Chapter 2

Clarissa's POV

Downtown, at the Marguerite Haute Couture bridal boutique.

The moment my fingers brushed against a satin gown, a familiar cold sneer sounded behind me.

"Two hundred thousand dollars for a dress. Clarissa, did your basement-dwelling mortician pay for this by selling gold teeth ripped from corpses?"

I turned around. Ezra stood there in a custom suit, one hand in his pocket. Ophelia clung to his arm, raking her eyes over me like I was a beggar.

"What a coincidence, Clarissa," she giggled, covering her mouth. "Ezra said we needed a few backup dresses for the banquet, so he dragged me here. Didn't expect to run into you."

Ezra took two steps closer, eyeing the gown in my hand.

"Are you planning a surprise for that freak? Going all out for a wedding that won't even have guests?"

He lowered his voice.

"I heard he doesn't just clean up dead bodies—half his face is burned off. He's hideous enough to make you puke. You don't have to pretend you're excited about this in front of me. You checked my schedule and followed me here, didn't you?"

The feral instinct in my blood slammed against my bones again. I took a sharp breath, forced it down, and turned back to the dress.

"I’m wearing this for my fiancé. What he looks like and what he does for a living is none of your business," I said flatly. "Excuse me."

The mockery froze on Ezra's face. Ever since that night in the VIP booth, he had probably been waiting for me to crawl back.

Ophelia’s eyes glinted. She let go of him, walked right up to me, and snatched the hem of the gown.

"Clarissa, I really love this one too." Her eyes instantly welled with red, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Nobody is going to your wedding anyway, so wearing something this expensive is just a waste. Let me have it? Consider it... your blessing for me and Ezra."

"I claimed this dress," I said. "If you want one, make him buy it for you."

Ophelia went pale.

"Don't be so selfish!" Instead of letting go, she yanked the dress hard toward herself.

In the half-second the dress rack tipped over, she raised her hand and dragged the diamond brooch on the neckline aggressively against her own cheek.

Then she let out a piercing shriek and threw herself backward with dramatic flair.

Blood seeped through her fingers.

"Ophelia!"

Ezra shoved me violently. My back slammed hard against the glass display case. He dropped to one knee, cupping her face.

"She pulled it herself. I didn't touch her," I said, steadying myself. "There are cameras everywhere. Check the footage."

"Ezra, it hurts so much..." Ophelia collapsed into his arms, tears streaming down her face. "It's my fault for wanting the dress. She hates me for taking you away from her, so I deserve to be scratched. I don't blame her. Please don't be mad at her."

Ezra stood up, marched over to me, and raised his hand.

"You vicious bitch!"

"Has jealousy made you crazy?! You dare touch Ophelia's face?" His eyes were bloodshot, glaring down at me. "I'm warning you, you will show her absolute respect. If I ever see you lay a hand on her again, I swear to God I'll make sure there's nothing left of your mortician fiancé but ashes."

I looked at the man in front of me. Ten years of living under his roof, ten years of walking on eggshells—all of it reduced to a sick joke in this very moment.

I raised my hands and shoved him hard in the chest.

"Ezra, open your damn eyes and look at me. I am getting married. Our engagement died a long time ago." I glared at him. "Drop your disgusting, superior act. Now take your woman and get out of my sight."

Ophelia’s fake sobbing choked in her throat.

Ezra stared at me, the shock slowly washing out of his eyes.

Suddenly, he laughed, taking a menacing step toward me.

"A bottom-feeding corpse cleaner blew his life savings to buy you in front of everyone. And today you’re standing in this shop, picking out a two-hundred-thousand-dollar dress—"

Ophelia chimed in with a light, mocking laugh from behind him. "I hear guys from the slums never even get to touch a woman. He really went bankrupt just for Clarissa."

Ezra’s breath hitched.

He lunged forward, his hand clamping around my jaw with bone-crushing force.

"So you were already screwing that trash behind my back?"

He pinned me brutally against the glass case, his hot breath hitting my face.

"No wonder you agreed so quickly. No wonder you’d rather sleep in a moldy, rotting basement." His face twisted with raw, venomous jealousy. "Clarissa, you really are a cheap slut. Have you been in his bed this whole time? Did he fuck you so well that you suddenly have the guts to speak to me like this today?"