"Your sister, Isabella." Lucian's voice cut through the oppressive silence of our macabre wedding chamber. "Tell me about the scar on her face."
I blinked, surprised by the sudden change of subject. My throat still ached from where his fingers had pressed moments before, but his interest in Isabella sparked something familiar within me—that old, burning jealousy that never quite died.
"What about it?" I asked cautiously, still kneeling on the floor beside Lila's body. My wedding gown pooled around me like spilled milk, a mockery of purity.
Lucian leaned against the bedpost, watching me with predatory intensity. "I heard rumors, of course. A curse, they said. But we both know better, don't we?"
I hesitated, calculating my response. This monster had me cornered, but he'd revealed something crucial—his fascination with Isabella. Perhaps there was leverage here, a way to survive this night.
