Chapter 2

I didn't cry. I reminded myself that it did matter.

It was almost four in the morning when I abandoned sleeping. The city outside my apartment window continued to hum, always too active for sleep. I pulled on a cardigan, sat on the windowsill, and read the message the hundredth time.

STAY OUT OF IT OR YOU'LL.

Who in hell was the last one?

I poked around my memories—names, gossip, throwaway remarks Selene made. Nothing came to mind. No discernment, only fear. A creeping realization that I was in something larger than a wedding and much more deadly than office politics.

My phone buzzed again, and I jumped. But it was only Claire.

CLAIRE HAYES: I know it's late. You okay?

RHEA: Strange night. Coffee in the morning okay with you?

CLAIRE: Always. 9 at Irving Farm?

I sent a thumbs-up emoji, then put my phone on lock and lastly slid off the sill. Otherwise, I'd be looking like I'd aged five years by morning.

But when I was about to switch off the light, I picked up a pen and jotted down the number that had sent the message. I felt like I might need it.

---

Claire was already at the coffee shop, drinking an oat milk latte and going through her iPad. She glanced up, took one glance at my expression, and said, "Jesus. You look like you've seen a ghost."

Not a ghost," I grunted, slipping into the seat. "More of a threat."

Her eyebrows rose. "What sort of threat?"

I handed her my phone. She read the message, her face changing from inquisitive to stone-cold serious.

"This was last night?" she questioned.

I nodded, sipping my coffee. "I also received a visit. Dev."

"Dev Blackwell?" she blinked. "Your Dev?"

"He says Selene manipulated him. And that she's dangerous.

Claire sat back, taking it in. She was not a panicking sort of person—there was something profoundly solid about her, like the center of a tornado. It was part of the reason I trusted her, even though we had only known one another for weeks.

"There are things you don't know about Selene," Claire said softly. "Things even Aarav tried to deny. He thought that by marrying her, he could fix everything. Money, reputation. But the more he went in. the more difficult it was to come out."

I looked at her face. "What happened between them?"

Claire didn't respond. She pushed her coffee away, hunched forward, and said, "She destroyed him. In ways you can't even see. He's not marrying her for show. He believes it's the only way to keep everyone else safe."

"From what?"

Claire took a hard line with her coffee-glass mouth. "From her. And Marcus."

Selene's father.

The billionaire owner of half of Manhattan real estate, two senators, and likely a few secrets the FBI would kill to get their hands on.

"What became of the last planner?" I whispered.

Claire looked into my eyes. "Vanessa Ward. She planned for Selene for six months. They told me she left in the middle of a project. No one has seen her since."

I was staring. "No one?"

"Not even her groom.

The world had leaned a bit to one side. It wasn't nerves anymore. It was fear. And the terrible knowledge that I was walking the same road.

Claire leaned across the table, her grip on my hand tight. "You don't have to continue with this."

I withdrew my hand carefully. "I do. I need the money. The credibility. I can't just quit now."

She studied me, then nodded slowly. “Then let’s be smart. I’ll help you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the first person Aarav’s actually looked at in a year,” she said, so simply it made my breath catch. “And because Selene’s ruined enough lives already.”

---

Back at the Whitmore estate that afternoon, the vibe was charged. Cameras hummed, staff ran around, and a Parisian couture team brought a dress no one was permitted to glimpse except for Selene and the makeup artist. I attempted to keep my head down, immersing myself in vendor calls and seating chart adjustments.

But I sensed Aarav before I saw him. His voice—deep, even—behind me as I stood in the south foyer.

"You okay?"

I turned. He was without an entourage this time, no Selene, no aide, just Aarav in a dark green coat, wind in his hair as if he'd come in from a book.

"I've had worse mornings," I replied truthfully.

His eyes narrowed. "Something went wrong?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then said, "Do you know what became of the previous planner?"

A hesitation. His jaw clenched. "Vanessa?"

"Yes."

"I heard she resigned."

"Did you ever meet her?"

He paused. "Once. For a moment. She appeared. agitated."

"She vanished," I said bluntly. "No phone calls. No farewell. Her fiancé doesn't even know where she is."

Aarav gazed at me, actually saw me, and for an instant all his manicured remoteness crumbled.

"I didn't know that," he whispered.

"You think Selene had something to do with it?"

He didn't respond, but the silence did.

"I received a message last night," I told him. "A threat."

His whole attitude changed. "You should leave this job."

"I can't."

"You should," he pressed, taking a step closer. "It's not worth your safety."

"What about yours?"

He stood stock still. I'd surprised him. Good. Someone needed to wake him up.

"Whatever you think you're shielding," I told him, "I'm warning you now—it isn't working. People are getting hurt. Or disappearing. And if you're not watchful, you'll be next."

His fists curled. "You don't know the whole story."

"Then explain it to me," I told him, heart racing. "Because I'm beginning to believe I entered a crime scene with confetti."

His eyes seared with something old and hurt. He seemed to want to say something. To tell.

But he didn't.

He turned his face from me, jaw tight, and said, "You should go home, Rhea."

Then he strode away.

And left me standing there with nothing but more questions.