My mouth tastes like copper and almonds—drugged again. The sheets are cold silk, the room too quiet. I turn my head and see him: Lucian Ashworth, my fiancé’s uncle, lying beside me, fully dressed, watching.

His thumb brushes my collarbone. 'You always wake up fighting,' he says, voice smooth as poison. 'But this time, you won’t run.'

Memories crash like glass—eight years ago, I found ledgers in his study. Blackmail. Trafficking. Then darkness. Waking up told I’d left Daniel, that I was unstable.

Now, the wedding is in three days. Daniel will marry me, unaware his uncle stole both our lives.

I force a smile. 'I’m not running,' I whisper. 'I’m staying. And I’m going to ruin you.'

He laughs, but his eyes flicker—fear, or respect?

The clock ticks. I have until dawn to decide: escape now through the balcony, pretend allegiance and play the long game, or steal the key in his pocket and open the locked drawer across the room—where I know, somehow, the truth is buried.