The rain fell like tears I couldn't shed, each droplet a prayer whispered against the cold marble of Alaric's headstone. My fingers traced the engraved letters of his name, the stone already slick with October's bitter kiss, and I wondered if he could hear me through the veil of death and earth between us.
"Tomorrow I marry your brother," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the storm's symphony. "Adrian. Your twin. The man who wears your face but none of your warmth."
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the cemetery in stark silver, and for one breathless moment I could almost see Alaric sitting beside me on the wet grass, his blue-grey eyes gentle with understanding. But thunder swallowed the vision, leaving only the harsh reality of polished stone and withered flowers.
My wedding dress hung in the closet at home, pristine white silk that felt like a shroud. Tomorrow I would walk down an aisle toward a man I barely knew, toward vows that tasted like ash in my mouth. The thought made my stomach clench with something between nausea and terror.
"I don't love him," I confessed to the headstone, rain streaming down my face like the tears I still couldn't cry. "I can't even look at Adrian without seeing you, without remembering what we had. What we lost."
The memory hit me like a physical blow—Alaric's laugh echoing across the cliffs of Eldergate, his hands gentle as he slipped that simple silver ring onto my finger. Not an engagement ring, but a promise ring. A vow spoken under starlight that we would love each other forever, that nothing could tear us apart.
Death, it turned out, was quite good at tearing things apart.
"I wanted to run," I breathed against the stone, my lips nearly touching the cold marble. "Packed a bag three times today. I could disappear, Alaric. Start over somewhere he'd never find me. But Daddy's business, the debts, the contracts with Thorne Industries…" My voice cracked. "If I don't marry Adrian, if I don't honor this arrangement, we lose everything. Daddy will lose everything."
The rain intensified, soaking through my black coat until I could feel it against my skin. I should have been cold, should have been miserable, but the physical discomfort felt like penance. Like what I deserved for agreeing to this mockery of marriage.
"I'm scared," I admitted, the words torn from my throat. "There's something wrong with Adrian. Something that makes my skin crawl even when he's being kind. He looks at me like I'm a possession he's finally getting to claim, not a woman he wants to cherish."
A hand landed on my shoulder, firm and warm. I didn't need to look—Adrian's presence had a weight that pulled all the air from my lungs.
"Calla." His voice was silk over steel. "What are you doing out here?"
I didn't move, didn't lift my head from where it rested against Alaric's headstone. "Saying goodbye."
"You said goodbye six months ago at the funeral." His fingers tightened on my shoulder, not quite painful but insistent. "Come home. You'll catch pneumonia sitting in this rain."
"I need more time with him."
"You need to take care of yourself." His other hand appeared in my peripheral vision, holding a black umbrella that he positioned over both of us. The sudden absence of rain on my face felt wrong, like he was stealing even this small communion with grief. "Tomorrow is our wedding day, Calla. You should be resting, preparing yourself."
*Preparing myself for what?* I wanted to ask. *For a lifetime of pretending you're him? For lying next to you in bed and closing my eyes to imagine it's Alaric touching me?*
Instead, I finally lifted my head, meeting his silver-grey eyes. They were the wrong color—Alaric's had been softer, blue-grey like storm clouds. Adrian's were mercury, cold and reflective, showing me nothing of what lay beneath.
"Five more minutes," I said, hating how I sounded like I was pleading.
"No." The word was final. His hand moved to my elbow, helping me up. "You're soaked through. This isn't healthy grief, Calla—it's self-destruction."
I wanted to argue, wanted to wrench free from his touch and tell him that self-destruction was my choice to make. But the water had seeped through my boots, my jeans clung to my legs like ice, and I could feel my body beginning to shake from more than just emotion.
"The car's running," Adrian said, guiding me away from the grave with practiced efficiency. His hand never left my elbow, steering me down the narrow cemetery path like I was a child who couldn't be trusted to walk alone. "I had Thomas bring the Bentley. Climate control, heated seats. You'll be warm in no time."
I glanced back at Alaric's headstone, already fading into the rain. "I wasn't finished talking to him."
"He's dead, Calla." Adrian's voice was gentle, but something underneath made my spine stiffen. "The dead don't need our conversations. The living do."
The Bentley's headlights cut through the gloom. Thomas waited beside the open door, and Adrian's security flanked the car—three men in expensive suits watching the empty cemetery.
"This seems excessive," I said, nodding toward the guards.
Adrian's smile was winter-sharp. "You're about to become a Thorne, darling. Excessive security comes with the name."
Something in his tone made my skin crawl, but he was already helping me into the leather interior. The heated seats shocked my rain-chilled body.
Adrian slid in beside me, too close in the car's intimate space. His expensive cologne—sandalwood and something darker—filled my nostrils, and I found myself pressing against the window to maintain distance.
"Better?" he asked.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. The cemetery was already disappearing behind us, taking with it my last moment of solitude before tomorrow changed everything.
"I've arranged for Dr. Hayes to stop by the house tonight," Adrian said, his fingers finding mine in the darkness between us. "Just to make sure you're not coming down with anything. Wedding day stress can compromise the immune system."
His touch was warm, almost electric, and I hated how my body responded to it. This was wrong—I shouldn't feel anything for Adrian except duty and perhaps gratitude for saving my family's business. But there was something about his presence that drew me even as it terrified me.
"That's not necessary," I managed.
"I insist." His thumb traced across my knuckles, a gesture that should have been comforting but felt possessive instead. "I want you perfect tomorrow, Calla. Radiant. Happy."
*Happy.* The word felt foreign.
As we wound through the dark streets toward the Thorne estate, I stared out at the rain-blurred city lights and wondered if Alaric was watching from wherever souls go when they leave the earth. If he was, I hoped he would forgive me for what I was about to do.
Because tomorrow, I would marry the wrong man, and there would be no turning back.