Three months after I buried Gavin Mercer, another man knelt in front of me with a diamond ring—and glowing words appeared in the air telling me that accepting it would get me killed.
Chapter 2
Every warning I had dismissed became real in a single heartbeat.
Gavin was thinner than when I buried him, but there was no mistaking him. The scar above his right eyebrow, the rigid posture, the dark eyes that had always found me in any room—all of it was there.
Alive.
My knees nearly gave out.
I stepped toward him.
Dylan caught my hand.
“I knew you’d calm down.”
“Let go.”
He smiled toward the guests while tightening his grip until my fingers hurt. “Don’t ruin this.”
“I never agreed to marry you.”
Whitney appeared on my other side.
“Cassidy, people are watching.”
“I don’t care.”
Then she followed my gaze toward the back of the room.
For the first time, genuine fear crossed her face.
Only for a second.
“Gavin is dead,” she whispered.
He wasn’t.
He moved closer.
Guests began turning their heads.
A murmur spread through the chapel.
Dylan tugged me toward the altar.
“You’ve been sick from stress,” he announced loudly enough for the front rows to hear. “Let’s get through the ceremony, sweetheart.”
“Stop.”
He kept pulling.
I dug my heels into the carpet.
Then Whitney stepped forward.
“Please don’t upset yourself, Cass. Think of the baby.”
Everything stopped.
“What baby?”
Whitney’s mother rose from the front pew carrying a folder.
“Don’t do this to yourself, sweetheart. We went to the clinic yesterday.”
“I was locked in an attic yesterday.”
Someone gasped.
Whitney ignored me.
The large screen behind the altar flickered to life.
An ultrasound image appeared.
Whispers swept through the room.
“Twelve weeks,” Whitney said sadly. “Cassidy, you need to stop denying reality.”
Twelve weeks.
Gavin had been dead almost exactly three months.
Someone near the aisle muttered, “Then she was seeing Dylan before Gavin died.”
Another voice said, “Unbelievable.”
My stomach turned.
They hadn’t merely planned to force me into marriage.
They had created evidence that I had betrayed Gavin while he was alive.
I looked toward him.
His expression was terrifyingly empty.
“Gavin.”
He began walking forward.
People recognized him one by one.
The whispers became screams.
A woman dropped her purse. Someone knocked over a chair.
Gavin never looked away from me.
Dylan released my hand.
Whitney stepped backward.
Gavin stopped directly in front of me.
Up close, he looked as though he had been dragged through death and returned unfinished. His skin was pale. A healing scar disappeared beneath his collar.
His hand rose.
For one horrible instant, I remembered the dream.
Then his fingers closed around my throat.
Not enough to crush it.
Enough to frighten me.
His voice was rough.
“Congratulations.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“You idiot.”
His expression shifted.
Barely.
“The baby isn’t mine,” Dylan shouted.
“No,” I rasped. “It’s Whitney’s.”
Gavin’s hand froze.
Silence crashed over the room.
Whitney screamed first.
“She’s lying!”
I grabbed Gavin’s wrist.
“Test me.”
His eyes locked onto mine.
“I’ve been drugged for two days. Test my blood. Examine me. Do anything you want. But don’t believe them.”
Dylan stepped forward.
“She’s having some kind of breakdown.”
Gavin turned his head.
Whatever Dylan saw in his face stopped him cold.
Then Gavin said, “Touch her again.”
Dylan swallowed.
“What?”
“Touch my wife again and see what happens.”
Three men in dark suits entered through the side doors.
I recognized them as members of Gavin’s old security team.
Gavin looked toward the tallest.
“Lock the doors. Call the police. Nobody leaves until this is documented properly.”
Whitney panicked.
“You can’t hold everyone here.”
“I’m not holding witnesses against their will,” Gavin said coldly. “Anyone who wants to leave may speak to the officers outside first.”
That was the Gavin I remembered.
Not the enraged ghost from my dream.
The businessman.
Precise. Controlled. Almost frighteningly calm.
He turned back to me.
“A physician is coming.”
I nodded.
Dylan shook his head. “This is insane.”
I looked at Whitney.
“The engagement ring.”
Her face tightened.
“What about it?”
“It fit you.”
Nobody spoke.
I continued.
“Dylan supposedly bought it for me. It was your size.”
“Coincidence.”
“The townhouse?”
Dylan went still.
I saw it.
So did Gavin.
“What townhouse?” Gavin asked.
Dylan started talking too fast.
“I bought a place for Cassidy.”
“Whose name is on the deed?”
Dylan said nothing.
Gavin’s security chief pulled out his phone.
Whitney hurried forward. “This is absurd.”
“Check her purse,” I said.
Whitney spun toward me.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I just did.”
One of the security officers picked up the purse Whitney had dropped near the front pew. He did not rummage through it himself. Instead, he placed it on a table and waited for the police officer arriving through the side entrance.
Within minutes, with Whitney loudly objecting, officers found prenatal vitamins bearing her name.
Her face collapsed.
Dylan cursed under his breath.
I almost laughed.
“How far along are you, Whitney?”
She glared at me.
“Go to hell.”
A doctor arrived twenty minutes later with portable equipment. Gavin’s physician, Dr. Harris, had treated our family for years.
He drew my blood.
The preliminary toxicology screen showed sedative compounds consistent with the weakness and confusion I had described.
Then he examined me privately behind a portable screen.
“No evidence of pregnancy,” he reported.
The chapel erupted.
Whitney began crying.
Dylan backed away from her.
Gavin stood perfectly still.
Then a police officer asked Whitney whether she would consent to a medical examination.
She refused.
That might have been the end of it if Dylan hadn’t broken first.
“She’s pregnant,” he blurted.
Whitney wheeled toward him.
“Dylan!”
“It’s mine.”
The room became chaos.
“You coward!”
“You’re the one who planned all this!”
“You said you loved me!”
“I loved you before you started talking about murder!”
That word silenced everyone.
Gavin’s eyes narrowed.
“Murder?”
Dylan realized his mistake.
Too late.
Whitney lunged at him.
Police officers stepped between them.
Dylan raised both hands.
“I want a lawyer.”
“So do I,” Whitney shouted.
My mother stood near the aisle, white as paper.
Gavin looked at her.
“How did Cassidy end up here?”
Mom began crying.
“Gavin, thank God you’re alive.”
“How?”
“I thought I was helping.”
“You drugged her.”
“No.”
“Her blood says otherwise.”
Mom’s mouth trembled.
“Dylan gave me money for your brother’s wedding. I thought Cassidy was making an emotional decision.”
“How much?”
She looked at the floor.
“Five hundred thousand.”
Something inside me broke.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
It simply detached.
She had sold control of my body for half a million dollars.
“Mom,” I said.
She looked at me.
“Was I awake when you put me in that dress?”
Tears rolled down her face.
“Cassidy—”
“Was I?”
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
Gavin stepped beside me.
For once, he didn’t speak for me.
He let me speak for myself.
“Officer,” I said, “I want to file charges.”
Mom gasped.
“I’m your mother.”
“Yes.”
That was all I said.
Police escorted her away.
Whitney and Dylan followed separately, each blaming the other.
Only after the room had emptied did I realize Gavin was still standing beside me.
Alive.
Breathing.
I touched his chest.
His heartbeat struck firmly beneath my palm.
Then I slapped him.
The sound echoed through the chapel.
His security chief abruptly became fascinated by the floor.
Gavin touched his cheek.
“You strangled me.”
“I know.”
“You believed them.”
His eyes closed.
“I know.”
I hit his chest with both hands.
“I buried you.”
His face crumpled.
“I know.”
My anger dissolved into sobs.
Gavin caught me before my legs failed.
I buried my face against him.
For the first time in three months, I heard his heart beating.
