Chapter 2

Then last night, the stranger in the garage gave me this ring and said her name.

Celeste.

I look down at the ring. A simple band. Too plain for a billionaire's wife. It should have been my first warning.

I twist it slowly. The metal is cold. Inside, something catches against my finger. Letters.

I freeze.

The priest says,

"Let us pray."

I don't pray. I turn the ring until I can read the engraving.

Celeste Voss.

My sister's name.

My sister, who is supposed to be dead.

My sister, who has been missing for three years.

The church tilts. The air thins. I grab the pew in front of me. Someone behind me makes a small, annoyed sound. I don't care.

This ring belonged to Celeste. Celeste knew Elias Blackwood. Celeste was maybe married to him. And someone wants me to wear her life like a costume.

Adrian appears at my side again. This time, he's watching my face. Too closely.

"Something wrong, Mrs. Blackwood?"

I close my hand into a fist. The ring bites my palm. I force my face into grief. I force my voice into glass.

"No,"

I say.

"Just saying goodbye."

Adrian's eyes drop to my fist. Then to the ring. Then back to my face. For one terrible second, I think he knows everything. That I'm a fraud. That I'm broke. That I came here for a sister who might already be dead.

Then he smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes.

"Good,"

he says.

"Because the real goodbye hasn't started yet."

He walks away. I watch him stop beside the casket. He doesn't look at it. He looks at me.

And I understand something I should have understood before I ever put on this dress.

I am not here to mourn Elias Blackwood.

I am here to be buried with him.

The funeral ends the way all rich funerals do: with people pretending they're not relieved.

I don't wait for the priest. I don't wait for the casket to be carried out. I turn toward the side aisle, ready to disappear. My heels click too fast on the stone floor. I don't care. I need air. I need a phone. I need to know why my dead sister's name is inside a ring that a stranger shoved onto my finger.

I make it three steps.

A hand closes around my elbow. Not hard. Just enough to stop me.

"Wrong way, Mrs. Blackwood."

Adrian. His voice is low, calm, and completely without mercy.

I try to pull free. His grip tightens, barely.

"Let go of me."

"Not here."

He steers me toward a side door.

"Smile. People are watching."

I look up. He's right. A dozen faces turn toward us. Old money. New money. Lawyers. Enemies. They see a grieving widow being guided by the heir. They see a story. They don't see a woman who is about to scream.

The side door opens into a corridor. Then another door. Then cold air.

A black SUV waits at the curb. The rear door is already open.

"No,"

I say.

"Get in."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Adrian leans down. This close, I can see the faint scar through his left eyebrow. I can smell cedar and something sharper. Gunpowder? Maybe. Maybe I'm imagining it.

"You can get in,"

he says,

"or I can tell everyone out there that you're not Elias's wife. That you never met him. That you wore a dead woman's ring to his funeral."

My heart stops. Then starts again, too fast.

"You knew?"