Chapter 4

The next morning, Riannon called me with a venomous rundown of the situation. Draven was tearing the city apart to build a miracle wedding for Lenora, bleeding cash and calling in favors. The sheer scale and production of it rivaled the empire he'd built for our wedding.

Yet, amidst his desperate rush to the altar, he still had his executive assistant send me three lavish catered meals a day. It was a suffocatingly display of care—a man splitting his attention right down the middle, playing the devoted caretaker to two different women.

By the time the third day arrived, Riannon dragged me to the grand downtown ballroom wedding venue.

We sat in the heavy, velvet-draped shadows of the back row. Up near the altar, bathed in a sickeningly perfect spotlight, Lenora was draped in my custom-handcrafted couture wedding gown. She was surrounded by a flock of socialite bridesmaids, her arm threaded possessively through Draven's.

"I remember when Draven rented out the botanical gardens for his first wedding," one of the women murmured, her voice carrying over the string quartet. "But God, Lenora, you really won the ultimate prize today."

At the mention of my past, Lenora's grip on Draven's tuxedo jacket tightened.

Draven didn't flinch. His expression remained entirely composed. "Vesper and I dissolved our marriage. Today is about Lenora. Let's leave the past where it belongs."

His swift dismissal earned a coo of approval from the bridesmaids. "Exactly. Besides, Lenora is so much more graceful. You're giving her your whole life, Draven. Don't let her down."

Draven offered a soft, devoted smile. The exact same smile he used to reserve only for me. "I won't let her down. You have my word," he said.

Beside me, Riannon was shaking with rage. "This is repulsive. She's wearing your dress, stealing your husband, and acting like she's a martyr!"

Up front, the crowd began to chant for a kiss. Lenora flushed a perfect, camera-ready shade of pink, looking up at him through her lashes. Draven raised a hand, gently brushing the hair behind her ear, and leaned down to press a tender, lingering kiss against her lips.

The room erupted into applause.

It was a scene designed to shatter me. Yet, sitting in the dark, I felt absolutely nothing. No tears. No sharp agony. Just a vast, cold expanse of silence in my head. The serum had meticulously carved out the center of my heart, severing the neurological bonds. I was already empty.

My phone abruptly vibrated with a push notification. First-class boarding pass to Paris. Departure in three hours.

"I have to go, Ria," I whispered, standing up.

Riannon pulled me into a fierce, bone-crushing hug, her eyes blazing red. "Go. Leave this toxic wasteland behind. Go take over the Institute and don't ever look back."

She pulled away, a lethal, vindictive smirk curving her lips. "As for this circus... I brought a little wedding gift to leave behind."

"Goodbye," I smiled, lightly tapping her nose, entirely indifferent to whatever sabotage she had planned. I had exactly thirty minutes left before the serum's final purge wiped the last traces of him from my mind.

I dragged my suitcase down the aisle toward the exit.

At the altar, Draven casually shifted his gaze across the room. His eyes snagged on my silhouette slipping through the doors. For a split second, sheer panic fractured his perfect composure.

But then his rational, calculating mind overrode his guilt—why would his docile, memory-fragmented 'sister' be at an event with luggage? He blinked, convincing himself I was just a hallucination, and turned back to his bride.

I paused at the threshold of the lobby, turning back to look at the ballroom one last time as the venue lights dimmed down to a romantic glow.

The officiant pronounced them in union. The crowd cheered, demanding a second kiss.

Suddenly, a heavy, weighted rope snapped, and a massive canvas unrolled from the mezzanine balcony, dropping directly over the string quartet. It was a large protest banner, painted in crude, dripping red letters: CONGRATULATIONS TO THE MISTRESS & THE TRAITOR.

High up on the balcony, Riannon stood leaning over the gilded railing, a portable megaphone pressed to her lips.

"A toast!" Riannon's voice boomed through the megaphone. "To Lenora, the ultimate homewrecker, and Draven Hale, the cheating scumbag who had to chemically drug his wife just to get a clean conscience! May your short marriage be entirely infertile and miserable!"

Lenora's meticulously applied blush vanished. She turned ghost-pale and shrank behind Draven's broad shoulders with a gasp.

Draven's face contorted into absolute, murderous fury. He recognized Riannon instantly. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Cross?!" he roared over the crowd. "Vesper and I are legally divorced! Lenora is not a homewrecker!"

Riannon let out a sharp, terrifying laugh through the megaphone. "You manipulative coward! You wanted to play groom for a dying woman, but you couldn't stand the thought of losing your real wife. You forced Vesper to wait for you, promising a remarriage! Do you have any idea the hell she's been through these last three days?!"

"She hasn't felt a thing!" Draven shot back. "I gave her the serum. She won't remember any of this."

"You arrogant idiot!" Riannon screamed. "The serum takes seventy-two hours to complete the wipe! She didn't forget immediately! She was entirely lucid, and she watched every single sickening thing you did!"

Draven froze. The blood instantly drained from his face as the monstrous weight of her words hit him.

Riannon continued, "And here's the real wedding gift, Hale. Do you even know who synthesized that specific serum? It was Vesper. She designed it."

"There is no prospective counteragent, Draven! None! She has forgotten you completely, and she is never coming back. You can spend the rest of your pathetic life with your mistress, knowing you destroyed the only true thing you ever had!"