Chapter 2
I could smell the cedar and amber notes of his cologne, along with a barely-there whiff of iodine, the kind you only catch in operating rooms. He'd just spent last week with his father for a minimally invasive prostate surgery, and the hospital disinfectant had somehow lingered in the collar of his shirt.
He reached out, wanting to touch my shoulder.
I instinctively shrank back.
His fingertips hovered in the air for a moment, then landed softly on the back of my neck.
His warmth seeped through the thin lining of my wedding dress.
He turned me around, his arm gently wrapping around my waist, tender, yet as unyielding as an iron band.
I was pressed against his chest.
I could hear his heartbeat.
Steady.
Strong.
Thump, thump, thump.
Totally mismatched with my own racing heartbeat.
He lowered his head, his forehead gently touching my temple, his breath warm against my ear.
"Don't be afraid," Lucian murmured, his voice like a blade wrapped in honey. "It'll be over soon."
Just then.
A clear, slender outline pressed against his suit pocket.
A flash of silver slipped through his fingers.
The knife.
The handle, carved with vines, aimed straight at the nape of my neck.
His left hand gripped my waist, thumb pressing against the bone at my hip, as if marking a target.
His right hand had silently lifted, the tip of the blade hovering just three centimeters above my carotid artery.
I froze.
Not out of fear, but because I finally understood something.
Before every kill, he would always check the alignment of my bones.
Just like a surgeon tracing the incision with his fingertips before making the cut.
On my third breath, I slammed the lock shut.
The crisp snap of the latch biting into the strike plate cracked through the air like a bone snapping.
Lucian stopped outside the door.
Three seconds.
Not a single knock.
Not a word.
Just the constant low drone from the hallway vent, pounding in my temples.
I slid down against the door, my wedding dress spreading out around me like spilled milk, thickening, but not quite solid.
The phone screen glowed in the dim light.
I tapped open the message thread.
Not Lucian's chat.
Vivian's.
I forged it.
In the screenshot, the bubble showed a message from "Lucian": "She's restless tonight. Watch her."
Sent at 2:17 AM.
I deliberately set the timestamp seven minutes earlier than the real time, just enough so Vivian wouldn't have time to verify it in her phone's backend.
With my back pressed against the door, my voice strained but every word sharp, I said, "Lucian, I saw your chat with Vivian. She said as long as I die before the ceremony, you'll get 37% of the Laurent Group's voting rights. And she'll take over Nimbus Bioscience as the widow."
Outside, the silence was suffocating.
Even the hum of the air conditioner felt strangled, as if someone had their hands around its throat.
Ten seconds.
Fifteen seconds.
I kept count of my pulse, one beat, two...
Suddenly,
"Sister!"
A shrill female voice shattered the silence, like broken glass scraping down a chalkboard.
It was Vivian.
Her voice was high, trembling with tears, but there was a fake, over-the-top anger in it.
"What are you talking about? Lucian only loves you, you're the only one he cares about!"
Before she could finish,
BANG!
Something heavy rammed into the door.
The frame shuddered, dust showering down.
A second impact.
The lock let out a tortured metallic moan.
And then...
Clang!
The entire door exploded inward, a hinge snapping, the panel collapsing crookedly onto the carpet.
Vivian stood in the doorway.
She was in a champagne-pink silk bridesmaid dress, the strap slipping off one shoulder, showing off her collarbone.
Her right hand was raised high, clutching a blue-and-white porcelain vase, with a few shriveled lisianthus petals stuck to the neck.
Her eyes were wide open, bloodshot, and her pupils were so dark and intense they looked like two burning embers.
"If you already know, "
She grinned, showing off her sharp white teeth. "Go to hell then."
The vase smashed down toward me.
I dove to the left, barely dodging.
Porcelain shards grazed my right ear, bursting against the broken vanity mirror with a sharp crack, scattering even finer debris everywhere.
My knee crashed into the coffee table leg, pain shot through me, and for a second, my vision went dark.
But just as I hit the floor, a hand seized the back of my neck.
A big hand, vise-like, gripped the side of my neck, right over my artery.
I was jerked up, hard.
I turned around.
Lucian stood behind me.
His suit jacket hung open, tie crooked, breath ragged, sweat glistening on his forehead.
And his face was toward Vivian.
His eyes were as cold as blades forged in liquid nitrogen.
Lucian's left hand was still clamped around my neck, but his right shot out like lightning, gripping Vivian's wrist, the one holding the vase.
Cracek!
A sharp snap.
Not a bone.
He wrenched the neck of the vase off with his bare hands.
Lucian let the broken half of the vase drop, then, in one fluid motion, drove his foot hard into Vivian's stomach.
She folded up like a shrimp, crashed into the doorframe, and slid to the floor, hunched over and gagging.
Lucian didn't even spare her a glance.