The organ swells, echoing through stone arches as Clara Ford walks down the aisle, scattering white rose petals. I stand in the shadow of the cathedral’s west door, my breath steady, my fingers curled around the knife in my coat. They think I’m dead. Buried in a pauper’s plot after Henry watched Quincey weep and called me a liar.\n\nMy cheek still burns from his slap.\n\nNow, he stands at the altar, dressed in black silk, waiting to marry the woman who helped destroy me. The crowd glows with admiration. No one sees me—until I step forward, red dress blazing like a wound in the candlelight. Gasps ripple. Henry turns. His face drains.\n\n‘Hannah?’\n\nI smile. Cold. Final.\n\nThe moment stretches—then shatters. Guards surge from the pews. I have seconds to decide: vanish into the catacombs beneath the church, confront Henry now, or turn the knife on Quincey before he escapes.