Chapter 3

The shout in my ear made my head ring. I hit 'end call' on instinct.

But before I could even start the car, a pair of large hands slammed against my window. The next second, the door was wrenched open.

Asher grabbed the front of my shirt and hauled me out of the car like I was trash.

"Look what you've done! How could you hurt Celeste like that?!"

He didn't wait for an answer. He just dragged me, stumbling, back to the private room. The scene that hit me was Celeste, curled on the couch, her face a masterpiece of tear-streaked fragility.

She bit her trembling lip, looking at me with heartbroken eyes.

"Just give it back, please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "It's all I have left. I already let you have Asher. That little thing is the only piece of him I kept for myself. Don't take that from me, too… please?"

She stamped her foot, a petulant gesture amidst the tears, then snatched a wine glass from the table and threw the contents in my face.

Asher's heartbreak was instant, visceral. He tore off the soft blue-and-gray scarf around his neck—my scarf—and laid it gently at Celeste's feet like an offering.

To anyone else, it would have looked like a grand, romantic gesture. To me, it was just trash.

I'd spent three months knitting that scarf. My fingers had been pricked and sore, bleeding more than once.

And now, he'd placed my heart under her designer heel for her to step on.

The cold wine dripped down my neck, making me shiver.

"I didn't take anything," I said, voice tight. "I don't even know what you're talking about—"

A voice cut through from the hallway.

"Found it! Celeste's diamond ring was in Vivian's glove compartment. She totally stole it!"

Every head in the room swiveled to stare at me.

Asher let out a low, ugly laugh.

"Anything else to say for yourself? That ring was a custom design. Our senior thesis project.

"You stole it out of pure jealousy. Are you trying to wreck your own sister's career?!"

The ring box was handed to him. I'd never seen it before in my life.

Celeste just kept crying—never once directly accusing me, yet making sure every tear pointed my way.

Asher closed the distance, his fingers digging into my jaw, his eyes glacial.

"Did you actually think saying 'yes' to you meant you could get away with anything? If you ever disrespect Celeste again, I will make this marriage your own private hell."

His jaw was tight, the words ground out between his teeth.

"Get on your knees. Apologize to Celeste. Or the wedding is off."

My whole body went rigid. I met his gaze, pure hatred burning behind my eyes.

"No."

His temper exploded. He grabbed my collar and kicked my legs out from under me. My knees hit the hardwood with a sickening crack of pain.

I tried to push myself up, but his hand closed around my throat, shoving me back down.

"Apologize, or I call everything off right now!"

A familiar, primal terror seized me—flashbacks of the violence from my last life crashing down.

He used to lock me in the wine cellar, taking out his and Celeste's bad moods on me whenever he felt like it.

His fists, hard as stones, would pummel my ribs, my back, as he snarled, "If it weren't for you, Celeste and I would have a family by now. You think you're worthy of carrying my child? Trying to one-up your sister?"

Now, he loomed over me again, sleeves pushed up, his face twisted into that same monstrous mask.

"Stop!"

Celeste's scream cut the air. Asher froze.

A desperate hope flared in my chest. I looked up, tears of relief already spilling over.

I thought, for a second, she was saving me.

Her next words plunged me into an ice bath.

"As her elder sister, I can't just stand by while she becomes this… this jealous, petty person. We have to teach her a real lesson. A permanent one. How about sever her tendons？"

A cruel smile touched Asher's lips. A flick-knife appeared in his hand.

"Celeste always knows what's best."

Pure panic shot through me. I scrambled backward, crab-walking across the floor. Celeste stepped forward, planting her stiletto heel in the center of my back. Her expression was one of pained concern.

"Don't hate me, okay? This is for your own good."

The more I writhed, the deeper the heel dug.

The cold edge of the blade touched the skin of my wrist, pressing down, seeking the right spot.

I was cried out. I shut my eyes, waiting for the slice.

Then—a sharp, insistent ringtone shattered the tension.

Asher clicked his tongue in annoyance and answered. After a few short, grunted replies, he snapped the knife shut, tossed it aside, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and hauled me toward the door.

"We're done here! The reception's starting—we have to go. Now, move!"