Cleopatra's Revenge

In three days, I was supposed to get married to the love of my life, Michael Anthony Pritchett. I had loved him more than anything else in the world. He had been my whole world.

Ever since my father's untimely death, Michael had been the only one who stood by me. I had trusted him more than my own life.

This was why, when I stood in front of his doorway, my brain refused to translate what was happening in front of me.

It couldn't be happening, I told myself repeatedly. Michael's supposed stepsister, Selena, whom I had loved like my own sister, could not be on the bed naked with the man I loved with all my heart—my fiancé, could she?

He just resembled the man I adored. His twin, maybe? But the shock of seeing the two naked people on the beach house bed was mirrored in my expression. They had seen me, and I had seen them; we all stood there, frozen in complete shock.

"What is the meaning of this?" I asked in the stark silence.

It seemed that the two of them had finally recovered from their surprise and realized that they had been exposing their naked bodies right before my eyes. They struggled to cover themselves with the white sheets that were rumpled on the bed.

"Cleo," Michael, my lying fiancé, began, looking desperately for his discarded boxers on the floor. "Let me explain."

Until that moment, I had been praying that Michael had a twin that he'd forgotten to introduce to me. The headache I had been experiencing during breakfast was nothing compared to the pain in my heart right now.

The reason I had even sought out Michael was that I was about to tell him how I was going to appoint him as the new CEO of my father's company. I had gotten all the paperwork ready; it was meant to be my wedding gift to him. Oh, it had taken weeks and weeks of planning to execute this.

"Explain?" I repeated coldly. "Explain what? That you've been enjoying the bed with your supposed stepsister while I have been running around planning our wedding?"

"Cleo," for the first time, Michael's supposed stepsister joined the conversation. I tried not to cry out loud and demand an answer from her. I had treated her like a real sister, and yet she had done this to me? I mentally blocked the image I had seen earlier from my brain, Selena sobbing my fiancé's name as he pleasured her.

What a complete idiot I had been!

I should have known that a man like Michael Pritchett would never truly love me.

I had heard the rumors.

I had heard the talks. The way people whispered that he was only with me for my money. That no one could date someone as awkward and plain as me.

I had heard everything that they had said.

And I wished I had listened. But I had been foolish, foolish enough to think that there was something more.

That Michael Anthony Pritchett truly loved me.

That's why I had felt like Cinderella when Michael swept me off my feet. But I should have known that there's no such thing as a real-life fairy tale. The handsome prince would always belong to the beautiful sister, not to the ugly one.

And in this story, compared to Selena McKinney, I was the ugly one.

"Cleo, please, let me explain," Michael said, reaching for his pants. I averted my eyes as he pulled them on.

Despite the fact that we were to be married in three days, Michael and I had never once shared a bed. I had naively thought that he valued my innocence enough to patiently wait for our wedding night.

It had never occurred to me that maybe he wasn't interested in sleeping with me at all. Perhaps he preferred the warmth of his stepsister's bed to that of his so-called ugly fiancée.

The idea that they might have been having an affair behind my back—for God knows how long—filled me with a violent urge.

"Don't bother," I said with a smile so forced I thought my jaw might crack.

"You don't need to explain anything to me. I'll spare you the effort of lying to me."

I slid the engagement ring off the fourth finger of my left hand and tossed it to Michael, not caring about its cost—even though I had paid for half of it.

The very thought of keeping it was revolting.

"I'm happy to announce that the engagement is off."

"Cleo," my now ex-fiancé called out, following me out of the room in just his jeans.

"Let me talk to you."

I quickened my pace. "Leave me alone! I have nothing to say to you. As far as I'm concerned, you're dead to me."

Yet he persisted, following me. Before I could reach the door, he gripped my hand so tightly it hurt.

I turned around to see that he had a gun in his other hand, which he was now pointing at me. My body froze.

This couldn't be happening.

Michael couldn't be pointing a gun at me.

"You're not going anywhere," he whispered manically, pressing the gun to my temple.

My purse slipped from my other hand. I was paralyzed with a shock I had never before experienced.

Michael had a gun to my head. Michael wanted to kill me. The man I loved wanted to kill me.

"Go back and sit on the bed," he commanded.

I did as I was told, moving hurriedly toward the bed.

Selena handed Michael his phone without a word. I searched her face for pity or even remorse but found none.

"Tie her up," he instructed Selena.

"With what?" she asked, and Michael shrugged in frustration.

"I don't care! Find something. Just make sure she can't leave the room."

"I have to make a call," he said, handing Selena the gun.

She pointed it at me.

"Please, let me go," I begged.

Selena shook her head, a sinister smile spreading across her face.

"Did you really think Michael would let you break up with him? After everything he's put up with?"

"After having to endure your whining for two damn years!"

"Please, Selena! Please, let me go!" I cried, but my pleas were ignored.

Michael returned moments later and took the gun from Selena, who then left the room. Michael stayed, pacing like a caged animal, his gaze fixed on me.

"Michael, what are you doing? It's me, Cleo," I pleaded.

"I've worked way too hard, Cleo Fontana. Too hard for you to ruin everything now," he said, his hand running through his hair in agitation.

"We're going to act like none of this ever happened, and we're going to go through with the wedding as planned, or I will kill you myself."

My face went white with fear.

He was serious. He was really considering killing me. Tears streamed down my face as I fell to my knees.

"Michael, please..."

He ignored my pleas. Selena reentered the room wearing a robe, glanced at me, then whispered to Michael. They thought they were out of earshot, but I could still hear them.

"Is this really necessary?" Selena hissed.

"We were always going to kill her. It's better to do it now rather than later," Michael replied nonchalantly.

"Don't you need to be married to her first?" Selena questioned.

Michael nodded. "He's on his way with the documents. She'll sign the papers, then we'll have a quick courthouse wedding. After that..."

Documents? Who was on his way with the papers? They hadn't mentioned a name.

A wedding?

They were planning to kill me.

"Michael, please. You don't have to do this. You know I love you," I sobbed, my heart pounding so loudly it seemed to echo in the room.

First I caught him cheating, and now he was casually discussing how he was going to kill me.

"Why would you do this to me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Michael just shrugged.

"You started it. You're the one who said you wanted to end the engagement. It's your fault, Cleo!"

My chest began to heave as if all the air had been vacuumed from my lungs.

I doubled over, clutching at my chest.

"What's happening to her?!" Selena shrieked, and Michael cursed.

"Damn it! She's having a panic attack."

"What do we do now?!" Selena's voice was edged with panic as she knelt beside me. I couldn't focus; I was gasping for breath, but the air seemed to slip through me.

Michael approached and peered into my eyes.

"Get her some fresh air. That might help," he said.

Selena hauled me up, and we stumbled outside the room, out of the house. The sea breeze hit me, but it only intensified my nausea. It didn't help.

"Do you know how long I've despised you? How long I've waited for this moment when you'd be groveling at my feet, Cleo Fontana?!" Selena's voice was full of venom.

But why? What had I ever done to her?

Selena's handling was rough, exacerbating my struggle to breathe.

"Michael and I have been together for six years. Did you really think you could just swoop in and steal him away?" she spat out.

"Did you think he could ever love someone like you?" Her words were a scream in my ear.

Tears poured down my cheeks, unstoppable.

"When we're finished with you, your company, your money, everything you have will belong to Michael. You'll be long dead and buried, and Michael and I will finally have our happily ever after."

Her grip on me eased, just slightly.

This might be my chance. My only chance to escape.

Michael wouldn't dare kill me yet; he needed my signature on those documents, and he needed to marry me. I had to run.

With all the strength I could muster, I shoved Selena away from me and bolted.

I ran toward the ocean.

It was a foolish direction, but it was the only chance I had to survive.

Selena's screams echoed behind me, but I plunged into the water. Waves battered my legs, but I pressed on. I couldn't swim, yet I knew that if they caught me, they'd finish what they started.

"Cleo! Cleo, come back! You know you can't swim!" Michael's voice chased after me.

I glanced back and saw him in pursuit. I lost my footing and tumbled into the frigid sea. A wave enveloped me, and I swallowed mouthfuls of brine as I fought to stay afloat.

I couldn't swim.

The dreadful realization that I might die sank in.

"No!" I screamed, flailing to keep my head above water. But with every attempt to breathe, more salty water flooded my mouth.

I can't die here—not yet. Not like this, not before I've had my revenge on those who made a fool of me.

If only...

Exhaustion from paddling and struggling to stay afloat overwhelmed me, and I ceased my efforts, allowing the sea to pull me under. Beneath the dark surface, I saw a bright light... was that the light of heaven?

I didn't want to die.

I prayed to any deity that might be listening.

"Please, don't let me die," I begged.

"Please, let me come back."

"Let me return and rectify my errors."

"I don't want to die without getting my revenge. Please."

My pleas faded as I stopped fighting the pull of the water and surrendered to the encroaching darkness.