At two in the morning, Vivian sent me a stream of photos, screenshots, and one voice recording.

In the first photo, Adrian had her pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows in our master bedroom while I was sitting in a board meeting downtown.

In the second, I was still working through the wedding schedule in my study while they were on a filthy late-night video call from a bathroom.

In the third, I was out entertaining business partners while the two of them were tangled together in the back seat of a car on a Manhattan street, the windows fogged over.

The last photo showed a rumpled bed, a tie, a pair of stockings, and one of the cuff links I had picked out for Adrian myself.

Then I opened the recording.

Vivian’s breath came first, light and pleased.

Then Adrian’s voice, low and rough from sex.

“She’ll never leave me. Scarlett loves me enough to die for me.”

A soft laugh from Vivian.

“And a child?” she asked.

He answered without hesitation.

“She’s tried sixty-six times and still hasn’t given me one. I can’t let the DeLuca bloodline end with me. Once you have the baby, everything will settle down. Scarlett will accept it. She always does.”

I listened to the whole thing only once.

When it ended, I sat there in silence, and for the first time in a long while, I felt nothing at all.

The next morning, when Adrian came home, I kept my eyes closed and pretended to be asleep.

He showered, changed, waited for the cold to leave his skin, and then slid into bed behind me.

“Scarlett.” He kissed my hair. “I drove past the estate earlier. There were white lilies and roses all over the entrance. Did you have the decorators start already?”

It was part of the setup for the identity-termination service.

“Maybe the event team dropped things off early,” I murmured.

He accepted that answer easily.

“I checked every last detail,” he said with a small smile. “The ring, the dress, the vows, the wine list. Tomorrow is going to be perfect.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him. “I prepared a gift for you too.”

His expression brightened at once.

“I knew it,” he said. “I knew you still wanted this. Seven years, Scarlett. We’re finally giving each other something real.”

He was certain I would never leave him.

Certain seven years with me meant he could survive anything he did to me.

The doorbell rang.

A moment later, Vivian walked in wearing my wedding dress.

That gown had been mine from the first sketch. The old atelier in Florence had made three prototypes before I approved the final version. Every pearl, every panel of lace, every inch of embroidery had been chosen by me.

Adrian looked at her and stopped cold.

For one second, there was admiration in his eyes.

“That dress looks good on you,” he said.

Vivian smiled and spun once in the middle of the room.

“I think so too.” She turned to me sweetly. “Scarlett, would you mind lending it to me for one day? I want Adrian to walk through the ceremony with me.”

“Vivian,” Adrian said, but he did not sound angry enough.

She had already said it.

I looked from one of them to the other.

Adrian knew exactly what that dress meant to me. He knew what this wedding meant to me.

Still, after a few seconds of silence, he said, “She just wants some dignity. Let her borrow it for one day. It won’t change anything between us.”

I laughed.

“Borrow the dress. Borrow the groom. What next, Vivian? My name?”

Her eyes filled with tears almost instantly.

“I’m not trying to steal anything from you. I just want my baby to have a decent beginning.”

Adrian’s face darkened.

When he reached up and wiped her tears away, he did it like it had become habit.

“That’s enough, Scarlett,” he said.

I looked at him. “What about me?”

Silence.

He had no answer ready this time.

Vivian bit her lip and lowered her lashes. “If Scarlett doesn’t want me there, I can do it alone. I’m used to being humiliated.”

I smiled at her.

“Of course you are. You’re wearing my dress, sleeping with my man, carrying his child, and somehow you’re still the wounded one. That takes talent.”

“Enough.” Adrian’s tone turned sharp. “I’m marrying you legally. You’ll be my wife. Vivian is only giving me a child. Stop turning this into something uglier than it already is.”

I lowered my hand to my stomach.

A child.

His child.

The one he knew nothing about.

And suddenly I was too tired to argue.

“Fine,” I said. “If this is what you want, do it. You have my support.”

He stared at me, obviously surprised by how calm I sounded.

Then my phone rang.

I walked to the window before answering.

“Ms. Moretti, the estate has been arranged exactly as requested. The ceremony will begin tomorrow at four p.m. Your new identity documents have also been delivered to your encrypted email.”

“Thank you,” I said.

When I turned back, the relief on Adrian’s face was impossible to miss.

That night, he went straight to Vivian’s place to finalize her ceremony.

I stayed home and packed up the remains of my life.

Jewelry.

Photographs.

Dinner invitations.

The wedding binder.

The notebook filled with baby names.

Half an hour later, Vivian sent one more photo.

Adrian was shirtless against a headboard, whiskey in one hand, his broad shoulders bare, his body still flushed with heat. One of her legs was visible beneath the sheet.

The caption read:

He told me to stop provoking you. Then he punished me for being disobedient.

I blocked her number.

Before dawn, I rolled my suitcase to the front door and left the house without looking back.

By the time Adrian got dressed and left for the estate, I was already gone.

From the back seat of another car, I opened my encrypted mail one last time and checked the timer.

Everything was queued.

The photos.

The recording.

The report.

All of it would arrive exactly when I wanted it to.

At last, Adrian called.

“Scarlett, stay at the estate and wait for me. I’ll be there soon.” His voice was low, threaded with excitement. “After today, you’ll be Mrs. DeLuca.”

I looked out at the pale morning sky beyond the tinted glass.

“All right,” I said.

And ended the call.

After today, Scarlett Moretti would no longer exist.

At four in the afternoon, a line of black wedding cars pulled up outside the estate.

Adrian stepped out first in a custom black suit, tall and immaculate, the silver DeLuca crest pinned to his chest.

Vivian followed beside him in the gown that should have been mine, her face glowing with badly hidden excitement.

Adrian had chosen this estate himself. A stone villa overlooking the Hudson, large enough to impress old money and expensive enough to make half of Manhattan jealous.

But the moment he looked up, something felt wrong.

There was no music.

No staff waiting at the entrance.

No florist rushing in and out. No wedding planner with a clipboard. No voices. No movement.

The entire estate stood in a silence so deep it felt deliberate.

And from where he stood at the bottom of the steps, Adrian could already see black fabric hanging inside the front hall through the half-open doors.

White lilies crowded the entrance.

Not bridal arrangements.

Funeral flowers.

His jaw tightened.

Vivian looked at the doors, then at him. “Maybe Scarlett’s throwing a fit because you made her wait. You know how dramatic women get when they want attention.”

Adrian shot her a cold look.

“Be quiet.”

He walked up the steps slowly this time.

The front doors stood open just enough for him to see farther inside.

Black ribbon wrapped the banisters.

Black draping hung over the staircase.

The foyer that should have been filled with soft light and champagne silk looked like a private wake.

Adrian stopped dead.

A hard, ugly feeling rose in his chest.

“Scarlett,” he called.

No answer.

“Scarlett!”

Still nothing.

Vivian came up behind him, uneasy now. “What is this? Is she trying to scare you?”

Adrian did not answer.

His eyes moved over every detail at the entrance, then to the second-floor windows.

They were dressed in black too.

No one had decorated a wedding like this.

This was mourning.

This was farewell.

Then the second-floor bedroom window exploded outward.

Glass burst into the air.

A blast of heat followed, then fire.

Flames tore through the curtains and rolled across the upper floor in seconds. Thick black smoke poured out over the stone facade.

Vivian screamed.

Adrian lurched forward on instinct, but the heat drove him back before he could reach the door.

“Scarlett!” His voice cracked this time. “Scarlett!”

He stood frozen at the foot of the steps, the heat pressing against his face, the smoke curling higher into the late afternoon sky.

For the first time in years, he looked like a man who had no idea what to do next.

Behind him, Vivian grabbed at his arm, her voice trembling. “Adrian, what is this? What did she do?”

He shook her off without even looking at her.

His eyes stayed on the fire.

On the house where she should have been waiting for him.

On the place that looked less like a wedding and more like a burial.

Far above the river, in the back seat of a car headed for the airport, I watched the smoke rising in the distance until the estate became nothing more than a dark shape against the sky.

I opened my encrypted mail one last time.

The scheduled delivery was set.

The photos.

The recording.

The report.

Soon, all of it would reach Adrian.

But not yet.

Not here.

Not while I was still close enough to be found.

My assistant turned slightly in the front seat. “Ms. Vale, your flight boards in an hour. Should I shut down the old number?”

I looked out at the fading line of New York and placed my hand over my stomach.

“Yes,” I said. “Turn it off.”

Scarlett Moretti died at her wedding.

Stephanie Vale took her unborn child and her future with her.

He deserved neither.