Chapter 7
My mother was dead.
She'd died of cancer when I was nineteen. Five years ago. I held her hand in the hospital as she took her last breath.
So what the hell did Natasha mean?
Unless she didn't mean my biological mother.
I ran through the possibilities as I sprinted back through the hotel, Natasha's blood still on my hands.
My father never remarried. I had no stepmother. The only maternal figure in my life after Mom's death was—
Victoria.
Ryan's mother.
The woman who'd welcomed me into the family with open arms. Who'd helped me pick out my wedding dress. Who called me "my daughter" every time we spoke.
Victoria Carter.
Cold dread seeped through me as the pieces clicked into place.
Victoria had been widowed years ago. Ryan's father died in what was ruled a workplace accident—fall from a construction site. The life insurance had set Victoria up comfortably.
Like mother, like son.
Victoria was the architect. Ryan was just following the family playbook.
And if Victoria was the one protecting the operation, she was the one who killed Natasha. Both times.
I made it back to the bridal suite just as Sophie was about to come looking for me. I ducked into the bathroom, washed the blood off my hands, and emerged with a practiced smile.
"Better?" Sophie asked.
"Much. Let's finish."
Sophie completed my makeup. The dress went on. The veil. The jewelry.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a bride from a magazine.
I also looked like a woman who'd been marked for death.
The ceremony was at 2 PM. I had ten hours until midnight.
I already knew the death schedule:
- 7 PM: Poisoned drink at reception.
- 8 PM: Possible car attack in parking lot.
- 9 PM: Balcony push.
- 10 PM: Stabbing in bathroom.
- 11 PM: Strangling in coatroom.
Multiple killers. Multiple shifts. Ryan couldn't do all of this alone, and Victoria couldn't either.
They had hired people. Professionals, probably. But mixed with people I knew.
The ceremony itself should be safe. Two hundred witnesses.
"Time to go, gorgeous," Sophie said, linking her arm through mine.
We walked toward the chapel. The string quartet began playing. Through the doors, I could see rows of faces turned toward me. Friends. Family. Colleagues.
And at the altar, Ryan stood in his tailored suit, watching me approach with tears in his eyes.
Those tears looked so real.
Four years of this performance. He deserved an Oscar.
I walked down the aisle on steady legs, my face arranged in appropriate bridal bliss.
When I reached Ryan, he took my hands. "You're breathtaking," he whispered.
"You too," I said.
The minister began speaking. But I wasn't listening.
I was scanning the crowd. Looking for Victoria.
There—second row, left side. Smiling. Dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
The woman who'd ordered my death.
"Do you, Bella Marie Jensen, take this man..."
"I do."
The words tasted like ash.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Ryan kissed me. The crowd erupted in applause.
And the countdown to my murder began.
She'd died of cancer when I was nineteen. Five years ago. I held her hand in the hospital as she took her last breath.
So what the hell did Natasha mean?
Unless she didn't mean my biological mother.
I ran through the possibilities as I sprinted back through the hotel, Natasha's blood still on my hands.
My father never remarried. I had no stepmother. The only maternal figure in my life after Mom's death was—
Victoria.
Ryan's mother.
The woman who'd welcomed me into the family with open arms. Who'd helped me pick out my wedding dress. Who called me "my daughter" every time we spoke.
Victoria Carter.
Cold dread seeped through me as the pieces clicked into place.
Victoria had been widowed years ago. Ryan's father died in what was ruled a workplace accident—fall from a construction site. The life insurance had set Victoria up comfortably.
Like mother, like son.
Victoria was the architect. Ryan was just following the family playbook.
And if Victoria was the one protecting the operation, she was the one who killed Natasha. Both times.
I made it back to the bridal suite just as Sophie was about to come looking for me. I ducked into the bathroom, washed the blood off my hands, and emerged with a practiced smile.
"Better?" Sophie asked.
"Much. Let's finish."
Sophie completed my makeup. The dress went on. The veil. The jewelry.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a bride from a magazine.
I also looked like a woman who'd been marked for death.
The ceremony was at 2 PM. I had ten hours until midnight.
I already knew the death schedule:
- 7 PM: Poisoned drink at reception.
- 8 PM: Possible car attack in parking lot.
- 9 PM: Balcony push.
- 10 PM: Stabbing in bathroom.
- 11 PM: Strangling in coatroom.
Multiple killers. Multiple shifts. Ryan couldn't do all of this alone, and Victoria couldn't either.
They had hired people. Professionals, probably. But mixed with people I knew.
The ceremony itself should be safe. Two hundred witnesses.
"Time to go, gorgeous," Sophie said, linking her arm through mine.
We walked toward the chapel. The string quartet began playing. Through the doors, I could see rows of faces turned toward me. Friends. Family. Colleagues.
And at the altar, Ryan stood in his tailored suit, watching me approach with tears in his eyes.
Those tears looked so real.
Four years of this performance. He deserved an Oscar.
I walked down the aisle on steady legs, my face arranged in appropriate bridal bliss.
When I reached Ryan, he took my hands. "You're breathtaking," he whispered.
"You too," I said.
The minister began speaking. But I wasn't listening.
I was scanning the crowd. Looking for Victoria.
There—second row, left side. Smiling. Dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
The woman who'd ordered my death.
"Do you, Bella Marie Jensen, take this man..."
"I do."
The words tasted like ash.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Ryan kissed me. The crowd erupted in applause.
And the countdown to my murder began.