6
Margery’s POV
That night, I had barely finished packing when I received another video from Wanda. I hadn’t even had a chance to lie down before the message lit up my phone.
The moment I opened it, their bodies filled the screen—Wanda and Gibson entangled, only inches apart. They were wrapped around each other; Wanda looked utterly seductive, every inch the opposite of the fragile woman she’d shown by day.
I closed my eyes for a beat, then copied the file onto the flash drive.
The next morning, I straightened myself, checked my reflection once, and set off for a party I hadn’t planned on attending—one I only honored because I’d previously promised the host.
At the hall, I hadn’t even said hello to my friends before I saw him—Gibson, calmly moving through the crowd.
And by his side, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, stood Wanda.
Everyone knew Gibson and I were supposed to be engaged. He had every right to come, but to appear with Wanda like this—openly, without an ounce of shame—felt like an insult flung across my face.
I stopped dead and stared at the two of them, unable to tear my eyes away from their brazen closeness.
“Why did you bring her?” I asked, my voice steady but small.
Gibson’s face gave nothing away; his expression was composed.
“Wanda only wanted to see what one of these things is like—to broaden her horizons a little, you know. You should be more understanding,” he said, as if offering a trivial explanation.
He turned away at the timid tug of Wanda’s hand, not bothering to consider what I was supposed to do where I stood.
He led Wanda away without ceremony, leaving me to the furious look that must have shown plainly on my face.
Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind over dry grass.
“Isn’t Margery supposed to be Gibson’s fiancée? Then… why is that woman by his side instead of her?”
“Don’t you know? That’s the woman he actually likes. I bet his bride is going to be replaced soon.”
Hearing that, I could no longer hold myself together. My palms clenched so tightly that I could feel the strain in my knuckles.
And then, like a punch to the gut, I recognized a familiar face in the crowd—one of the men who had stormed my mother’s operating room!
I sprang forward.
The man seemed to sense me and quickened his pace.
We rounded a corner; I nearly had him. My fingers brushed his sleeve—almost enough to grab his arm and drag him to the cops.
But then, like a shadow, a pair of hands shot out from behind me and clamped down.
“Let go of me!” I snarled, but before I could finish the sentence, I was slammed hard to the ground.
I gasped and twisted to look—Gibson stood over me, his eyes burning with contempt, while Wanda flushed and pressed to his side.
His voice was hoarse, layered with disgust.
“Margery! Why would you drug Wanda? She only wanted to try being at a party, and you wanted to make her a spectacle! That’s unforgivable!”
He tightened his grip on my hair and forced my head up so I had no choice but to look at him.
“I… I didn’t—” I choked out, anger and breath both squeezed thin.
But he didn’t listen. His gaze only went cold.
“You need to be taught a lesson.”
Just like that, he gestured to the bodyguards behind him. One stepped forward without hesitation.
“Fill the pool with ice,” Gibson ordered. “Throw her in. Don’t let her out until the sun’s up.”
With Wanda tangled against him and panting, he turned and left. Suddenly, the world narrowed to a humming in my ears; my thoughts scattered like startled birds.
I hadn’t yet found the strength to stand when the guards hauled me away.
With a splash, I was dumped into the pool—a hollow of water packed with jagged ice.
My body shook uncontrollably. I tried to climb out, fingers clawing at the wet edge, but a guard kicked me back down.
Pain spiked through me with every breath; the cold stole my strength as surely as a thief takes pocket change.
From the rooms above, silhouettes moved. Through the frost of my vision, I could see them shifting—close, intimate—while moans and low sounds leaked into the night.
Even though I had long known they were involved in everything, to witness it with my own eyes—my promised husband tangled with another woman—brought a grief so sharp that it felt like drowning.
My chest tightened until breathing itself began to sting.
I shivered until my lower body ached, and then, horrible and sudden, blood flooded between my legs. Hot, profuse crimson rose through the icy shock.
The next moment came as darkness rushing in: I could not hold on. My limbs went loose; the world tipped away, and I slipped into black.
