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Her fingers stop on the bright pink dress.

“I don’t love him.”

“You don’t have to love him. You just have to take his name and dodge his bed.”

The hanger bites into my palm before I realize how hard I’m holding it. I loosen my grip and drag the next dress free, while my thoughts drift back to the adrenaline, the mask, and Fionn Harrington’s voice behind me in the dark.

“How do we dress for such an occasion?” I ask, holding the black dress against myself. “We make a statement.”

Eilish looks from the dress to me, and the first real spark of the day catches in her eyes. “We wear black for lunch instead of cornflower blue.”

“Exactly.”

I strip off and step into the tight black dress, tugging the hem down my thighs before reaching for a pair of heels high enough to make Mara Kinnane regret having me at the table.

Eilish opens the velvet-lined drawer beneath her vanity and takes out two gold cuffs, both thin, delicate and wide so they'll cover the damn marks circling my wrists.

“Here,” she says, fastening the first one around my left wrist. “If we’re making a statement, we may as well accessorize.”

The metal closes over the tender skin, and I hold still while she secures the second cuff on my other wrist.

One by one, flashes of Fionn return, from the way he looked at me when he had me beneath him, to his hands pinning my wrists while I pretended I didn’t enjoy how hard he was against me.

And now he’s marrying my best friend.

In the mirror, the bracelets look expensive and pretty.

I flex my fingers, watching gold flash over the imprint of his fingertips.

My chest tightens and I look away, hating myself for being jealous when the reality is that Eilish will be at his mercy now. She’ll be the victim of whatever sickness lives in him.

If I’m sitting at the same table as the Harringtons, I’ll dress for a funeral and pretend Eilish is the only reason I want their marriage dead.

Chapter 6

Sera

I run my palms over my black dress before Eilish and I enter the dining room. Everyone seated around the lunch table looks up, even Fionn. However, I pretend not to notice him.

Crystal glasses sparkle in the afternoon light, silver cutlery sits in perfect rows, and white roses spill from low arrangements between bottles of champagne and sparkling water.

Every beautiful detail is curated, so no one has to acknowledge that a father is trading his only daughter for power.

Fionn stands at the far side of the room with a glass in his hand, listening while Art talks at him. From a distance, his attention looks polite, but his eyes lift the second we walk in.

They go to Eilish first, as they should.

Then, after a heartbeat, they flick to me.

The tight black dress was not designed for a midday luncheon, which is exactly why I chose it.

I care even less when Fionn’s gaze travels over the hem at my thighs, the heels, and the gold circling both wrists before he takes a slow sip of his drink.

Mara’s mouth tightens when she sees the black dresses.

“Why did you change out of the blue dress, Eilish? I told you it was your engagement outfit.”

Eilish lifts her chin, and I keep my hand near her elbow to remind her she’s not alone.