Two days later, the basement door finally opened.

Dante stood in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the light. I was huddled in the corner, my legs numb, my throat too hoarse to make a sound.

"Out," he said, his tone flat, like he was calling a pet.

I used the wall to pull myself up, my legs so weak I almost fell. Two days without food or water had left me completely drained.

"We're going to try on wedding dresses today," he said, handing me a bottle of water. "Get ready. We leave in an hour."

Trying on wedding dresses. As if nothing had happened.

I mechanically washed up and changed. The woman in the mirror was pale and hollow-eyed, a ghost.

An hour later, we were at the most exclusive bridal shop in the city. The staff greeted us warmly, and then I saw them—Isabella and Marco, already sitting on a sofa, sipping champagne.

"Rose! You're here!" Isabella chirped, jumping up with a brilliant smile. "I'm so excited! It's such an honor to be part of your wedding prep!"

Part of it?

"Isabella has a great eye for fashion. She wanted to help you choose," Dante explained. "And Marco's here to give the man's opinion."

A sales associate led me to the VIP section. The walls were lined with gowns, each one costing a fortune.

I pointed to a simple, elegant lace dress. "That one."

"Oh, that's gorgeous!" Isabella immediately walked over to it. "Let me try it on first, just so I can see how it looks and give you some advice."

Before I could answer, she had already signaled for the associate to take it down.

Twenty minutes later, Isabella emerged from the fitting room in the dress I had chosen. The white lace clung to her body perfectly. She looked like a fairy-tale princess.

"What do you think?" she asked, twirling so the skirt flared out.

"Stunning," Dante said, his eyes shining with a light I hadn't seen in a long time.

My stomach turned.

The next two hours were a nightmare. Every dress I picked, Isabella had to "try it on for me to see the effect." She paraded in front of Dante in every single one of my choices, and he showered her with compliments.

Worse, Isabella started asking Dante to come into the fitting room to "help with the zipper." Through the crack in the door, I saw her press her half-naked back against him, his hand lingering on her skin for far too long.

I touched my chest. The spot that used to ache for Dante felt nothing now. Only disgust.

"Rose, aren't you going to try anything?" Isabella asked, emerging for the fifth time, now in a classic, regal gown.

"I..."

"Of course you are," Dante finally remembered I was there. "Go on. That one would suit you."

But it was another one of Isabella's hand-me-downs.

I went into the fitting room. An assistant helped me into the gown. In the mirror, my pale, exhausted face was a stark contrast to the magnificent dress.

When I pushed the door open, the showroom was empty.

"The gentleman and ladies went upstairs to look at jewelry," the associate explained awkwardly. "They told me to tell you to just pick whichever one you like. The bill has been settled."

I stood alone in the empty showroom, wearing a hundred-thousand-dollar wedding dress, feeling colder than I ever had in my life.

They'd left me. Like a tool that was no longer needed.

I went home alone. It wasn't until late that night that Dante returned, holding a fancy jewelry box.

"Sorry, I had an important call." He sat next to me and opened the box. "This is to make it up to you."

Inside was a diamond ring, at least three carats, sparkling brilliantly. But with my part-time experience at a jewelry store, I could tell at a glance it was a fake. A good one, maybe, but still just a fifty-dollar piece of cubic zirconia.

"Okay," I said calmly, holding out my hand for him to put it on me. "I do."

Three more days, I counted silently in my head. Then I can escape this man, this whole nightmare.

He froze for a second, clearly not used to me being so compliant. In the past, I would have pouted or acted upset when he neglected me for work. This time, I was abnormally obedient.

"You're really not mad?"

I put on a perfect, mask-like smile. "I'm about to become part of the Blackwood family. Of course, I have to understand."

Dante smiled, satisfied. He kissed the back of my hand. "I knew you'd understand. Isabella's a good girl, she just wanted to help. I'm sure you'll grow to like her."

"I understand," I nodded, my expression docile.

He talked more about the wedding plans, but I didn't hear a word. My heart was already dead, as lifeless as it had been during those two days in the basement.

At 11:30, I was drifting off to sleep when I heard the bedroom door open. The footsteps were light, heavy with the smell of alcohol. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. The mattress dipped, and a warm body pressed against mine.

"Rose..." a deep voice whispered in my ear, his hand starting to unbutton my pajamas.

But it wasn't Dante's voice.

I snapped my eyes open. Moonlight streamed through a gap in the curtains, illuminating the face of the man on top of me.

Marco.

I shoved Marco off me with all my strength and ran to the bathroom, dry-heaving over the toilet.

Marco, still playing his part, sounded annoyed. "What's wrong? Still mad? Rose, I didn't realize you were such a brat."

I had no energy to respond, just knelt there, my stomach churning.

"You're no fun," I heard him mutter. Then, he was on the phone. "Bro, Rose just started throwing up. You think she could be pregnant?"

I collapsed onto the cold tile floor.

"Pregnant?" I heard Isabella's sickly-sweet voice on the other end. "Marco, don't you think this is a bit much? Rose will be so hurt if she finds out."

Dante's voice was gentle, and I could almost picture him holding her. "You don't need to worry about her. If she really is pregnant..."

The line went quiet for a few seconds.

"If she's pregnant," Dante's voice came back, cold as ice, "then clean it up. I don't need any loose ends. Neither do you, right, Marco?"

For some reason, Marco hesitated. "Yeah... of course. I don't want her kid."

The call ended.

I knelt on the bathroom floor, my hand on my flat stomach, tears streaming silently down my face.

Fine. This just made it easier to get rid of a child nobody wanted.

The next morning, I went to the hospital alone.

The procedure was quick. The doctor said I was lucky; it was early, so the physical damage was minimal. But I knew the real damage wasn't to my body. It was to the part of my heart that was now completely dead.

I only rested for half a day before Dante announced he was taking me to a dinner party—to make up for the last "unpleasant" gathering.

When I said I wasn't feeling well and wanted to rest, Dante just stared at me coldly. "Rose, don't be difficult."

So I nodded.

At 7 PM, I was in a private room at The Ritz-Carlton. The three of them were already there, laughing and talking.

"Rose! You're here!" Isabella stood to hug me. "You look so much better today."

"Thanks for your concern," I said, sitting next to Dante. He didn't even look at me.

The entire dinner felt like a well-rehearsed play. Isabella constantly showed off how well she knew the brothers—she knew what Dante liked to eat, the details of Marco's work, even stories from their childhood.

I was an outsider, sitting there silently, listening to her perfectly insert herself into their family.

"Oh, Rose," Isabella said, handing me a glass of juice. "I haven't congratulated you yet. You're about to marry Dante and become part of the Blackwood family. I truly hope you two will be happy together."

Her smile was flawless, but I saw the familiar flash of malice in her eyes.

I took the juice. The first sip told me something was wrong—it had mango in it. I'm allergic to mangoes.

Soon, red hives broke out all over my body, and it became hard to breathe.

Thankfully, I always carried an EpiPen. But just as I was about to use it, Isabella clutched her chest, her face turning pale.

"I... I don't feel so good..." She staggered to her feet, then collapsed onto the floor.

"Isabella!" Dante immediately knelt by her side.

"Help... me..." I held out a shaking hand, trying to get Dante to give me the injection.

But he didn't even glance at me. He snatched the EpiPen from my hand. "Isabella, hang on!" He jabbed the needle into her arm without a second thought.

"Marco, quick! Get Isabella to the hospital!" Dante scooped her up. "Call an ambulance!"

"What about Rose?" Marco hesitated, glancing at me. I was slumped in my chair, my lips turning blue.

Dante didn't even answer him. He just ran out.

After a moment's pause, Marco chased after them.

They were gone.

I was alone in the room, my consciousness fading. I could feel my heart slowing, my breathing getting shallower.

"Miss? Miss!" It was a waiter's voice. "Oh my god, call an ambulance!"

I slipped into darkness.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed with an oxygen tube in my nose.

"You're awake," the doctor said, walking over. "You're very lucky. Ten more minutes and it could have been fatal."

I managed a weak, bitter smile. It wasn't luck. Dante had stolen my medicine. It was attempted murder. And Isabella wasn't allergic. She just wanted me to know that between the two of us, Dante would always choose her.

"Rose." Dante's voice came from the doorway. "You're awake."

I turned my head. He stood there, impeccably dressed. Maybe my near-death state had stirred a shred of guilt in him, because his face held a hint of remorse.

He walked to my bedside but wouldn't meet my eyes. "I'm glad you're okay... about tonight, you have to understand. Isabella's family, the Rossis, are important partners. For the sake of the family, she couldn't be put at risk."

"Is that so?" I stared at him, searching for any sign of a lie. "Or is it because you have... special feelings for her?"

His face stiffened, then he seemed to remember his mission. His tone turned dismissive and mocking. "I knew you were still jealous. Isabella and I grew up together. If I wanted her, why would I be with you?"

I knew what he was thinking. He was reminding himself of his goal—to punish the gold-digging woman who’d angered his precious Isabella.

For a second, I wanted to tell him everything—the bullying, the lies. But we had been together for three years. If he had ever truly known me, ever truly cared for me, he wouldn't have conspired with his own brother to deceive me.

So I closed my eyes and said nothing.

Dante paused. "Get some rest. The wedding is in two days."

He still had no idea that the bride wouldn't be showing up.

After he left, my phone buzzed. A video from Isabella.

What I saw made my hands tremble, a sharp pain twisting in my gut.

The video showed a man standing over my grandmother's hospital bed. He was holding up photos—pictures of me being bullied, the humiliating moments I’d tried so hard to bury. One by one, he shoved them in her face.

I recognized the crest on his jacket. He was one of Isabella’s men.

My grandmother, who had always loved me so fiercely… tears were streaming down her face. She was shaking so badly from the grief, she couldn't even form words.

Already so frail, the color drained from her face. The heart monitor beside her started screaming, a flat, piercing wail. And the man? He just turned and walked away, completely unfazed.

Then came a text from Isabella.

“Such a shame, Rose. I was just trying to do a good thing, telling your grandma what you went through. Who knew she'd get so worked up and just… die?”

“Oh, and by the way, this was your grandmother’s ring, wasn’t it? It looks great on me. The wedding’s in two days. I’m planning on wearing it. As your bridesmaid, you won’t mind, will you?”

The message came with a picture: Isabella, smiling for the camera, wearing my grandmother's ring on her finger.

It was one of the few things I had left of her. I’d been looking for it for weeks. And that thief, Isabella, had it the whole time.

No. She wasn't just a thief. She was a murderer.