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My sister, Briana Crawford, ran away from her wedding, and the Crawford family shoved me forward to calm Maurice Langston's fury. They said his mind was twisted by his disability, and he loved making women suffer. On our wedding night, Maurice pressed me down onto the bed, his hand tightening around my neck. Feeling hopeless, I opened my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks. The instant he saw my face, Maurice stiffened, frozen in place. In the next moment, he hurriedly brushed my tears away with his sleeve, his touch so gentle that it felt like he was afraid I'd break. "Don't cry. I won't kill you. My life is yours," Maurice said. He pulled a dagger from beneath his pillow and gently placed it in my hand.