Chapter 5

There was a knock at the door.

“Miss Gray? Express delivery. Signature required.”

I froze, then called through the door, “I haven’t ordered anything. Are you sure you have the right address?”

“The sender marked it as an important gift. The address and recipient name are correct.”

I opened the door, signed for it, and took the huge white box.

I tore away the wrapping and lifted the lid.

Inside was a ceremonial gown.

Black and crimson, with embroidered serpents and roses twisting along the hem and cuffs—the insignia reserved for the Cosa family’s godmother during formal rites.

The fabric was antique lace blended with silk, lavish and elegant, cut to fit my body perfectly.

He had touched every curve of me. He didn’t need a tailor to measure again.

A card was pinned to the inside of the lid.

Silver lettering on black.

Kylan’s handwriting.

Ophilia, the only person I ever wanted to see walking toward me at the church was you.

Happy third anniversary.

I stared at the words, my chest hurting so badly I could barely breathe.

For three years, I had imagined it countless times—

wearing a gown like this and walking toward Kylan before everyone.

But never after he announced he was marrying another woman.

Never after he denied me publicly at his engagement banquet.

And certainly not after placing a bullet on the coffee table and still having the audacity to send me a godmother’s dress.

How absurd.

How ridiculous.

I looked at the black-and-red gown spread across the couch.

It was like a mirror, reflecting every bit of my innocence and stupidity these past three years.

My phone vibrated.

A message from Kylan:

**Did you get the gift? I hope it fits.**

I didn’t reply.

I was about to shove the gown back into the box when the screen lit again.

A direct message alert—from Celeste Morrow.

Every nerve in my body screamed at me not to open it.

I opened it anyway.

**Ophilia, this is Celeste. I hope you don’t mind me contacting you directly. Today is Kylan’s and my wedding ceremony. I’m not here to cause trouble. I just want you to know a few things.**

The second message came immediately after.

**Kylan and I grew up together. We attended our first family Christmas banquet under the same tree. Our fathers first took us to “learn the business” together. Since we were children, both families assumed the two of us would be the ones standing together in the end.**

Third message.

**Four years ago, we separated briefly because of some inheritance disagreements. That was when he met you.**

**But it was always temporary, Ophilia. Everyone knew we would eventually return to one another. This isn’t a political marriage—it’s the rightful order restoring itself.**

Fourth.

**I’m not trying to hurt you. I just hope you’ll make the smart choice. Don’t sink any deeper, and don’t keep trying to draw attention with little tricks.**

Last one.

**Because when it truly comes down to a choice—he will not choose you. I think you already saw that clearly enough at the engagement banquet.**

I set the phone down, my fingers numb with cold, and mechanically swiped into the news.

The headline had already changed.

The live photos showed Saint Michael’s Cathedral—the place where generations of Cosa godfathers held their most important ceremonies.

Kylan wore a black morning coat. Celeste stood beside him in white, her arm linked through his.

His hand covered hers as naturally as breathing.

The headline read:

**Grand Wedding Ceremony of the Cosa and Morrow Families Draws East Coast Elite**

Saint Michael’s Cathedral.

The very cathedral Kylan once drove me past, saying, One day, I’ll give you the grandest wedding there.

But the woman he was exchanging rings with there in the end—was her.

The comments were full of blessings.

No one mentioned my name at all.

As if I had never existed.

I flipped my phone facedown on the couch.

I had told myself long ago to let go, but the moment I saw it with my own eyes, it still felt like an ice spike driven straight into my chest.

Even my breathing tasted metallic.

His “star” had already made it clear—I was only ever a transition.

And on the very day of their wedding ceremony, he still had the nerve to send me a godmother’s dress I would never, ever wear.

That was when my mother called.

“Ophilia, the people Rafe sent are here. A black van with Washington plates, no markings, is parked in the loading area behind your building. The driver’s wearing a baseball cap. Can you move now?”

“Today is Kylan’s wedding ceremony—he won’t be able to get away right now.” I was already on my feet, stuffing essentials into a backpack. “Mom, I’m leaving now.”

“Good. Call me once you reach the West Coast. Use the new phone I prepared for you.” Her voice was steady, but I still heard the quiet breath she took on the other end. “Be careful, baby. Remember—cut off everything old.”

After I hung up, I put the dress box out in the hallway.

Then I reduced all my luggage to one backpack.

A change of clothes. Cash. A new passport. The backup ID my mother had prepared for me long ago and never used.

The couture he bought for me, the jewelry, and the phantom life we built together—all of it stayed in that apartment.

I was leaving this filthy chapter behind, along with every trace of it.

I pushed open the heavy fire door and stepped into the rear stairwell.

My footsteps echoed in the enclosed space, each one like a heartbeat.

When I reached the twelfth floor, I heard movement below.

Men.

More than one.

They were climbing fast, tactical boots hitting concrete, fragments of radio static cutting in and out.

“—Godfather’s order, top-floor target—”

“—Ensure containment before noon—”

I froze.

Flattened myself against the wall and barely dared to breathe.

They were coming up.

Kylan’s men.