Emma gave a broken laugh with no humor in it. “Because I told him I was scared. Because I asked if we could postpone the wedding.”
Ruth quietly left and closed the velvet curtains behind her.
Emma sank to her knees on the platform, the dress pooling around her like spilled cream. She grabbed my wrists with freezing fingers.
“Listen to me,” she begged. “If I cancel, Victor will destroy Mom and Dad. He owns half the debt on Harborline Freight. He said he’ll call every loan, ruin every supplier contract, bury them in lawsuits until they lose the company, the warehouses, the house—everything.”
I stared at my little sister, the same girl who used to hide behind me during thunderstorms. Now she was trapped inside a beautiful gown, promised to a monster in a custom suit.
“He said no one would believe me,” she sobbed. “He said you’re just a divorced corporate consultant with a cold face and no real power.”
No power.
That almost made me smile.
Men like Nathan and Victor had always underestimated me because I wore plain black suits, little makeup, and rarely raised my voice. They never asked what kind of consultant I was. They never asked why federal prosecutors still answered my calls.
I knelt and cupped Emma’s face. “Did he threaten you in writing? Texts? Emails?”
She nodded weakly. “Emails. Voice notes. Photos. I saved everything on a hidden drive.”
“Good girl,” I whispered, kissing her forehead.
“But we can’t cancel,” she cried. “He’ll ruin them.”
I looked once more at the brutal marks on her back.
“Then we won’t cancel,” I said softly.
Emma stared at me in horror. “What?”
“We won’t cancel,” I repeated. “We’ll let them walk straight into it.”
As I helped her out of the dress, my phone buzzed.
An unknown number had sent me a photo of Emma and me through the boutique window, taken seconds earlier.
A threat.
