Page 63 of Marriage of Revenge

Her lips press together, and something shifts - that fire I kindled turning to ash. Is that a tear tracking down her face? She turns away, sliding off my lap, and something in my chest tightens like a fist.

"I don't know." Her whisper carries defeat when she faces me again, eyes swimming with a sadness that shouldn't twist in my gut like it does. "I'm another piece in your game. A pawn for everyone to move."

"Yes." The lie tastes like copper on my tongue. "But don't play innocent, Bella." I capture her hand, press her fingers to the ruin of my face. She doesn't flinch from the scarred flesh - instead, something soft crosses her features that makes me grip her wrist harder. "You helped create this monster."

"I didn't." Her whisper breaks like glass, like promises. Her fingers find my scar again, the touch so gentle it burns worse than flame ever did. "I didn't."

"Lie to yourself, not to me."

Cerberus whines low, his eyes moving between us like he can't decide who needs protection.

"I didn't... I..." She's searching for words, for memories, for whatever version of truth lets her sleep at night.

Every part of me that wants her wars with my mother's ghost. Isabella isn't just the girl who made my blood sing - she's the reason it runs cold now. I want to break her, to make her feelevery scar she helped create. But Naomi? She's innocent in this war. But Isabella doesn’t need to know that.

"Keep lying to yourself if you want. And we’ll see about your friends." I let ice coat my next words. "But you tell your father this - if I die, his empire burns with me."

CHAPTER 32—ISABELLA

This isn't the weddingI used to dream about. No flowers cascading from archways, no promises sealed with love instead of threats. Love - such a small word for everything I thought this day would hold. The kind of love that made my mother's eyes light up when she painted, that made Antonio's mom hum while she cooked. The kind they would have wanted for us, before fate wrote a darker story.

My throat closes around memories I can't swallow.

They dreamed different dances for us.

It's almost funny - when I was lying in that hospital bed, future felt like a word in a language I couldn't speak. Not even a blank canvas, just... nothing. The kind of emptiness that made my hands shake worse than any physical pain.

Now I'm marrying a man who wants to destroy me, and somehow that feels less terrifying than those moments of uncertainty. At least destruction has a rhythm you can follow.

Naomi adjusts my veil, her hands trembling slightly. Her usual sass is gone, replaced by something raw and real. "I still can't believe he's making you do this," she whispers, voice thick with unshed tears.

"I can." The words taste like truth. Because this is exactly who my father is - a man who trades in flesh and fear, who wraps control in designer suits and calls it protection.

Antonio's threat did something I'd never seen before - made my father's face go ash-gray, like he was the one facing death. Whatever secret Antonio holds must be devastating enough to make even the great Moretti pause. But in our world, silence always comes with a price tag.

I don't believe in mercy anymore. Not here.

"Why move the wedding here?" Naomi's voice carries genuine fear now, not her usual storyteller's analysis. "It could be a trap, it could—"

"It's close enough to both territories. Everyone's men within shooting distance." The wedding dress rustles as I lean forward - too beautiful for the bloodbath it might witness. Something thick rises in my throat, but I won't let tears fall. Not today.

I've cried enough.

"If everything goes wrong," I whisper, "you run."

"What?"

"I don't trust any of them. But your father?" My voice drops lower. "He'll get you out. Protect you. He probably has men waiting right now." A bitter smile curves my lips. "It's what I'd do if someone tried to trade my daughter like currency."

I breathe in, but the cloying scent of flowers chokes like artificial sweetness covering decay. Because that's what this is - a performance where every prop hides a weapon. The shiver racing up my spine feels like vertigo before a fall, like knowing the ground's about to disappear but being powerless to stop it.

The knock comes sharp as a gunshot. "Time to go."

I force air into lungs that feel too small. Can't pass out. Can't let my body betray me now - Antonio would see it as just another flaw, another reason I'm not worth keeping whole. And my father? He'd use my weakness as an excuse to hurt Naomi.

So, I play my part. Dance their steps. Follow their rhythm like a good little ballerina. My nails carve crescents into my palms, but the pain can't ground me. Can't stop the feeling that I'm watching my future slip through my fingers like smoke.

Maybe Antonio will give me space to breathe - to dance, to read, to dream of worlds beyond stone walls and secrets. But the way hatred burned in his eyes when he blamed me for his mother's death? The disgust that twisted his scarred face? It cuts deeper than Henrik's blade ever could.

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