Page 56 of Marriage of Revenge

Me.

I wait for Naomi's all-clear before emerging from the closet, phone hidden against my skin like another scar.

Naomi pushes back the comforter, her movements carrying none of their usual grace. "So, dinner with the devils it is." Her attempt at humor falls flat. "My father will... he has to find..." She swallows hard, and when she continues, her voice carries that same determination she used to have while editing her manuscripts. "I overheard them last night. Your father's empire was crumbling - he fought like a cornered lion to keep his throne. All in the name of family legacy."

"Family legacy," I echo, tasting bitter irony. "He always said our name was both crown and chains. Told us to wear it like armor." My laugh comes out sharp as broken glass. "Why does everyone still bow to him? Your father—"

"My father's word is everything to him." Naomi's voice carries an edge I've never heard before. Gone is the girl who wrote romance novels during my treatments, replaced by someone who's seen too much. "He told me once - your father saved him from a death sentence. Back when he had nothing but his promise to offer." She meets my eyes, fear mixing with fierce love. "I was too busy planning PR campaigns and writing happy endings. Should've been reading between the lines instead."

"We'll find a way—"

"I'm scared for him, Bella." The crack in her voice hits harder than any of Henrik's threats. "If your father makes him disappear..." The words hang between us like smoke, choking with possibility.

A chill crawls up my spine, but I force it back. My father may have money, may have power, but making Naomi's father vanish? Even he would have to answer for that. Wouldn't he?

"We'll find a way," I repeat, turning to the closet where silk and promises hang like nooses. I breathe deep, steadying myself. "Let's play their game. But we write our own ending."

The emerald dress calls to me - not for Antonio (I lie to myself), but for how it catches light like a predator's eyes. The fabric skims my curves, highlighting the strength I built back after treatments rather than hiding it. My curls frame my face wild and untamed, a silent rebellion against every perfect princess they want me to be. The scars above the boatneck whisper survival stories I won't let them silence.

Naomi transforms beside me, pale gold silk flowing over her frame like liquid sunlight. Her blonde hair sweeps up elegantly, a few strands softening her face - the communications expert knowing exactly how to present herself. Even now, she works every angle, every detail. We catch each other's eyes in the mirror - sisters forged in hospital rooms and midnight fears, now facing a different kind of battle.

"Dinner. Now." Georgio's command shatters our moment of unity.

My pulse performs its own dangerous dance as we enter the dining room. Connor, Radomir, and Henrik wait like vultures at a feast, but no Antonio. The absence hits harder than it should.

Why are we dining with the tournament's losers?

Henrik stalks closer, his face a masterpiece of Antonio's handiwork - split lip, bruises blooming like deadly flowers. "Green is your color." His German accent thickens as his gaze drops to my scars, hungry and invasive. "You have stories to tell."

Satisfaction curls through me as I watch his wounds again, sharp as a blade. "He really did a number on you, didn't he?" The smile in my voice isn't forced - it's pure, distilled vindication.

“"Oh, you haven't heard?" Henrik leans in, his breath hot against my skin like medical alcohol before a needle strikes. Istep back but nausea follows. "Your Beast has been... delayed." Each word drips satisfaction like poison. "Not even his miracle-working doc can save him now." His eyes gleam with cruel triumph. "He forgets that bears aren't the only predators in these woods. And I—" he pauses, voice scraping like Henrik's blade against Antonio's flesh, "I hunt monsters."

The dread that coils around my throat feels too familiar - like those moments before bad test results, when you know something's wrong but can't stop it coming.

My father's voice cuts through my spiral, sharp as surgical steel. "If Antonio doesn't make it to the altar, we need contingencies. It was all in the fine print." His look carries every threat he's ever made, every promise of consequences. My hands shake so hard I have to lock them behind my back, fingers digging into flesh to ground myself. "Naomi included," he adds with judge's finality. "Just precautionary, of course."

The room spins like those first days after treatment, but anger burns through the vertigo - hot and clarifying. Henrik's threats aren't just warnings; they're confessions. This dinner isn't just a meal - it's my father orchestrating his next move, using us all like chess pieces in his power play.

Well, I didn't survive cancer just to become another pawn in his game.

This isn't just about survival anymore.

This is war.

And I've already danced with death - what's one more deadly waltz?

CHAPTER 28—ISABELLA

"Welcome to this intimategathering," my father's voice flows smooth as morphine before it burns, his gesture encompassing the opulent dining room like he's hosting some twisted Gossip Girl episode. Crystal chandeliers catch light like tears, casting shadows that dance across silver settings worth more than most people's lives. As if we're not all just waiting to see who bleeds first.

My nails carve crescents into my palms - a pain I choose, unlike everything else in this nightmare. I catch his expression and something cold slides down my spine. That look in his eyes - pride mixed with calculation - it's the same one he wore when my ballet instructor promised I'd tour the world. Back then, I thought he was proud of me. Now I understand - I was just another asset, another way to force respect from a world that saw him as new money with bloody hands.

A fork clatters against fine china - Naomi, her composure slipping as Radomir slides closer like a snake preparing to strike.His smile flashes silver and menace, and my fingers find the mark his cruelty left on my cheek. The bruise Henrik's bite left there throbs in warning, a reminder that these men don't just want to own us.

They want to break us.

"Perhaps we should rearrange," I suggest, letting innocence drip from my voice like honey hiding poison. "In case Antonio joins us." The bait dangles between us like the roles I used to audition for, each word carefully choreographed. Henrik's head tilts - a predator scenting blood.

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