The Cooper mansion blazed with golden light, every chandelier gleaming like captured stars. I stood at the top of the grand staircase, gripping the marble banister until my knuckles went white, watching the pre-wedding celebration unfold below. Dozens of elite guests mingled in the ballroom, their laughter and champagne toasts echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

I hadn't slept. Hadn't eaten. The memory of Ronan feeding my blood to Avayah played on endless repeat behind my eyes, but somehow I'd managed to apply concealer to the dark circles and slip into this emerald silk gown. The fabric felt foreign against my skin, like a costume for a role I no longer wanted to play.

"Lucy, darling!" Mrs. Whitmore's voice cut through my daze as I descended the stairs. "How radiant you look! Tomorrow's the big day!"

I forced my lips into what I hoped resembled a smile. "Yes, tomorrow."

The words tasted like ash. Around me, guests pressed close with congratulations that felt like mockery. Each "How romantic!" and "You're so lucky!" drove the knife deeper into wounds I was still learning to acknowledge.

Ronan appeared at my side with practiced timing, his hand settling possessively on my waist. "There's my beautiful bride," he murmured, loud enough for nearby guests to hear. His fingers pressed into my ribs—not painful, but firm. Claiming.

The photographer's flash exploded in my face. I blinked away the white spots, feeling Ronan's thumb trace small circles against my hip bone. To everyone watching, it looked tender. Intimate. I knew better now. His touch was as calculated as everything else.

"Smile, love," he whispered against my ear, his breath warm but his voice empty of any real affection.

I smiled. The cameras clicked. The crowd murmured approval.

Ronan's eyes remained cold as winter glass.

Across the ballroom, Avayah held court near the champagne fountain, resplendent in a blood-red gown that hugged every curve. The color suited her—predatory, dangerous, beautiful. She threw her head back and laughed at something an elderly gentleman said, but her gaze kept finding mine across the crowd. Each time our eyes met, her smile sharpened.

I moved through the party like a sleepwalker, accepting kisses on both cheeks from society matrons, nodding at business associates' jokes about marriage and ball-and-chains. My body went through the motions while my mind replayed last night's revelation over and over. *My love. Drink slowly. Let it warm you from within.*

The champagne fountain caught the light like liquid diamonds, bubbles rising endlessly toward the crystal rim. I found myself drawn to it, perhaps seeking something—anything—to wash the bitter taste from my mouth. As I reached for a flute, my shoulder brushed against silk.

"Oh!" Avayah's gasp was sharp, theatrical. She stumbled backward, one hand flying to her arm as if I'd struck her. "Lucy!"

I turned, confused. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"You pushed me!" Her voice rose, carrying across the ballroom like a bell. Conversations died. Heads turned. "You deliberately tried to hurt me!"

"What? No, I—" The words died in my throat as tears began streaming down Avayah's perfect cheeks.

"I know you resent me," she continued, her voice breaking with practiced emotion. "I know you've always hated how close Ronan and I are, but I never thought you'd actually—" She pressed her hand to her chest, breathing hard. "I'm family. How could you?"

The crowd pressed closer, their faces a blur of shock and judgment. Someone whispered, "The bride attacked her." Another voice: "Jealousy is such an ugly thing."

"Avayah, please," I tried to explain, my voice barely audible over the growing murmur. "It was an accident. I barely touched—"

Her hand moved faster than thought. The champagne glass shattered against the fountain's marble edge with a sound like breaking bones. Before I could react, she brought the jagged remains across my forehead in a vicious arc.

Pain exploded through my skull. The broken glass bit deep, carving a path from my temple down to my neck. Blood—hot and immediate—poured down my face, soaking into my dress, dripping onto the pristine marble floor.

I screamed.

The sound tore from my throat as I fell to my knees, one hand pressed desperately against the gaping wound on my neck. Blood seeped between my fingers, warm and thick. Through the haze of shock and pain, I looked up at Avayah.

She stood over me like an avenging angel in red silk, the broken glass still clutched in her fist. Her tears had vanished. In their place was something savage and satisfied, a predator's smile that revealed her true nature to anyone brave enough to look.

But no one was looking at her. They were all staring at me—the bleeding bride, the jealous woman who'd supposedly attacked poor, innocent Avayah.

"Someone help her!" a voice shouted.

Footsteps pounded across marble. Through my blurred vision, I saw Ronan pushing through the crowd. Finally. Finally, he would see what she'd done, would protect me, would—

He pulled Avayah into his arms.

"Shh, it's alright," he murmured, stroking her hair while she sobbed against his chest. "You're safe now."

I knelt in my own blood, watching the man I'd loved for three years comfort my attacker. His eyes met mine for one brief moment—not with concern or love, but with cold annoyance, as if I were a problem to be managed.

"Take Miss Thompson to the side room," he told two servants without looking away from Avayah. "Call Dr. Martinez. And please—" His voice carried the weight of practiced authority. "Don't let the guests see this. It's upsetting them."

Hands lifted me from the floor, guided me away from the crowd. As they led me toward a small anteroom, I looked back one last time. Ronan was still holding Avayah, explaining to the gathered guests in soothing tones.

"She's been under tremendous stress lately," his voice carried clearly across the ballroom. "The wedding preparations, the pressure—she didn't mean to react so strongly. You know how sensitive Avayah is."

Nods of understanding. Murmurs of sympathy. For her.

Not one person mentioned that she'd assaulted me with a weapon.

The side room was small and sterile, all white walls and medical supplies. Dr. Martinez worked in silence, his needle pulling my skin back together stitch by careful stitch. Blood soaked through towel after towel, but I barely felt the pain.

I was too busy finally, truly seeing.

Seeing that I had never been the bride. I had only ever been the sacrifice.

The side room became my prison for over an hour. Dr. Martinez packed his instruments and left without meeting my eyes, murmuring something about keeping the wound clean. After he closed the door, silence pressed against my eardrums—not true silence, but something worse. Through the walls, I could hear the party continuing as if nothing had happened. Laughter rippled like water. Champagne glasses clinked in celebration. The string quartet played something light and romantic.

No one came to check on me.

I sat on the medical cot, hands folded in my lap, feeling the pull of fresh stitches with every breath. My reflection stared back from a small mirror on the wall—pale skin, hollow eyes, the angry red line carved from my temple down to my neck. The doctor had said it would scar. Of course it would. Avayah had made sure of that.

The door finally opened. Ronan stepped inside, still in his pristine suit, not a hair out of place. He glanced at my bandaged forehead with the clinical detachment of someone inspecting property damage.

"Dr. Martinez took care of it?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good." He adjusted his cufflinks, a gesture I'd once found elegant. Now it just looked like impatience. "I need to get back. People are asking questions."

I stared at him. "Questions about what?"

"About the incident." His tone suggested I should understand without him having to explain. "It's being handled. I spoke to Avayah—she understands she overreacted. It won't happen again."

Something cracked open inside my chest. "She overreacted? Ronan, she attacked me with broken glass."

"She was upset." He moved toward the door. "You know how sensitive she is. Just... try to avoid antagonizing her before the wedding, alright?"

He left before I could respond. The door clicked shut, and I sat there in the sterile white room, listening to my fiancé's footsteps fade back toward the music and laughter. Back toward the party celebrating our wedding. Back toward Avayah.

I didn't know how long I sat there. Eventually, the sounds died down. Guests departed. Engines started in the driveway. The mansion settled into its nighttime quiet, all that false celebration draining away like water through a sieve.

My room felt different when I finally returned to it. Colder. The mirror above my vanity reflected a stranger—someone with fresh wounds and older scars I'd refused to acknowledge. I sank onto the cushioned bench, fingers automatically reaching for the jade pendant at my throat.

My mother's pendant. The only piece of her I had left.

I held it between my thumb and forefinger, feeling its familiar weight and smoothness. She'd given it to me on her deathbed, pressing it into my palm with trembling hands. "Never forget who you are," she'd whispered. "Never let anyone take that from you."

I'd failed her. I'd let Ronan take everything—my blood, my dignity, my sense of self. And tomorrow, I'd been ready to give him even more.

The door to my room opened without a knock.

Avayah stood in the threshold, still wearing that blood-red gown though it hung disheveled now, the fabric creased and the neckline askew. Her makeup had smudged, giving her eyes a wild, predatory look. She closed the door behind her with a deliberate click that made my stomach clench.

"Did you really think Ronan would marry someone like you?" Her voice was honey poured over razors as she moved into the room, circling me like a wolf testing its prey. "You're nothing but a blood bag. A resource."

I should have stood. Should have demanded she leave. But exhaustion pinned me to the bench, my body too drained from blood loss and betrayal to fight anymore.

"Please leave," I said quietly.

Avayah's laughter was sharp and brittle. "Please leave," she mimicked in a whining tone. Then her eyes fixed on my hand, still clutching the jade pendant. Her expression shifted—cruel interest replacing mockery. "What's this?"

I instinctively covered the pendant with both hands, pressing it against my chest. "Nothing. Just... please go."

"If it's nothing, why are you protecting it?" She stepped closer, head tilted like a curious cat examining a trapped mouse. "Let me see."

"It was my mother's." The words came out before I could stop them. "It's all I have left of her. An heirloom."

Avayah's smile transformed into something vicious and gleaming. "How precious."

She lunged.

Her hands closed around the pendant's chain, yanking with brutal force. The delicate links bit into the back of my neck, cutting skin before snapping. I cried out, reaching desperately for the pendant as Avayah stumbled backward, dangling it from her fingers like a trophy.

"Give it back!" I surged to my feet, but dizziness from the blood loss made the room tilt. "Please, Avayah, it's all I have of her. It's priceless to me—"

"This old thing?" Avayah examined the pendant with theatrical contempt, turning it over in the lamplight. "It's not even real jade."

"I don't care what it's worth!" Desperation cracked my voice. "Please, just give it back. I'm begging you."

Her eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure at my desperation. She walked to the center of the room with deliberate slowness, holding the pendant high where I could see it clearly. Then she dropped it.

The pendant hit the hardwood floor with a delicate clink.

"No—" I started forward, but Avayah raised her high-heeled foot and brought it down. The jade cracked. She stomped again. And again. And again, grinding her heel in circles, pulverizing my mother's heirloom into smaller and smaller fragments while maintaining eye contact with me.

I lunged forward on instinct, dropping to my knees, reaching for the pieces. Maybe I could save something. Maybe—

Avayah's heel came down on my outstretched hand.

Pain exploded through my palm as her weight settled, the sharp heel crushing down into the delicate bones of my fingers. I screamed, trying to pull away, but she pressed harder, leaning her weight into it.

"Know your place," she hissed above me, her voice soft and deadly. "You were never the bride. You were only ever the blood."