Chapter 1

I was in the restroom of the lounge, touching up my lipstick in the gilded mirror, when my phone buzzed with an incoming call from an unknown, untraceable number.

I pressed it to my ear. The voice that came through the line was not just familiar—it was my own. Identical cadence. Identical rasp.

"Listen to me very carefully," the voice said, taut with urgency. "No matter who eggs you on tonight, do not draw a slip for Truth or Dare."

I froze, the tube of lipstick slipping slightly between my fingers. My heart missed a beat. "Who is this?"

A ragged breath shuddered across the receiver, thick with unshed tears. "I’m you. Three years from now."

She paused, and when she spoke again, the grief in her voice was suffocating. "The cup is rigged. Elliott fixed it so every single strip of paper has your name on it. You are guaranteed to be picked."

"What are you talking about?"

"They’re going to frame the dare as a test of loyalty. They’ll pressure you to call Sadie, pretending you’re in trouble so she rushes over to help you." A ragged inhale cut through the static. "On her way here, a truck driver they paid off will t-bone her car. An instant kill. Staged as a drunk-driving accident."

My throat closed up. "No. That’s insane."

"Our parents won't survive the grief," the voice continued, relentless and breaking. "Within six months, they’ll jump from the terrace. Both of them."

"Stop it," I whispered, gripping the cold marble edge of the vanity. "Elliott loves me. He would never—"

A hollow, self-mocking laugh cut me off. "Sadie caught him in bed with Piper yesterday afternoon. She was going to tell you tonight. They’re killing her to keep her quiet—and to clear the path to our family’s estate."

The line went dead.

A sudden click echoed as the heavy restroom door swung open. Piper slipped inside, wrapping her arm around mine with effortless affection, her perfume washing over me like a sickeningly sweet wave.

"What are you doing hiding in here, Willa?" she teased, her smile radiant and flawless. "Come on back inside. We’re starting the dare rounds, and everyone is waiting on you."

...

1

Piper gently swayed my arm, her smile as sweet and pristine as a magazine cover.

I looked at her familiar face—the soft features, the eyes that had watched me grow up—while the phantom voice from that impossible phone call roared in my ears.

"Sadie caught him in bed with Piper."

"Willa? Everything okay?" She tilted her head, watching me with apparent concern.

"Fine. Just tired." I forced the tremor down into the pit of my stomach, letting her steer me back through the dimly lit hallway toward the private VIP suite.

When the heavy soundproof door swung open, the thumping bass from the club faded to a low hum. On the low glass table at the center of the leather seating area sat a polished bamboo tumbler, filled with folded slips of paper.

My fiancé, Elliott, was sitting in the middle of the sectional, holding a glass of warm water.

The moment I stepped inside, he rose to his feet. His face softened into that signature, tender expression—the kind of look that had made me feel cherished for the last three years.

"You were gone so long," he said, stepping forward. He raised the back of his hand to gently brush against my forehead. "Is your stomach acting up again?"

"No. Just fixing my makeup." I pulled back, subtly dodging his fingers.

His hand hung in the air for a fraction of a second before he let it fall with seamless grace, holding out the glass of water instead.

"Drink some warm water," he murmured, his voice laced with affectionate concern. "You’ve had an ulcer all week. Don't touch the cocktails."

A chorus of easy laughter erupted from the couch.

"Look at Elliott," Tanner teased, clinking an empty beer bottle against the table. "Setting the bar impossibly high for the rest of us. Come on, man, we’ve been waiting forever. Let’s get this game rolling!"

Elliott gave an indulgent, boyish chuckle and turned toward the table.

"Willa's the guest of honor tonight," he said smoothly, his tone gentle, utterly devoid of coercion. "It's only right she draws the first dare."

Piper came up behind me, her hands resting lightly on my shoulders, nudging me forward. "Go on, Willa! You’ve always had the best luck. Let’s see what kind of wild stunt you pull."

I stood before the low table, staring down at the slender bamboo cylinder.

"The cup is rigged. Every single slip has your name on it."

"I'm not playing," I said, looking straight into Elliott’s eyes.

The room quieted.

The warmth never left Elliott’s expression. He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "What’s wrong, sweetheart? Everyone’s in great spirits. It’s just a harmless game."

"Yeah, Willa, nobody's asking you to jump off a roof," Tanner chimed in from the couch.

"I’m exhausted," I said, taking half a step backward, away from Elliott's reach. "I just want to sit this one out."

Piper let out a soft, theatrical sigh, her lower lip trembling just enough to project wounded innocence. "Willa... are you mad at me? You’ve been acting so distant ever since the restroom."

With that single sentence, the entire room shifted. The playful energy curdled into quiet judgment. Eyes turned toward me, branding me as the moody killjoy who couldn't take a joke.

Elliott took another step forward, draping an arm around my shoulders in a display of patient, long-suffering devotion.

"Don't worry, Piper. She’s just overwhelmed from work," he said, before leaning down toward me. He looked at me like a fond father humoring a tantrum. "Come on, darling. Everyone planned this night for you. If you refuse to draw, the whole game falls apart before it starts."

He dipped his head lower, his lips hovering near my ear, and lowered his voice so only I could hear.

"Don't cause a scene, Willa. Everyone took time out of their busy schedules to be here. You're embarrassing us. Be good. Draw one slip, and whatever the dare is, I’ll do it for you."

"Be good."

He had always used that tone. Soft as velvet, suffocating as a plastic bag. Stripping away my autonomy while convincing the room that he was the saint and I was the burden.

"You really want me to draw?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Just one," he whispered, smiling.

"Fine."

I reached out, wrapped my fingers around the bamboo cup, and before anyone could react, I flipped it upside down over the glass table.

A sharp, clattering cascade filled the room as dozens of folded paper slips scattered across the glass.

The air vanished from the suite.

Elliott’s pupils contracted sharply, though the refined mask on his face barely slipped. "Willa," he breathed, letting out a bewildered, patronizing sigh as he crouched to pick them up. "What are you doing?"

I moved faster. I dropped to one knee and flipped open three of the nearest slips under the dim pendant lights.

Red ink. Precise, familiar handwriting.

"Willa Ross."

"Willa Ross."

"Willa Ross."

A wave of Arctic cold rushed through my veins, freezing the marrow in my bones.

The phone call was real.

I stood up, dusting off my hands, and stared down at the man kneeling on the floor—the man whose perfection had been a noose tightening around my neck for thirty-six months.

"My hand slipped," I said coldly.

Piper scrambled forward, kneeling beside Elliott to help gather the papers, her voice dripping with aggrieved scolding. "Willa, if you didn't want to play, you could have just said so. Why make a mess?"

"Seriously, talk about a buzzkill," Tanner muttered from the shadows.

Elliott gathered the slips into his palm, standing up with an exhausted rub of his temples. "It’s okay, everyone. She’s been under an immense amount of pressure at the firm lately. Don't hold it against her. I apologize on her behalf."

He turned back to me, his gaze as deep and calm as still water over a shipwreck. "Is the stomach pain coming back? Let me take you home."

"God, Elliott, you’re an angel," a girl in the corner sighed.

"What can I do?" Elliott gave a helpless, devoted smile. "She’s the woman I chose. I have to look after her."

The bile rose hot in the back of my throat.

"Elliott," I said evenly.

"Yes, darling?"

"You don't need to apologize for me." I grabbed my bag from the sofa. "My stomach hurts. I'm leaving."

"Willa, wait, let me drive you—" Piper started, reaching for her purse.

"Don't touch me," I snapped, sidestepping her neatly as I made for the exit.

As my hand caught the brass latch of the door, fingers wrapped around my wrist from behind. Elliott’s grip wasn't bruising, but it was unyielding.

"I'm taking you home," he murmured softly behind my ear, his voice silk-wrapped steel. "I wouldn't feel right letting you go alone."

...

2

The Maybach glided through the rain-slicked city streets in total silence.

The cabin was thick with the scent of Elliott’s cologne—sandalwood and cedar. For three years, that scent had been my anchor, a signal that I was protected. Tonight, it smelled like embalming fluid.

Elliott drove with one hand on the steering wheel, his other hand drifting across the console to rest casually over mine.

"Still upset?" he asked, glancing over with an easy smile.

"No." I pulled my hand away under the pretense of grabbing a tissue from the glove compartment.

He didn't take the bait. He just let out a quiet, indulgent chuckle. "They pushed a little too hard tonight. I know you hate those kinds of party games. Next time, I’ll clear it with everyone beforehand, okay?"

Always the diplomat. Always the reasonable partner dealing with an emotional woman.

I didn't answer. My eyes drifted down toward the center console cupholder, landing on a pale blue insulated tumbler.

"New cup?" I asked, keeping my voice flat.

Elliott’s eyes flicked to the console, his expression unbothered. "Yeah. Dropped the old one at the gym. Grabbed this one from the convenience store across from the office yesterday."

Baby blue. With a tiny, minimalist cartoon cat printed on the side.

Piper’s signature aesthetic. She had the exact same tumbler sitting on her desk at the office.

"It's cute," I remarked.

Elliott smiled. "If you like it, I'll pick one up for you tomorrow."

"Don't bother. I've never liked blue."

The silence settled between us again, heavy and suffocating.

I leaned my head against the passenger window, watching the streetlights bleed across the glass, replaying three years of memories like a crime scene film strip.

The signs had been there all along. I had simply chosen to call them love.

Last winter, at our company’s annual charity gala, I had taken the stage as the lead project director to accept an industry award. Piper had been running the audio board. Just as I stepped up to the microphone to deliver my remarks, an ear-splitting squeal of feedback tore through the hall, cutting me off in front of hundreds of peers.

I had frozen on that stage, mortified. And Elliott had stepped up with a spare microphone, charming the room, smoothing over the disaster with effortless grace.

When I asked him later how the board had failed, he had stroked my hair and whispered: "Piper was terrified tonight, Willa. She made an honest mistake. You looked so stunning up there—don’t let a little technical hiccup ruin your moment."

He had erased her negligence with flattery, turning my justified anger into petty insecurity.

And six months ago, when the master presentation for our primary funding round vanished from the secure server the night before the pitch, who stepped into the breach? Piper. With an "overnight contingency deck" that took all the credit.

What had Elliott said then?

"Willa, your perfectionism slows the team down. Piper is raw, but she sees the bigger picture. You’re going to be my wife soon; think of it as mentoring a junior colleague. Don't be so territorial."

He had weaponized my title—"fiancée"—to pin me to a moral pedestal, forcing me to applaud while my life’s work was picked apart by scavengers.

"We're here, Willa."

Elliott’s voice broke the trance.

The car had pulled up to the curb outside my apartment building. He unbuckled his seatbelt, leaning across the console to press a kiss to my forehead.

I turned my face away just in time. His lips brushed my temple.

"I need sleep," I said, pushing the door open.

"Get some rest, darling. I’ll pick you up for work tomorrow morning."

His manners remained flawless.

I climbed the stairs to my penthouse without turning on a single light, walking straight to the sofa and collapsing into the dark.

My hands were shaking as I pulled out my phone and opened my messages with my younger sister, Sadie.

Her last text sat on the screen, sent four hours ago:

"Hey, weren't you supposed to be at that lounge with Elliott tonight? Why didn’t you post any pictures?"

A cold sweat broke across my skin.

If I hadn't answered that phantom call. If I had played along with their game and drawn the dare. Right now, I would have been on the phone with Sadie, sobbing into the receiver, begging her to drive across town to rescue me.

And she would have driven. Without hesitation. Straight into the path of a heavy-duty truck.

I took a deep, shuddering breath and typed a reply:

"Was exhausted, headed home early. Are you free tomorrow morning? Come over."

Her reply was instantaneous:

"Sure thing! No classes until noon. I’ll be there by ten with coffee."

I set the phone down and walked to the floor-to-ceiling balcony windows.

Down on the street below, the Maybach was still parked by the curb. The engine was idling.

Through the illuminated windshield, I could see Elliott clearly. He was on his phone. The careful, measured tenderness he wore around me was completely gone. His head was thrown back in easy laughter, his posture loose and relaxed.

He was talking to Piper.

Were they scrambling to fix their botched plan? Or were they laughing at how blind I had been?

I drew the heavy blackout curtains shut, walked into my study, and fired up my desktop computer.

If they had simply wanted to cheat on me, I would have thrown his clothes into the street and walked away. But they had tried to murder my sister. They wanted my family’s fortune, paid for in blood.

This was no longer a breakup. This was survival.

I logged into my home network administration panel. Six months ago, Elliott had installed an upgraded security and surveillance suite under the guise of "keeping me safe." He had used it to track my movements.

My fingers flew across the mechanical keyboard.

Before I took over project development at my family's firm, I had graduated at the top of my class with a degree in computer engineering. Elliott had forgotten that the very technical infrastructure he prided himself on had been built on skills I taught him.

Lines of terminal code scrolled down the monitor.

Within twenty minutes, I severed the background upload link to his remote server. Then, using his established local IP handshake, I began crawling through the background drives of his work laptop.

If I was going to tear his life apart, I needed the receipts.

It was going to be a very long night.

...

3

At ten o’clock the next morning, the doorbell rang.

Sadie blew into the apartment like a summer gale, carrying two iced coffees and tossing her denim jacket onto the counter.

"What happened to you last night? You look like a ghost. Did Elliott pull something again?" She set the cups down and peered closely at my face.

Sadie was five years younger than me, a college junior. Our parents had spent her entire life shielding her from the uglier sides of the world, and it showed in her open, fiercely expressive face.

"Just bad sleep," I said, guiding her toward the couch.

"Don't give me that," Sadie scoffed, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Look, Willa, I'm going to tell you something, and you can't get mad at me for meddling."

My chest tightened. "Tell me."

"Yesterday around five, I was crossing the intersection near campus, and I saw Elliott’s car," she said, her eyebrows knitting together. "I was going to wave him down, but then I looked at the passenger seat. There was a woman wearing dark sunglasses. I’d recognize that posture anywhere—it was Piper."

Sadie clenched her fists on her knees.

"They were laughing, Willa. And then he reached over and touched her hair. You need to open your eyes. There is something completely rotten going on between them!"

I sat completely still, my fingernails digging half-moons into my palms.

Yesterday afternoon. Right before they met me at the lounge for their little game of Truth or Dare. They had been cruising around town together, setting up the hit.

"I hear you," I said quietly, forcing my voice to stay level.

"You hear me? That’s it?" Sadie threw her hands up, exasperated. "You're not going to defend him? You're not going to tell me it was a business meeting?"

"Sadie, look at me." I caught her hands, squeezing them tight until she stopped moving. "From this second on, if anyone calls you—no matter who it is, no matter what kind of emergency they claim I'm having—you do not go anywhere until you have confirmed it with me on a live video call. Do you understand me?"

Sadie froze, unsettled by the raw intensity in my eyes. "Willa... what’s going on?"

"Promise me."

"Okay! I promise. I won't go anywhere," she muttered, clearly rattled.

After I sent Sadie home, I locked myself back in the study.

It had taken me until dawn to crack the encrypted partition on Elliott’s secondary drive. The password had been a seventeen-character string, but it was nothing more than an alphanumeric cipher of his and Piper’s birthdays.

The contents were a catalog of treason.

Everything was meticulously filed.

Proprietary source code and client portfolios from my family’s corporation over the past two years.

Wire transfer logs showing steady diversions of project dividends through four separate offshore shell entities.

And three fraudulent supplier contracts bearing forged corporate seals, where the ultimate registered beneficiary was an LLC owned by Piper’s cousin.

He hadn't just been cheating. He had been hollowing out my family’s empire from the inside out, piece by piece, intending to leave us holding an empty shell.

I clicked through to a subfolder labeled "Contingency".

Inside sat a scanned wire confirmation from yesterday afternoon.

Recipient: "Ray Skinner."

Amount: "$50,000."

Memo: "Retainer."

I ran the name through an unauthorized public records search and tapped into an offshore background-check database.

Ray Skinner. Three prior convictions for aggravated assault and reckless vehicular endangerment. A career enforcer operating in the city’s industrial periphery.

Fifty thousand dollars.

That was the price of my little sister’s life. A staged hit-and-run on an unlit road, carried out by a hired wheelman with a record long enough to make it look like just another drunk behind the wheel.

A drop of cold sweat slid down my spine.

"You belong in a cage, Elliott."

My desk phone chimed, vibrating against the mahogany surface.

Caller ID: "Elliott."

I took three long, steadying breaths, smoothing out every crease in my voice before sliding the bar to accept.

"Willa, darling? How are you feeling?" His tone was like honey, rich with manufactured devotion.

"Much better," I said evenly.

"Good. I have a business luncheon today, so I won't be able to slip away for lunch, but I'll pick you up around three. We have our final bridal fitting, remember?"

The bridal fitting.

Our wedding was set for next month. He could arrange a contract hit on my sister on a Friday and calmly escort me to try on wedding gowns on a Saturday.

"Of course," I said softly. "I'll be ready."

"Good girl. Rest up. See you this afternoon."

The moment the call disconnected, I initiated a script that mirrored the entire directory, routing the encrypted backups to three distinct cloud servers based in Switzerland.

Then I dialed our family’s senior legal counsel, Mr. Langston.

"Mr. Langston, I need a forensic audit on four corporate entities. Utmost secrecy. My father cannot know, and Elliott cannot suspect a thing."

"I understand, Willa. I'll handle it personally."

I hung up, walked to my wardrobe, and chose a tailored, ivory silk dress.

If Elliott wanted to stage a romantic tragedy, I would let him build the set. I would let him climb as high as his vanity could take him.

Because the higher he climbed, the harder he would hit the pavement.

At three o'clock sharp, his sleek black sedan pulled up outside.

He was dressed in an impeccable charcoal bespoke suit, looking every inch the devoted, successful young executive.

"You look stunning, Willa," he murmured, stepping out to open my door.

"Thank you," I said, meeting his eyes with a faint, polite smile. "A bride should look the part."

...

4

The bridal salon was an ultra-exclusive atelier in the luxury district, all ivory plaster, arched mirrors, and velvet chaises.

Sitting in the lounge area, flipping through a bridal lookbook, was Piper.

She wore a backless champagne slip dress that clung to every curve, looking far more like the star of the show than an invited guest.

"Piper? What are you doing here?" I asked, feigning surprise.

Piper looked up, her face instantly splitting into an effervescent, girlish beam. "Willa! Elliott mentioned you had your final fitting today. I was just shopping nearby, so I thought I'd pop in to keep you company. You don't mind, do you?"

She stepped forward, reaching out to hook her arm into mine. I gracefully stepped aside, running my hand along a rack of hanging silk instead.

"Not at all. The more the merrier."

Elliott joined us, walking toward a mannequin wearing a strapless gown encrusted with thousands of micro-crystals.

"Look at this one, Willa," he said, admiring the shimmering beadwork. "I think the structure suits your silhouette perfectly."

As he spoke, his eyes flickered toward Piper for a fraction of a second.

Piper jumped in immediately. "Oh, I don't know, Elliott. That dress is awfully loud. Willa’s style has always been so minimalist and reserved. I’m not sure she can carry off something that dramatic. Honestly, I think the simple bias-cut satin gown in the corner would be much more... appropriate for her."

She gestured toward a plain, unstructured dress tucked away in the back, her voice tinged with faint condescension.

I looked between the two of them, a bitter amusement blooming in my chest.

That crystal-encrusted gown was the exact design Piper had saved to her public Pinterest boards six different times. And the simple satin slip she was trying to shove me into was the very style Elliott had once privately mocked as looking like "an overpriced nightgown."

They were using my fitting to live out their twisted little domestic fantasy, parading their private inside jokes right in front of my face.

"I’ll take the crystal one," I told the attendant.

Elliott blinked, caught off guard. "Willa, are you sure? Don't you want to look around? It might be a little too..."

"You said it suited me," I countered, looking him dead in the eye with a serene smile. "And if you love it, that’s all that matters."

A flicker of irritation tightened the corners of Elliott’s mouth before his practiced charm smoothed it away. "Of course. Whatever makes you happy, darling."

The fitting took nearly an hour.

When the attendant pulled back the velvet curtain and I stepped out onto the circular dais, the crystal gown catching the overhead chandeliers in a blaze of light, Elliott was sitting on the sofa staring at his phone. He didn't even look up until the rustle of the petticoat broke the quiet.

Piper, on the other hand, was staring at me. Her hands gripped the armrest of the sofa so hard her knuckles were white, raw envy burning in her eyes.

"How does it look?" I asked, stepping down toward Elliott.

He quickly locked his screen, rising to his feet with an easy, practiced smile. "Breathtaking. You look like royalty."

The compliment was delivered with all the emotional depth of a teleprompter reading.

I looked at my reflection in the three-way mirror. Pale, sharp, wrapped in ten thousand crystals. A perfect doll in their gilded cage.

"Oh, Willa," Elliott said, stepping up behind me to adjust the sweep of the train. He placed his hands lightly on my shoulders, meeting my eyes in the glass. "Next Saturday, I've booked the rooftop grand ballroom at The Grandview Hotel. I want to throw an official proposal gala."

I arched an eyebrow. "We’re already engaged."

"I know," he murmured, his gaze dripping with earnest devotion. "But we skipped the grand gesture when we filed the paperwork. You deserve a proper celebration. I’ve invited your parents, Sadie, and all our close friends and colleagues. I want to stand in front of everyone who matters and give you a vow for the rest of our lives."

Three days ago, I would have melted at those words.

Today, it sounded like a funeral invitation.

He was gathering everyone I loved in one room. Why? To solidify the public narrative before executing the final phase of his embezzlement? To ensure that when the "unfortunate tragedy" struck our family, he would be positioned as the devoted, grieving son-in-law ready to assume control of the estate?

"That sounds wonderful," I said, turning in the dress to smile at him. "I can't wait."

Over the next six days, Elliott was rarely home. He claimed meetings with overseas partners, returning late at night carrying the faint, powdery trace of floral perfume.

I didn't confront him. I didn't ask questions. I simply worked.

Mr. Langston delivered the final forensic report: the paper trail connecting Elliott to the shell corporations was ironclad. And through a trusted acquaintance in cybersecurity, I had arranged a few subtle modifications to the Grandview Hotel’s audiovisual system.

Saturday arrived in a blur of gray autumn mist.

By eight in the evening, the rooftop ballroom of The Grandview was transformed into a fairytale. Thousands of white champagne roses tumbled over marble columns beneath soaring crystal chandeliers. Soft chamber music drifted over the crowd of two hundred guests.

I stood in the private green room, dressed in the heavy, crystal-encrusted gown.

The door clicked open, and Piper slipped inside holding a glass of water.

"Willa, you look unreal," she gushed, her eyes glittering with poorly concealed triumph. "Here, have some water. Your throat must be dry. Everyone is seated outside."

She looked at me as if she had already won. As if, after tonight, the crown would simply transfer from my head to hers.

"Thank you, Piper," I said, taking the glass and setting it undisturbed on the vanity. "Let’s go."

I pushed open the double doors.

The ballroom lights dimmed on cue.

A single spotlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the center stage.

Elliott stood there in an ivory dinner jacket, holding a massive bouquet of deep crimson roses.

In the front row, my parents sat together, my mother dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief, my father beaming with pride. Beside them sat Sadie, waving eagerly at me with both hands.

Everything looked exquisite.

I walked slowly down the mirrored runner, lifting my skirt, stepping toward the man who had spent three years digging a grave for my entire family.

Elliott stepped forward to meet me, taking my fingers in his. His palms were warm, but a chill crept up my spine at his touch.

He raised a wireless microphone to his lips, his voice carrying through the hall like liquid gold.

"Willa, today marks exactly one thousand and ninety-five days since you came into my life."

The room let out a collective, soft sigh.

"Through every trial, you have been my anchor, my grace, and my greatest blessing." He paused, looking around the room before slowly sinking to one knee.

From his pocket, he produced a black velvet box, snapping it open to reveal a massive, brilliant-cut diamond that scattered the spotlight into shards of white light.

"Willa Ross, will you marry me, and let me spend the rest of my life protecting you?"

The ballroom erupted.

"Say yes! Say yes!" Tanner cheered from the back.

A few rows away, Piper had both hands pressed over her mouth, tears of manufactured joy spilling down her cheeks.

I looked down at Elliott.

He was smiling his perfect, asymmetrical smile, his eyes steady, utterly certain of the outcome.

"Elliott," I whispered softly.

"Yes, my love?" he beamed up at me.

I leaned down, bringing my lips close to his ear, and spoke in a clear, measured murmur.

"You really are a remarkable actor."

The smile froze on his face.

Before he could process the words, I straightened my posture, turned toward the audiovisual booth at the back of the hall, and raised my hand.

"Snap."

The crisp sound of my fingers echoed across the microphone.

In the next breath, the massive LED video wall behind the stage—which had been looping soft-focus engagement photos of the two of us—flickered black.

Then the screen flared back to life.

A high-resolution photograph filled the sixty-foot display.

A dimly lit booth in an exclusive Italian restaurant downtown. Elliott was leaning across the candlelit table, his hand tenderly cupping a woman's jaw as he fed her a bite of steak. The woman was leaning into his palm, eyes half-closed in adoration.

Elliott’s profile was unmistakable.

And the woman in the champagne slip dress was Piper.