The air reeked of blood and betrayal.
Serena Vaughn dragged herself across the marble floor, every breath a jagged gasp. Her evening gown once a cascade of golden silk was drenched in red, clinging to her like a final insult. Her hands trembled, slick with her own blood, as she clawed forward, nails cracking against the stone.
Above her, the crystal chandelier swayed gently mocking her. It still sparkled.
She didn't.
She was dying, and they were watching.
"Why…" Her voice cracked, fragile as glass.
A shadow stepped into her fading vision. Tailored suit. Cold eyes. Heart of stone.
Ethan Hart.
Her fiancé.
Her lover.
Her executioner.
Serena's lips quivered. "I loved you…"
Ethan knelt slowly, his face blank. He reached out not to help, but to tuck a blood-soaked strand of hair behind her ear. The tenderness in the gesture made her stomach twist.
"Love?" His voice was soft. Disgustingly calm. "That's not what this was, Serena."
Tears blurred her sight, but she forced her gaze to hold his. "I trusted you…"
"That," he said with a smirk, "was your first mistake."
Behind him, laughter. Familiar. Feminine.
Serena's heart nearly stopped.
Camille.
Her best friend. Her bridesmaid. The sister she never had.
Stepping from the shadows in a red dress and six-inch heels, Camille looked every inch the villain she had been hiding all along. "God, Serena, you're still so dramatic. Even bleeding out, you need to be the center of attention."
"You… you were my sister," Serena whispered.
Camille crouched beside Ethan, placing a hand possessively on his shoulder. "Correction you thought I was. But sisters don't fight for crumbs. I wanted the whole damn cake."
"Why?" Serena asked again, voice cracking. "I gave you everything ; my love, my loyalty…"
"And we took it," Camille said with a cold smile. "Because you were too blind to see the knives behind your back."
Serena's chest heaved. The pain in her ribs pulsed in time with her heartbeat—fast, frantic, fading. She turned her head just in time to see another figure enter.
Her stepmother.
Elegant. Poisonous. A devil in Dior.
"Well," she said, her voice clipped and cruel, "this was long overdue."
"You're supposed to protect me," Serena whispered. "You're family."
The woman chuckled. "Sweetheart, you were never family. You were a threat. One we tolerated until your father conveniently died."
Serena's lungs burned. Her limbs refused to move. Her body was failing.
But her mind—her heart—was still screaming.
"You'll never get away with this," she gasped.
Camille leaned in. "But we already have."
Ethan stood. "Enjoy hell, Serena. If it's anything like this… you'll feel right at home."
Her vision dimmed.
The chandelier's light became a blur.
The laughter around her became echoes.
Her heartbeat slowed.
She was slipping.
Alone.
Broken.
Forgotten.
No.
No.
Not like this.
Serena's bloody hand gripped the floor. Her final breath rattled through her lungs.
And in that moment when death hovered like a ghost she made a silent vow.
If there is a next life… I will not be the lamb. I will return as fire.
And I will burn every last one of you to ash.
The light vanished
But her rage remained.