3: 3

At the back of the crowd, Fabian Gilbert stood in a crisp, tailored suit, his face dark as iron.

Layla Gilbert, her makeup flawless, pushed through the guests, impatience and anger simmering in her eyes.

One after the other, they walked straight up to us, tempers barely held in check.

"It's a joyous day. The young ones don't know better, but a man your age, joining in this nonsense?" Fabian forced his fury down.

Layla jumped in at once, wearing that lofty air of hers, her tone gentle but laced with veiled reproach:

"That's right! With so many friends, relatives, and honored elders here today, both families' reputations are on the line. Making a scene like this shames us both."

"Kayla's perfectly fine, so why keep clinging to some trivial little matter?"

My father held his back rigid, chest heaving, forcing down the rage boiling inside him, and pushed out a single low sentence:

"Then we can do without that reputation!"

Fabian's brows knit, his voice turning sharp all at once:

"Douglas Pruitt! I'm trying to reason with you, so don't be ungrateful! Over some petty little thing, you smash the tower in front of everyone and call off the wedding. Are you dead set on turning against the Gilbert family?"

"How has my son ever wronged your daughter? If it weren't for the Pruitt assets in your hands, letting her have her way and putting up with her every day, do you think a sickly girl would ever be good enough for my son?"

It clicked all at once.

Every bit of patience Patrick had shown my body and my little moods, it turned out, had a price tag on it.

My mother gripped my hand tight, her fingertips ice-cold, shaking with anger, and still she stayed planted in front of me.

My father broke into a violent fit of coughing he couldn't hold back, his stooped back trembling, and every cough tore at my heart.

My chest clenched. I patted his back gently, tried to steady my trembling mother, terror flooding my eyes.

The scene I feared most was playing out again, right in front of me.

Something flickered in Patrick's eyes, a trace of reluctance, and he leaned down close to me, his voice full of lecture:

"Kayla, don't turn some petty little thing into a full break with your elders. Just lower your head a bit, apologize, admit you were wrong, and I'll smooth it over. Don't leave both families embarrassed."

A petty little thing?

In his eyes, my life was worth so little it wasn't even worth mentioning.

I wasn't afraid of being humiliated, of being laughed at, of ruining the wedding.

I was only afraid of standing here and watching this family drive them to their deaths all over again, repeating the ruin of the last life, our whole family destroyed.

I swallowed the resentment and bitterness swelling inside me, my voice breaking:

"Dad, Mom, maybe we should just…"

Before I could finish, Layla cut me off.

She hadn't come to make peace. Instead she gave a contemptuous little laugh:

"Let me be honest. Our Patrick is a fine catch, and with a body like Kayla's, without Patrick she'd likely never find a family to marry into her whole life. You Pruitts shouldn't be so ungrateful."

More phone cameras around us swung toward us.

The two of them played off each other, certain my parents would crack under the pressure and cave for my sake.

My one act of stubbornness had turned the entire bride's side into a joke.

Rebecca Henson stood at Patrick's side, head bowed, weeping, and as she wept she nestled a little closer into his arms, a barely visible flicker of glee in her eyes.

She was watching the show.

My eyes were rimmed red. Afraid and furious both, I was so frantic the tears just kept falling.

Caught between advancing and retreating, two warm, strong hands closed firmly over mine at the same moment, holding me safely between them.

"Kaykay, nothing matters more than the lives of the three of us."

The words went off like a blast in my head, and every drop of blood in me froze at once.

I jerked my head up and stared, dazed, at my parents.

My parents had been reborn too.

4: 4

Following my gaze, Mom and Dad gave me a small nod.

"When you smashed that teapot just now, we already had it arranged."

Joy broke over me and the tears came, and I let go of every last worry.

To the Gilberts, the three of us standing together looked like surrender, like backing down, and their arrogance flared even higher.

Fabian stepped forward, his crisp suit lending him the air of someone looking down on us.

"Douglas Pruitt, I'll give you one last chance. Apologize in front of everyone right now, and the wedding goes ahead, and both families keep the peace."

I raised my eyes, not a ripple in them, and asked back coldly, "Or what?"

Fabian gave a scornful snort.

"Or, with the class you people have, don't even dream of holding your ground in business or in this circle again. Half the Pruitts' connections, resources, and projects are all in Patrick's hands now. Learn to read the room."

Layla stood there with a glass in hand, her face all mockery and disdain.

I heard him out, and instead of getting angry, a low laugh slipped out of me.

"The only reason Patrick got where he is today is that he's my fiancé, Kayla Pruitt's fiancé, my father's son-in-law!"

"Take away the Pruitts holding him up, and he's nothing."

At that, Layla's wrist jerked, and most of the blush-pink champagne in her glass sloshed over the rim.

Once the shock passed, her head snapped back, her shoulders shaking, and she burst out laughing.

"You mean it? A dying girl who can't even drink sugar water? Or that crippled old man of a father?"

Nearby, Rebecca watched, tears rolling down one after another, and gave Layla's sleeve a gentle tug.

"Auntie Gilbert, this is my fault. Please don't blame Kaykay, and please don't be hard on Uncle and Auntie Pruitt..."

The whole hall of guests sighed at that.

"The Gilberts really did take in a sweet, sensible girl who knows how to repay kindness."

Layla only cupped Rebecca's hand more fondly in hers, her gaze sweeping over me with contempt.

"Good girl. You're the only one with any sense. You and my Patrick, now that's a match made for each other."

She paused, then added in a low voice, pitched just loud enough for me and the people around me to hear.

"Look at Kayla, half-dead already. She probably hasn't got much time left."

Something twisted in my chest. I wasn't even dead yet, and they'd already settled on the next wife.

They'd forgotten, it seemed, that without the Pruitts they were nothing more than the men who drove Dad's car.

I lifted my hands and gave a few claps.

"Good. Very good. Then let me show you exactly who dies first!"

I reached into my pocket for my phone, ready to unlock it and have my secretary announce what I'd arranged.

But the next second, a vicious slap came whipping straight at my face.

The crack of it exploded across the wedding hall.

The force was stunning. Half my head rang all at once, my eardrum shuddering.

A hot, stinging burn spread across my cheek and raced up into my scalp.

My vision blurred and went black, the room spun, and I dropped hard onto the marble floor.

The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was my parents' anguished screams.

...

Patrick stood frozen where he was, staring at his own palm, still numb from the blow.

Rebecca held his hand and gasped softly, "Pat, does it hurt? Kaykay just doesn't know any better. It isn't your fault."

Patrick's throat worked as he forced down the panic and reassured himself. "Right. Kayla was in the wrong first."

In the space of a few seconds, he had his composure back.

He raised a hand and smoothly soothed the guests. "Everyone, eat, drink, enjoy yourselves. It's fine, it's all fine."

The instant those words left his mouth, the phone in his pocket buzzed violently.

Patrick took three calls.

With each one, his face went a shade paler, his limbs a degree stiffer.

By the time the third call ended, the blood in him had frozen solid, and he crashed down onto the shattered glass.