Chapter 33
The Bride
T he brain fog thins, leaving a splitting headache pulsing behind my eyes. My throat is scraped raw, mouth cotton-dry. I try to swallow but can’t.
Shelby hovers over me, her face too close, pupils blown wide with a manic energy I’ve never seen in her before. She holds a strip of fabric in her hands, torn from what looks like a dress, and she’s smiling at me like we’re at a sleepover rather than whatever sick game this is.
“There you are,” she coos, voice honey-sweet poison. “I was starting to worry I’d given you too much.”
I try to move, but my limbs feel like they’re underwater, heavy and unresponsive. As I look around, I realize I’m sitting on the closed toilet lid, my back against the cold porcelain tank.
The bathroom is unfamiliar—yellow walls, white tile, a shower curtain with faded sunflowers. “Where…” My voice cracks, and I have to try again. “Where am I?”
Shelby ignores the question, tearing at the fabric again, the sound of ripping cloth loud in the small space. “Too long,” she mutters. “It needs to be shorter. She was wearing something shorter.”
She holds the fabric against my chest, frowning at how it drapes. With a quick movement, she tears off another strip, di scarding it on the floor with the growing pile at her feet.
“Shelby, stop,” I croak. “What are you doing? What is this?”
“Shhh.” She presses a finger to my lips, and I flinch away from her touch. “Don’t ruin it,” she snaps, then giggles, sudden and jagged. “I’ve got it all planned out. It has to be perfect, or it doesn’t count.”
A shadow shifts in the corner of the bathroom, and for the first time, I notice we’re not alone. Ned leans against the wall, arms crossed, face drawn. His presence hits me like a physical blow. When did he get here? Was he in on this the whole time?
“Ned?” I whisper, confusion spiraling through me. “What’s happening?”
He looks at me, then quickly away, jaw tense. “Shelby,” he says, voice low, “this has gone far enough. You need to let her go.”
Shelby doesn’t even turn to acknowledge him. Instead, she forces the torn fabric over my head. I struggle weakly, but she’s stronger than she looks, or I’m weaker than I thought. The dress—what’s left of it—settles around me, the torn hem barely reaching mid-thigh.
“Perfect,” she says, stepping back to admire her work. “Well, almost.”
Her hands move to my hair next, fingers tangling in the strands, tugging painfully against my scalp. “God, this color is all wrong. Look at this awful orange. Ruby’s was pure black.”
Ruby.
The name drops like a stone into my gut, rippling out in horrified understanding. I think of Caleb, lying in a pool of his own blood on Shelby’s couch. And now she’s dressing me up like…
“The Knights would be lenient if you stopped now,” Ned says, taking a step forward. “No one else needs to get hurt, Shelby.”
“Lenient? Jack owes me.” She laughs, the sound brittle and sharp. “Maybe I should just cut it all off. Would that be better? More authentic?”
My stomach lurches as fragments cl ick into place; the dress, the muttering, the way she keeps trying to shape me into someone else. This isn’t random cruelty—this is rehearsal. Preparation.
“You’re reenacting it,” I say, the words barely audible. “Ruby’s death.”
Shelby’s hands freeze in my hair. For a moment, she’s utterly still. Then she smiles, slow and satisfied, like I’ve finally solved a puzzle she’s been waiting for me to piece together.
“Smart girl,” she whispers, leaning close enough that I can smell mint on her breath. “Jack’s smart girl.”
My heart stutters, Jack’s name like a lifeline and a noose at once. I think of him finding me like this, staged to mirror his sister’s last moments.
Ned shifts his weight, discomfort etched in every line of his body. “Shelby, listen. Whatever happened, this isn’t the way. The Knights will hunt you down for this.”
“Let them,” she spits, still focused on my hair. “Jack took the only thing that mattered. And now he gets to breathe while the love of my life doesn’t?”
“The what?” Ned asks, clearly shocked.
“The. Love. Of. My. Life,” Shelby repeats, enunciating each word clearly.
“You know… oh, maybe you don’t.” She looks down at her nails, and when she looks back at her brother, there’s menace in her eyes.
“I never told you about him because you can’t be trusted.
You’re always protecting Jack instead of me. ”
“Come on, Shelby,” Ned argues. “You know I’ve always looked out for you—”
She lets out a scream. “Lies!” Her entire body moves with each breath she takes. “You went to jail for them, not for me. You’re always choosing the Knights.”
“That’s not on Eve,” Ned tries, voice strained. “She has nothing to do with what happened to us.”
“She has everything to do with it now,” Shelby hisses. “She’s Jack’s wife. She’s a Knight now.” She says the word as if it’s filth in her mouth.
I catch Ned’s eye, trying to silently plead with him. Help me. Stop her. Do something. His gaze meets mine for a fraction of a second before sliding away, guilt darkening his features.
That single avoidance tells me everything; he won’t help—I’m alone in this.
Shelby steps back, surveying her work with critical eyes. “Not perfect, but it’ll do. It just needs to be close enough that he sees her when he looks at you.”
The words hollow me out. She wants to destroy Jack through me, make me into the echo of his worst memory. The cruelty of it steals my breath. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it from happening.
My mind races to Jack—what this will do to him, how it will break him open in ways I can’t bear to imagine.
I’ve seen the raw edges of his grief, felt them against my skin in the dark when he holds me too tight, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
This will rip apart the fragile healing he’s barely managed to piece together.
“Why?” I ask, voice cracking. “What did he do to make you hate him this much?”
Shelby’s eyes go flat and cold. “I’ve already told you what they did to me. God, you’re obtuse.”
I try to catch Ned’s eye one more time, silently begging, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. The betrayal cuts deeper than I expected.
Whatever hope I had left withers and dies, leaving nothing but the hollow certainty that I’m about to become the instrument of Jack’s destruction. And there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
Something in me snaps. The fog in my brain burns away, replaced by a white-hot clarity that surges through my veins like lightning. I will not be Ruby. I will not be the thing that breaks Jack.
My body moves before my mind can catch up. I lunge, shoving Shelby with everything I have. She stumbles backward, surprise flashing across her face before hardening into something cold and terrible.
We slam into the counter, bottles crashing to the floor. “Get off me!” I scream, clawing at her arms, her face, anything I can reach.
My nails catch skin, drawing thin red lines across her forearm. The small victory fuels me, panic transforming into raw power as I fight against the fate she’s designed for me. Shelby hisses, her fingers tangling in my hair, yanking my head back with enough force to make my eyes water.
“Stop fighting,” she growls, breath hot against my face. “It’s happening whether you want it to or not.”
But I can’t stop. Something primal has taken over, a desperate need to escape, that eclipses thought. My knee comes up hard, catching her in the stomach. She doubles over with a grunt, loosening her grip just enough for me to wrench away.
I stumble past her, legs shaking but carrying me toward the door. Ned stands there, eyes wide, frozen between action and inaction. For a heartbeat, I think he might step aside, might let me pass.
He doesn’t.
His hand catches my arm, not roughly, but firmly enough to halt my momentum. “Eve,” he says, my name a warning, and an apology wrapped into one.
Behind me, Shelby straightens, breath coming in sharp pants. “You stupid bitch,” she spits. “You think you can run?”
I hear the metallic snick before I see the blade. When I spin to face her, the knife gleams in her hand, small but deadly, catching the bathroom light in a way that makes my stomach lurch.
“Put it down, Shelby,” Ned says, but there’s no real authority in his voice. Just resignation.
She advances on me, knife held loosely between her fingers like it’s an extension of her hand. Her smile stretches too wide, eyes fever bright. “No more running. No more fighting.”
I back up until I hit the wall, heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. “Shelby, please,” I say, hating how my voice shakes. “This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are.”
“You don’t know who I am,” she whispers, almost gently. “You never did.”
The knife comes up too fast to dodge. The blade slices along my cheek—a line of fire that blooms into stinging pain. Warm wetness trickles down my skin, and I realize with a distant so rt of horror that she’s marked me. Cut me open like it’s nothing.
I press my hand to my cheek, feeling the blood slip between my fingers. The pain is sharp but manageable. It’s the violation that cuts deeper—the casual way she’s marred me, like I’m a canvas she’s decided to alter. Anger and hatred burns hotter than the wound itself.
“There,” Shelby murmurs, satisfaction curling through her voice. “That’s better. More authentic.”
“Jesus, Shelby!” Ned steps forward, grabbing her wrist. “What the hell are you doing? You said no one gets hurt!”
Hope flickers in my chest, fragile as a candle flame. I will him to keep going, to be the voice of reason that pulls his sister back from this edge.
“No one important is hurt,” Shelby says coldly, yanking her arm free. She turns to face him fully, knife still held loosely at her side. “Don’t tell me you’re getting squeamish now, Ned. Not after everything they did to us.”
“This isn’t about them,” Ned argues, but there’s hesitation in his voice. “This is about you. About what you’re becoming.”