Chapter 3

The wedding continues, but the air is thick with a new, artificial cheerfulness. The Scotts and their friends treat me with a cloying sweetness that makes my skin crawl. They believe they' ve successfully tamed me, that the promise of a Porsche has smoothed over my little "tantrum."

I play my part. I smile. I nod. I allow Ethan to hold my hand, his touch feeling like a spider crawling on my skin.

I remember my past life, how I met him. He was the manager at one of my family' s luxury resorts in Aspen. I was there on a solo trip, trying to escape the pressures of being an Anderson. He seemed so different from the trust fund kids I grew up with. He was hardworking, charming, and seemed to love me for me, not for my name.

He told me stories about his humble, working-class background, about his struggling artist sister who he supported with every spare dollar. I fell for it completely. I saw him as my escape, my chance at a normal, loving life.

Now, I see the truth. He wasn't in love with me; he was in love with my bank account. Every "romantic" gesture, every whispered sweet-nothing, was a calculated move in a long con. The Scotts weren' t a humble family; they were a pack of parasites who saw me as their winning lottery ticket. The realization doesn' t bring pain anymore. It only brings a cold, sharp clarity.

As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow over the Hamptons, Sabrina approaches me, her earlier fear replaced with smug confidence.

"Jocelyn, I have the most fun idea for the family photos!" she says, her voice dripping with fake excitement. "It' ll be hilarious. You and I will both wear veils, and Ethan has to guess who his real bride is! The guests will love it!"

I know this game. This is the prelude to the main event. This is how they get me to the edge of the swimming pool. In my past life, I agreed, desperate to prove I could "take a joke." Ethan "accidentally" guessed wrong, grabbing Sabrina and spinning her around. Then, as I stood by the pool, laughing along, Sabrina gave me a "playful" shove.

The push that sent me into a coma.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Sabrina," I say, my smile perfectly placid. "Let me just go freshen up first."

She beams, completely oblivious. "Great! Ethan and I will go get ready in the private beach cabana. Meet us by the pool in fifteen minutes!"

As she and Ethan walk away, their arms linked, I see them disappear into the secluded cabana. I know what "getting ready" means for them.

I saw it once by accident in my past life-a brief, shocking glimpse of them in a position that no brother and sister should ever be in. At the time, I convinced myself I' d misunderstood, that my eyes had deceived me. Now, I know better.

I turn and walk in the opposite direction, toward the large, locked container where the pyrotechnics team has stored the industrial-grade fireworks for the reception' s grand finale. My father had insisted on the best, a display that cost more than most people' s houses.

The lock is heavy, but I have the key. I' d seen the event coordinator use it earlier. A quick, discreet lift from her bag was all it took.

I open the container. Inside, the fireworks are massive, packed with enough power to light up the night sky.

I find the largest one, a behemoth labeled "Grand Finale Cascade." I don' t need the whole thing. Just the fuse. It' s long, thick, and green.

I take it, along with a high-end butane lighter from the technicians' toolbox.

Then, I walk calmly toward the beach cabana, the fuse coiled in my hand, hidden in the folds of my ruined dress.