into the seam of her own dress and rip it.

Then, I saw her eyes lock onto my father and Mr. Clark as they walked by, smiling and chatting, completely oblivious. Her expression shifted in an instant. The tears welled up, her face crumpled into a mask of terror. It was a performance. A perfect, deadly performance.

And Liam and Ethan had bought every second of it.

Sophia must have been thinking the same thing. She stood up, her body trembling with rage. "I' m going to kill them."

"No," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. I grabbed her hand. "We need proof."

It came from an unexpected place. A young catering assistant, a boy no older than seventeen, found us an hour later. He looked terrified, but his eyes were kind.

"I saw what happened," he whispered, glancing nervously down the hall. "The whole thing. I was recording a video for the wedding company' s social media page, just getting some background shots."

He held out his phone.

"I didn' t know what to do. The Beaumonts... they' re powerful. But this... this isn' t right."

My hands shook as I took the phone. Sophia and I huddled together, watching the small screen.

The video was clear. It showed Isabella, alone. It showed her tearing her own dress. It showed her waiting, her face calm and patient, until our fathers walked into the frame. Then, it showed her manufactured scream, the pointing finger, the fake tears.

It was all there. Undeniable proof of her vicious, calculated lie.

A new feeling pushed through the grief. It was cold and hard and sharp. It was the desire for justice.

"Let' s go," I said to Sophia, my voice a low growl. I held the phone like a weapon.

We found them in the hospital' s private lounge, sitting with Isabella, who was pretending to sleep on a sofa, her head in Liam' s lap.

We walked in, the blood on our dresses a stark accusation.

"We have something you need to see," I said, my voice ringing with a strength I didn' t know I possessed.