Chapter 3

Aurelia took a cab back that night.

Lucian didn't even try to hide it. The second the meeting ended, he guided Bianca into his Aston Martin. Bianca limped, pretending she twisted her ankle. Lucian didn't look at his fiancée once.

In the master bedroom next door, the noises went on and off until four in the morning.

Aurelia sat on the edge of the freezing guest bed. She stared blankly at the countdown on her screen.

Six days until the island transfer.

She forced herself to get three hours of sleep.

At seven in the morning, the door lock clicked.

Lucian walked in. He smelled of stale smoke and Bianca's sickly-sweet perfume. He wore a fresh shirt. He didn't bother to knock. He just tossed his car keys onto the vanity.

"Stop sitting there like a corpse. Go try on the dress."

Lucian adjusted his watch strap. His voice was completely casual. It was like he wasn't the man who let another woman sleep in their bed all night.?

Aurelia looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her face was dead calm.

"We agreed on the day after tomorrow."

"Plans changed." Lucian curled his lip, his eyes flashing with irritation. "The Southside crews are coming by tonight to test the waters. We need to look united before the wedding. Pack your things. The car is downstairs."

He walked down the stairs fast. He had no intention of waiting for her.

Aurelia followed him, watching his broad, straight back.

Three years. Every time the Syndicate mocked her, she hid behind that back. She thought he was her only shield in the dark. Last night's shredded lace and twisted bedroom lies ripped that mask right off.

The car pulled up to the Syndicate's underground tailor shop.

They made custom gear for made men here, weaving bulletproof Kevlar into luxury fabric. The heavy iron door swung open. A stench of motor oil and chemical dye hit her hard.

The old tailor cowered in the corner of his workbench, pale and barely daring to breathe.

The black velvet curtain of the fitting room snapped back.

Bianca stood in front of the full-length mirror, spinning around in the gown.

She was wearing Aurelia's dress. Aurelia spent six months hand-sewing this black bridal gown, tailoring it with a concealed gun holster.

Aurelia spent sleepless nights embroidering every pattern on the high-slit skirt. She ripped out and resewed the bulletproof lining seven times just to fit her exact draw angle.

Now, the dress hugged Bianca's tiny frame. The bodice was stretched completely out of shape.

"Do you like it, Lucian?" Bianca swayed her hips and smiled sweetly. "I just wanted to make sure it fit her. I need something powerful for the Southside dinner tonight. Sis won't mind lending it to me for one night, right?"

Lucian leaned against the doorframe and lit a cigarette.

He blew a slow stream of gray smoke, eyeing the tight fit of the gown, and gave a faint laugh. "It suits you. If you like it, take it."

He glanced at Aurelia, keeping his tone careless. "The family has plenty of cash. Swipe the card for whatever bespoke gowns you want later. Don't fight with your sister over scraps, alright?"

Aurelia stood still. Her fingernails dug deep into the palms of her coat pockets.

A year ago, a bullet tore through Lucian's ribs during a turf war at the docks. In the hospital bed, he rasped that regular suits made them sitting ducks at sit-downs.

Because of those words, she spent three months learning tailoring, her fingers poked bloody, just to build this bulletproof black gown.

She treated it as her armor for this marriage. A blood vow to him.

To this man, her blood and sweat were just cheap party favors to spoil his mistress.

A sharp cramp twisted her gut. This time, the hurt didn't turn to tears. It froze into pure, lethal rage.

Aurelia didn't back down. She strode straight toward the cutting table.

The old tailor scrambled back into the shadows.

On the bench lay a heavy pair of six-inch steel leather shears right next to the tape measure.

Aurelia grabbed the handle in a reverse grip.

The cold steel felt heavy and solid in her hand.

"Aurelia, are you deaf?" Lucian frowned and tapped his cigarette ash, annoyed. "It's just a dress. Wipe that look off your face. Take it off and hand it to Bianca—"

Before he could finish, Aurelia stood right in front of the mirror.

The blade flashed under the harsh fluorescent lights.

The brutal sound of ripping fabric tore through the silent shop!

Aurelia slammed the blade into the bottom hem and jerked it violently upward!

The high-density Kevlar snapped. The tough black lace split wide open all the way to Bianca's hip, exposing pale, bare flesh. The tip of the blade grazed skin, leaving a thin red welt!

Bianca screamed in terror. Clutching the shredded fabric, she stumbled back, twisted her ankle, and crashed onto the floor, shaking uncontrollably.

The cigarette dropped from Lucian's lips.

His eyes went wide, his face dark with pure rage. He lunged forward, pulling Bianca behind him.

His hand clamped around Aurelia's wrist, hard enough to snap bone.

Lucian glared down at her, venom dripping from every word:

"Enough, Aurelia. Don't think a wedding date gives you the right to pull this psycho shit on my watch."

Her wrist bruised under his grip, but Aurelia didn't flinch.

She loosened her grip. The heavy shears hit the tiles right at Bianca's feet.

Bianca gasped, shrinking back.

Aurelia met her fiancé's murderous glare. A cold smile touched her lips, her eyes totally dead:

"I don't wear used trash. Since you both love digging through garbage, keep the scraps. And keep each other."