Chapter 2
I sat on the bed, processing everything I'd learned across multiple deaths.
Ryan wanted me dead for money. That much was certain.
But Ryan wasn't the one physically killing me each time. He was at the altar, at the reception, surrounded by witnesses. He had alibis for every single one of my deaths. That meant he had accomplices.
And based on my previous loops, there were multiple killers taking shifts throughout the day, like a relay race where the finish line was my corpse.
I picked up my phone and called Ryan.
"Hey baby," his voice was warm, practiced. "Nervous?"
"A little," I said, keeping my tone light. "Ryan, I was thinking... what if we pushed the ceremony to later tonight? Like, a sunset wedding? It would be more romantic."
Silence.
"Bella, we can't change things now. The caterers, the florist, the minister—everything's set for two o'clock."
"Right. You're right. Forget I said anything."
"Are you okay? You sound off."
"Just bridal jitters. I'll see you at the altar."
I hung up. My hands were shaking.
If I couldn't change the timeline, I had to work within it.
Based on my previous deaths, here was what I knew:
Death #1: Poisoned drink at reception. Around 8 PM.
Death #2: Hit by car in parking lot. Around 9 PM.
Death #3: Pushed off balcony. Around 10 PM.
Death #4: Stabbed in bathroom. Around 7 PM.
Death #5: Strangled in the coatroom. Around 11 PM.
Each death happened at a different time, by a different person. But one thing was consistent—they all happened after the ceremony. Before 2 PM, I was safe.
That gave me a window. A few hours each morning to investigate before the gauntlet of death began.
I got dressed quickly—not in the wedding gown, not yet—and headed downstairs.
The hotel lobby was already buzzing with wedding preparations. Flowers being arranged. Chairs being set up on the lawn.
And there, in the corner of the lobby café, was someone I didn't expect.
Natasha.
Ryan's ex-girlfriend.
She was sitting alone, sipping coffee, scrolling through her phone as if she belonged here. But she hadn't been invited to the wedding. I knew because I'd personally reviewed the guest list.
Our eyes met.
She smiled at me.
Not a warm smile. Not a congratulatory smile.
A smile that said: I know something you don't.
I walked over and sat across from her. "Natasha. I didn't expect to see you here."
"Bella." She set down her cup. "You look tired for a bride."
"What are you doing here?"
Natasha tilted her head, studying me. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like you've been through hell?"
My blood went cold. "What do you mean by that?"
She leaned forward. "I mean that the bags under your eyes say you haven't slept. That your hands are trembling. And that you look like a woman who knows she's going to die today."
I grabbed her wrist. "What do you know?"
Natasha pulled her arm back calmly. "I know that Ryan Carter is not the man you think he is. And I know that if you walk down that aisle today, you won't live to see your first anniversary."
"Then tell me—"
"Not here." She slid a room key across the table. "Room 407. Meet me at noon. And Bella?" She stood up, gathering her purse. "Don't tell anyone you saw me. Not your maid of honor. Not your mother. No one."
She left before I could respond.
Room 407. Noon.
For the first time in six loops, someone was offering me answers instead of death.
Ryan wanted me dead for money. That much was certain.
But Ryan wasn't the one physically killing me each time. He was at the altar, at the reception, surrounded by witnesses. He had alibis for every single one of my deaths. That meant he had accomplices.
And based on my previous loops, there were multiple killers taking shifts throughout the day, like a relay race where the finish line was my corpse.
I picked up my phone and called Ryan.
"Hey baby," his voice was warm, practiced. "Nervous?"
"A little," I said, keeping my tone light. "Ryan, I was thinking... what if we pushed the ceremony to later tonight? Like, a sunset wedding? It would be more romantic."
Silence.
"Bella, we can't change things now. The caterers, the florist, the minister—everything's set for two o'clock."
"Right. You're right. Forget I said anything."
"Are you okay? You sound off."
"Just bridal jitters. I'll see you at the altar."
I hung up. My hands were shaking.
If I couldn't change the timeline, I had to work within it.
Based on my previous deaths, here was what I knew:
Death #1: Poisoned drink at reception. Around 8 PM.
Death #2: Hit by car in parking lot. Around 9 PM.
Death #3: Pushed off balcony. Around 10 PM.
Death #4: Stabbed in bathroom. Around 7 PM.
Death #5: Strangled in the coatroom. Around 11 PM.
Each death happened at a different time, by a different person. But one thing was consistent—they all happened after the ceremony. Before 2 PM, I was safe.
That gave me a window. A few hours each morning to investigate before the gauntlet of death began.
I got dressed quickly—not in the wedding gown, not yet—and headed downstairs.
The hotel lobby was already buzzing with wedding preparations. Flowers being arranged. Chairs being set up on the lawn.
And there, in the corner of the lobby café, was someone I didn't expect.
Natasha.
Ryan's ex-girlfriend.
She was sitting alone, sipping coffee, scrolling through her phone as if she belonged here. But she hadn't been invited to the wedding. I knew because I'd personally reviewed the guest list.
Our eyes met.
She smiled at me.
Not a warm smile. Not a congratulatory smile.
A smile that said: I know something you don't.
I walked over and sat across from her. "Natasha. I didn't expect to see you here."
"Bella." She set down her cup. "You look tired for a bride."
"What are you doing here?"
Natasha tilted her head, studying me. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like you've been through hell?"
My blood went cold. "What do you mean by that?"
She leaned forward. "I mean that the bags under your eyes say you haven't slept. That your hands are trembling. And that you look like a woman who knows she's going to die today."
I grabbed her wrist. "What do you know?"
Natasha pulled her arm back calmly. "I know that Ryan Carter is not the man you think he is. And I know that if you walk down that aisle today, you won't live to see your first anniversary."
"Then tell me—"
"Not here." She slid a room key across the table. "Room 407. Meet me at noon. And Bella?" She stood up, gathering her purse. "Don't tell anyone you saw me. Not your maid of honor. Not your mother. No one."
She left before I could respond.
Room 407. Noon.
For the first time in six loops, someone was offering me answers instead of death.