Chapter 2

Night in Mantharic was far from gentle. Neon lit the sky in a feverish red, a hue that dragged Edward's mind back to the bloodshed at that wedding.

He sat on the floor of the Crownleigh's top-floor suite, a splash of whiskey staining the intricate weave of a Persian rug, its rich scent mingling with the stale air of his isolation. His hand gripped the stem of a crystal glass so tightly it seemed it might shatter.

Three days.

It had been three days since the funeral, and every time he closed his eyes, Anne's blood-soaked body appeared… only to morph into Victoria's face as she demanded marriage. The two images overlapped until he could no longer distinguish where reality ended and the nightmare began.

He despised her.

Victoria had twisted Anne's death into an excuse to get close, to manipulate him, and to invade his life. And yet, the cruelest torment was that whenever he tried to sever himself from the Windsor family entirely, her eyes—so painfully like Anne's—would surface in his mind, pushing him closer to the edge.

The doorbell rang.

The door cracked open, spilling warm golden light from the hallway across the rug in a long, narrow strip.

Victoria stood there, clutching an altered room key. She had rushed to Mantharic the moment she learned Edward was traveling, convinced she could soften him with sincerity and fulfill Anne's final wish.

She wore a vintage white silk slip dress—Anne's favorite style—its elegant cut tracing her figure precisely. For this humiliating attempt to win him over, she had copied Anne in every detail: her hairstyle, her perfume, even the way she walked.

She told herself that maybe, just maybe, Edward would accept her for Anne's sake.

But as her eyes adjusted to the dim suite, she froze in place. This wasn't her room. The key card had been switched.

She drew a breath, preparing to wake him. "Edward?"

The man on the sofa shifted.

Edward lifted his head, his bleary eyes catching on the white silhouette framed in the doorway. That face, that outline, the unmistakable scent of Anne's perfume.

"Anne?" His voice broke.

He lurched to his feet, knocking a glass off the table without noticing it. His gaze locked on her, disbelief and a fragile, almost wild joy flooding his features.

"You came back… I knew you weren't dead… I knew…"

He closed the distance in a rush, grabbing her arm before she could speak. His hands clamped around her waist, the heat of his body and the sharp tang of alcohol surrounding her.

"Edward, look at me, I'm—"

"Shh." His interruption was rough, edged with desperation. Trembling fingers traced her cheek, sliding from her brow to her lips, touching what he had never dared to touch in waking life.

"Don't speak. Please… don't leave me again."

The heir to the Russell Group, so often cold and untouchable, now sounded like a broken man. His voice trembled with a plea that cut straight to her heart. "I'm losing my mind, Anne. Don't go…"

Victoria's heart clenched, pain radiating through her chest. She had watched him from the shadows for years, always as Anne's protector. Now he held her, yet called another woman's name.

'Is this what you wanted, Anne?' she thought. 'Is this your idea of happiness for me?'

Edward gave her no time to answer. His mouth claimed her lips in a wild, possessive kiss, as if reclaiming something stolen.

"Mmph…" She tried to push him away, her palms braced against his chest.

"I want all of you… Anne, I want…" His breath was hot against her neck, tears burning as they slid down her collarbone.

And in that moment, Victoria stopped resisting. If this was the price of restoring the family, she would pay it.

She closed her eyes as a cold tear slipped free, her arms circling his back. Her voice came out as little more than a sigh. "Alright."

The word shattered his last restraint. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed as rain battered the windows, the room igniting with a consuming fire born of love and desperation.

His touch was both urgent and tender, his whispers relentless—"I love you," "We'll be together forever." Each phrase sank into her battered heart like a dangerous sweetness.

She endured his claim, nails digging into the sheets, her mind flashing with the image of Anne's gentle yet defiant smile as she took the blade. 

'I'm sorry… and I love you, Edward,' she thought. The confession was swallowed back into the rhythm of their tangled bodies.

Edward woke up with a pounding headache.

The warmth in his arms made him tighten his hold, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It was as if Anne had come back.

But when he opened his eyes, the smile froze, cracked, and disappeared. It wasn't Anne.

It was Victoria.

Memory slammed into him, and he wished for oblivion itself. He had slept with her—betrayed Anne for this calculating, manipulative woman.

"Get out!" His roar was raw and violent. He sat up and kicked her off the bed.

She hit the carpet hard, pain exploding through her body.

Before she could speak, his hand closed around her throat, pinning her to the mattress like a feral predator.

"You set me up?" His teeth were clenched as each word was forced through rage. "You disgust me! You wore Anne's dress to climb into my bed? Do you even know what shame is?"

Her face reddened, her hands clawing at his wrists, choking sounds spilling from her lips.

"Are you that desperate for a man? Huh?" His fury surged as she struggled. "You're not worthy of her. You're not worthy of touching anything that belonged to her."

He abruptly released her.

"I didn't…" she gasped, collapsing to the floor and coughing until tears blurred her vision. The bruise on her neck was already darkening.

Edward stood and pulled on a robe without looking at her. His eyes were cold and contemptuous.

"Don't think sleeping with me gets you into the Russell family. I will only ever love Anne. As for you…"

He drew a wad of cash from his wallet and flung it into her face. The edge of a bill nicked her cheek before the money scattered across her skin.

"Consider it payment for your performance last night. Take it, and get out."

Without another glance, he strode into the bathroom and slammed the door. The sound of running water filled the suite, as if he could wash her off his skin.

Victoria sat among the scattered bills, her body marked with bruises from the night before.

The door slammed shut, the impact shaking the walls. Alone on the rumpled bed, she curled in on herself, burying her face in her arms, and finally broke into sobs.

At the far end of the hallway, a man in a baseball cap slipped a small camera into his pocket. He glanced at the sent email on his phone—sent to gossip outlets hungry for scandal.

Attached were photos of Victoria disheveled in bed, along with high-definition photos and a video of Edward storming out that morning.

His mouth curved into a cold smile as he pressed the call button. "As you wished, it's done."