"The inheritance goes to... Seraphina Westwood."
Silence.
My fiancé's hand went cold in mine.
Then the room started laughing.
Not the kind that celebrates. The kind that kills.
I sat frozen in my chair, my grandmother's pendant burning against my skin like a brand.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
"That's impossible!" My stepmother shot to her feet, her champagne glass shattering against marble. "Eleanor was senile! That girl poisoned her mind!"
The lawyer cleared his throat. "Mrs. Westwood, the will is legally binding—"
"Legally binding?" Victoria's voice turned shrill. "She forged it! Everyone knows what her mother was—a gold-digging whore who seduced her way into this family!"
The room exploded.
Whispers became shouts. Guests pulled out phones. My father's face went purple with rage.
And Ethan—my fiancé—squeezed my hand.
"Don't listen to them," he whispered.
Relief crashed through me like a wave.
He believed me.
He loved me.
"Ethan." My father's voice cut through the chaos like a knife. "Surely you don't support this... fraud."
Ethan's hand tightened on mine.
Then let go.
Slowly.
Like I was contaminated.
"I..." He wouldn't look at me. "I think we need to investigate."
The floor disappeared beneath my feet.
"What?"
"Seraphina." His voice was gentle. Pitying. The voice you use with crazy people. "Grief makes us do strange things. Maybe you don't remember—"
"Are you calling me a liar?"
He finally met my eyes.
Those brown eyes I'd loved for three years.
Those eyes that now looked at me like I was a stranger.
"I'm saying maybe you need help."
My stepmother smiled. Victory dripping from her red lips.
"How brave, Ethan. Choosing truth over love."
"There is no truth here!" I stood, my chair crashing backward. "Grandma left me everything because she wanted to! Because you all treated her like—"
"Like what?" My father stepped forward. Close enough that I could smell the whiskey on his breath. "Like the bitter old woman who played favorites? Who chose you—the daughter of a scandal—over her own son?"
"She loved me—"
"She pitied you." His words were acid. "Just like your mother. Both of you pathetic. Desperate. Clinging to a family that never wanted you."
Tears burned my eyes.
I wouldn't cry.
Not here.
Not in front of them.
"Security!" Victoria's voice rang out. "Remove her before she becomes violent!"
"Violent?" I laughed, sharp and broken. "I haven't done anything!"
Two men in black suits appeared.
"No—wait—" I backed away, but they grabbed my arms. "Ethan! Tell them!"
He turned his back.
Actually turned away from me.
"Ethan, please!" Desperation clawed up my throat. "We're engaged! You said you loved me!"
He stopped.
For one heartbeat, I thought he'd come back.
"I'm sorry, Seraphina." His voice was quiet. Final. "But I can't marry someone who's... unstable. My family has a reputation to protect."
The words hit like bullets.
"Your family?" I choked out. "What about us?"
"There is no us." He glanced over his shoulder. His eyes were cold. Empty. "There never really was."
The security guards dragged me backward.
"Let go!" I twisted, fighting. "This is my grandmother's house! You can't—"
"It's our house now," Victoria purred. "And you're trespassing."
They hauled me through the marble hall. Past the crystal chandelier worth more than most people's lives. Past the oil paintings of ancestors who'd never accepted my mother. Past the guests who watched with glittering eyes and raised phones.
Past Ethan, who didn't even look up.
The rain hit me like a slap.
The iron gates slammed shut behind me with a sound like a coffin closing.
I stood there.
Barefoot on gravel.
Soaked to the bone.
Watching through rain-streaked windows as they celebrated.
My destruction was their party.
Thunder cracked overhead.
I wrapped my arms around myself, Grandma's pendant pressing into my palm—the only warmth left in a world that had turned to ice.
"Never beg them for love, darling," Grandma had whispered once, her thin hand in mine. "They'll never give it."
I hadn't understood then.
I did now.
A car pulled up beside me.
Sleek. Black. The kind that cost more than my father's entire fleet.
The window rolled down.
A man sat in the back seat. Mid-thirties, maybe. Sharp suit. Sharper jaw. Eyes like winter storms—cold, dangerous, beautiful.
He looked at me the way a predator looks at wounded prey.
"Pathetic," he said softly.
I should have been offended.
I was too broken to care.
"But I like women with nothing left to lose." His smile was a blade. "They make the most interesting weapons."
"Who are you?"
"Alexander Knight." The name alone made my breath catch. Everyone knew that name. Billionaire. Ruthless. The man who'd destroyed three companies before breakfast last month. "And you, Miss Westwood, are going to help me destroy your family."
I laughed. Bitter and sharp. "I can't even save myself."
"Exactly." He leaned forward, eyes glinting in the darkness. "That's why you're perfect. Get in the car."
I should have said no.
I should have walked away.
But Grandma's voice echoed in my skull: Never beg them for love.
Maybe it was time to stop begging.
Maybe it was time to make them bleed.
I opened the car door.
Stepped inside.
The leather was warm. The door closed with a soft, expensive click.
Through the rain-streaked window, I watched my father's mansion glow bright and beautiful.
Like it hadn't just murdered me.
"Smart choice," Alexander said as the car pulled away into the storm.
I didn't feel smart.
I felt dead.
But maybe that was good.
Dead girls can't feel pain.
And corpses make excellent killers.
"Tell me, Miss Westwood." His voice was silk and poison. "How far are you willing to go for revenge?"
I turned to face him.
Those storm-grey eyes watching me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve.
Or destroy.
Maybe both.
"As far as it takes," I whispered.
His smile widened.
"Good." He pulled out a folder. "Then let's discuss your marriage contract."
My heart stopped.
"My what?"
"You heard me." He opened the folder, revealing pages of legal text. "You want revenge? I want a wife. We both get what we need."
"You're insane—"
"I'm rich." He cut me off smoothly. "There's a difference. Sign this, and in one year, you'll have the power to destroy everyone who hurt you tonight."
I stared at the contract.
At the stranger beside me.
At the mansion disappearing behind us.
Thunder cracked.
The car drove deeper into the storm.
And I picked up the pen.
"Where do I sign?"
Alexander Knight's smile turned dangerous.
"Right here, Mrs. Knight."