Chapter2

Three months ago. The beginning of everything.

Three months ago I was still the sharpest instrument in the Costa family's arsenal, and Marcus Costa's publicly declared "perfectly ordinary wife." No one knew how much blood I had on my hands. No one knew how much of what he had, I had built for him.

That night, the gun was aimed at his heart. When I threw myself in front of it, my mind was blank.

When I came back to consciousness, Marcus was sitting beside my hospital bed. His large hands enclosed mine. His eyes held a softness I had never seen in them before.

"You're never getting rid of me."

"Whatever that political marriage arrangement is—it's done. I'm canceling the wedding tonight. Lia, we're going to have our own children. We're going to be together. Always."

His kiss on the back of my hand burned.

I stared at the ceiling while tears ran steadily into my ears.

I had believed that I—this creature without a heart—had finally come alive. That I was no longer a blade. That I was a woman someone loved.

Whatever he asked of me, I would have done it. As long as I could stay beside him.

"Sleep now, my queen." He tucked the blanket around me, his expression full of tenderness. "On your birthday, I'm going to tell the whole world that you are the only Mrs. Costa."

I believed him. Like the fool I was, I smiled and closed my eyes.

It was a few days later, when I was well enough to be on my feet. I was carrying a glass of water toward the balcony to get some air.

The balcony door at the end of the corridor was slightly ajar. Marcus's voice drifted through it, carrying that particular arrogance that could chill me to the marrow.

He was on the phone. His tone was something I had never heard from him before—soft, honeyed.

"Don't be upset, baby. That whole performance had to play out." A pause, a low laugh. "The idiot lying in that bed genuinely thinks she's my salvation."

My hands went rigid. The glass trembled.

"Before her birthday—" Marcus paused. Then came the sound of him clearing his throat and spitting on the floor. "I'll give her a queen's funeral. That's what she'll get, my Lia."

He spat toward my hospital bed and laughed as he ended the call.

I stood in the hallway, and every drop of blood in my body went cold.

The glass slipped from my fingers. It hit the floor and shattered.

Marcus spun around. He saw me. In that instant, the softness and the poison were both still on his face—he hadn't had time to choose one.

"Lia?" He frowned and walked toward me. "What are you doing up?"

I watched him extend his hand. The hand that had kissed mine an hour ago and sworn to love me forever. Now it was nothing but lies and filth.

"What's the matter?" He took hold of my shoulders, studying me. "Did you have a nightmare?"

I looked straight into his eyes.

"No." I shook my head. My voice was so calm it frightened even me. "I was thirsty. I came to get some water."

Marcus exhaled. He pulled me into his arms. "You scared me. Come on, back to bed."

I let him hold me. My face pressed into his chest. I breathed in the smell of him—cologne and lies, layered together.

I told myself: Lia. What did you hear? You heard nothing.

But that sound—phlegm on the floor—and those words—a queen's funeral—were a blade that cut every last thread of love and illusion I had left.