After My Groom Murdered My Parents, I Planned My Escape

The Hamptons breeze carried the scent of roses and sea salt as I stood on the cliffside terrace, my ivory gown catching the golden late-afternoon light. Gavin's hand rested at the small of my back, warm and steady as we faced our assembled guests—two hundred of New York's elite, gathered to witness what should have been the beginning of our forever.

"I promise to cherish you, Rosalie," Gavin said, his voice carrying across the hushed gathering. His dark eyes held mine with an intensity that made my heart flutter. "To protect you, to provide for you, and to love you until my last breath."

I believed every word. God help me, I believed him completely.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant declared, and the terrace erupted in applause.

Gavin's lips met mine, gentle yet possessive, as champagne flutes clinked behind us. My father squeezed my shoulder, his eyes misty with pride and love.

"We've prepared a special toast," he announced, gesturing toward the main house. "Your mother and I have something precious to give you both."

Hand in hand, my parents led the way toward the grand estate house where I'd grown up. Guests followed in a festive procession, laughing and chatting as we moved from the terrace toward the mansion.

We were halfway across the manicured lawn when I heard it—a low rumble that seemed to come from beneath the earth itself.

"Wait," I said, pausing. "Did you hear that?"

Before anyone could answer, the sound became a roar. The ground shook beneath our feet.

"Mom!" I screamed, already running toward the house where my parents had just entered. "Dad!"

The explosion tore through the mansion with a force that knocked me to my knees. Heat blasted across the lawn as flames erupted from every window simultaneously. The beautiful house—my home—became a fireball in seconds.

"Mom! Dad!" I scrambled to my feet, lunging toward the inferno. "They're in there!"

Strong arms wrapped around me from behind, lifting me off the ground as I kicked and screamed.

"Let me go! My parents are in there!" I clawed at Gavin's arms, but his grip was like steel. "Gavin, please!"

"Rosalie, stop!" His voice was sharp in my ear. "There's nothing you can do!"

I watched in horror as firefighters rushed toward the blaze, too late to save anyone inside. The smoke billowed black against the perfect blue sky, and somewhere in that darkness were my parents—the only family I'd ever known.

---

Hours later, I drifted in and out of consciousness in a private hospital suite. The sedatives they'd given me made everything blurry, but I could make out Gavin's silhouette by my bedside.

"She's stable," a doctor was saying. "The shock is considerable, but physically she's fine."

"Thank you." Gavin's voice was rough with emotion. "I need to make some calls. The press will be relentless with this."

I felt his cool fingers brush soot from my cheek. "I'll be right outside if you need anything."

The door closed behind him, and I heard him speaking in hushed tones to someone—police, reporters, I couldn't tell.

"I'll take care of everything," he assured them. "Rosalie can't handle any of this right now. I'll protect her."

When he returned, he sat beside me, taking my limp hand in his. "I've taken your phone," he explained gently. "The press will be calling nonstop. You need peace to heal."

I nodded weakly, too numb to protest. My parents were gone. Our home was gone. What did a phone matter now?

"The doctors say you should rest here tonight," Gavin continued, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "Tomorrow, we'll figure out where to go from here. I'll handle the company matters—you don't need to worry about any of that."

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to my forehead. "I promised to protect you, Rosalie. I meant it."

---

Sunlight streamed through unfamiliar curtains when I finally woke fully. My mouth was dry, my head pounding. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was or how I'd gotten here.

Then it all came rushing back—the explosion, the fire, my parents' faces as they walked into what became their funeral pyre.

I stumbled from the bed, needing water, needing air, needing something to ground me in this nightmare. The hotel suite was opulent but strange, with none of my things, none of the comforts of home.

Voices drifted from the balcony. I recognized Gavin's immediately.

"The fire was cleaner than I expected," he was saying, his tone casual, amused almost. "Marcus is gone, the audit trail is destroyed, and the grieving widow narrative will keep the feds off my back while I bring Nadia in."

I froze behind the curtain, my hand pressed against my mouth to stifle any sound.

"You worried about her?" Vincent Torres asked.

"Rosalie?" Gavin laughed softly. "She's too broken to suspect anything. Besides, she trusts me completely."

Something twisted in my stomach—a nausea that had nothing to do with the sedatives still in my system.

"The board meeting is scheduled for next week," Gavin continued. "With Marcus gone and the Harper name in disgrace, we'll have no trouble taking control."

I backed away from the curtain, my legs barely supporting me. The room spun around me as I made it to the bathroom just in time.

As I knelt on the cold tile floor, vomiting until there was nothing left, one thought crystallized through the shock and horror:

My husband had killed my parents.

And I was next.