Chloe sat before the vanity mirror, a doll being painted for auction. The makeup artist worked silently, her brushes whispering against Chloe's skin.
Seraphina entered the bridal suite at The Plaza, her reflection appearing in the mirror behind Chloe's. She held out a glass of water.
Chloe didn't take it.
"Do you think I'm beautiful today?" Chloe's voice was flat, dead. "Like a prized commodity?"
A flicker of pain crossed Seraphina's face. "I'm sorry, Chloe."
Chloe offered a bitter, humorless smile and said nothing more.
A soft knock at the door. The hotel manager entered, bowing slightly.
"Miss Beaumont, a message from the lobby. Mr. Carlisle... Mr. Derek Carlisle... has not yet arrived."
The air in the room froze. The ceremony was set to begin in less than an hour.
Seraphina immediately pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. The call went straight to voicemail.
A tiny, wicked spark of hope ignited in Chloe's chest.
"See?" she whispered to her own reflection. "He doesn't want to marry me either."
The spark was extinguished moments later when Nathaniel's assistant, a severe-looking woman in a gray suit, entered the room.
"Mr. Carlisle sends his regards," she said, her voice as starched as her collar. "He says the wedding will proceed as scheduled. He will handle it."
And he did.
Derek Carlisle appeared at the altar twenty minutes late, his face a thunderous mask. He moved like a puppet, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on some point far beyond Chloe.
The rest of the day was a blur of champagne and fake smiles. At the reception, Chloe drank. She drank until the crystal flutes felt light as air and the ballroom lights blurred into soft, hazy circles.
Across the table, Seraphina matched her glass for glass, her own guilt a bottomless well.
Halfway through the dinner, Chloe mumbled an excuse about the restroom and slipped away.
Seraphina found her moments later, slumped against the wall in a quiet, carpeted hallway.
"Chloe, please," Seraphina slurred, her own steps unsteady. "Let's just... let's go to the room. You need to rest."
She fumbled in her clutch for the keycard to the honeymoon suite. The hotel had provided it earlier. The numbers swam in her vision. Eight-eight-six-nine? Or was it nine-eight? It didn't matter.
She looped an arm around Chloe's waist, half-dragging her down the corridor. The hallways of The Plaza were a maze of identical doors and dim, opulent lighting.
She stopped in front of a grand suite marked 8869. She swiped the keycard. She didn't notice the light flashing red before she pushed against the heavy door.
It swung inward. Unlocked—housekeeping must have forgotten to latch it after turndown service.
She guided Chloe inside and onto the massive bed, pulling off her painful heels.
"Sleep, Chloe," Seraphina whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears as she pulled a duvet over her sister. "It will all be over soon."
She turned and left, her head pounding. She didn't realize her mistake.
The honeymoon suite was 8898.
Room 8869 was the private, long-term residence of Nathaniel Sterling.
As Seraphina stumbled back toward the ballroom, she collided with a hard chest. It was Derek, his tie loosened, his own eyes glazed with alcohol.
He shot her a look of pure contempt, didn't apologize, and stalked off in the opposite direction.
Toward room 8898.
