It was Delilah Kelly who had sparked the chaos at the wedding. Maximus Anderson had long since locked her away, thinking her caged like the animal she was.

Every atrocity Delilah had committed had been laid bare by Maximus’s investigation. When the full scale of her cruelty was presented to him, he felt a visceral, primal urge to tear her apart limb from limb. He had made it his personal mission to make her suffer for every second of the hell Rose Harrison had endured.

He had watched with cold, detached eyes as his men broke her, her face a swollen, purpling mess of misery. Yet, even that felt insufficient—it wasn't even a fraction of the agony Rose had suffered. Once her body was sufficiently shattered, Maximus had dumped her into a psych ward, determined to make her rot from the inside out under the weight of her own fracturing mind.

But with Rose’s wedding day approaching, Maximus had been drowning in his own misery, fueled by bottomless bottles of whiskey and a longing that felt like a chest full of shattered glass. He had neglected his watch over Delilah. She had capitalized on his lapse, crawled out of the facility, and crashed the ceremony with a blade in hand.

After the dust settled, the Hughes and Harrison families swept the scene. The guests were ushered out, leaving the venue in a haunting, hollow silence. Gideon Hughes was a businessman down to his marrow; he was seething with resentment, but his son had chosen this mess, and his hands were effectively tied.

Albert Harrison kept his vigil by his daughter’s bedside. He watched the sickly pallor of Rose’s face, a hollow, suffocating ache growing in his chest. Why did fate have to demand such a gruesome toll from her? Why couldn't it have been him suffering instead?

He understood the Hughes family dynamic well. Mrs. Hughes was kind enough; she had been friends with the late Margaret Hayes for years and had doted on Rose since she was a child. The younger Hughes, Lily and Caspian, had grown up alongside her—their bond was steel-tight.

Albert couldn’t help but admire Caspian. The young man knew the dark skeletons in Rose’s closet and the jagged history of her past, yet he loved her with an unwavering intensity. He had even been willing to claim Rose’s child as his own. Albert knew that kind of devotion was rare, bordering on the fanatical. It was the only reason he had agreed to this union.

But reality had a cruel way of shattering plans. Rose was now essentially a vegetable, unresponsive and fading. Albert felt the crushing weight of the moment—was this marriage even viable anymore? He sighed, the sound echoing in the sterile, air-conditioned room.

Meanwhile, Gideon Hughes was reviewing the private report on Delilah Kelly. He squinted, his brow furrowing as he read. Suddenly, his hand whipped out, flinging the report across the room. His face darkened, his eyes sharpening into slits. Rose Harrison had been married before?

He was livid. He narrowed his eyes, his thoughts spiraling. The Harrisons owed him an explanation—a massive one.

In the Hughes study, a maid set down a steaming cup of tea, the clink of the china sharp in the silence. Gideon stared at Albert with ice in his gaze.

"Tell me the truth, Albert," Gideon demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Was Rose Harrison already married?"

Albert felt his heart skip a beat. Surely Caspian had mentioned it? He took a ragged breath. "Yes. She was."

Gideon’s expression went stone-cold. "And does Caspian know?"

Albert felt a bitter, cynical laugh rise in his throat. Of course he knew. Did Gideon really think the Harrisons were running some kind of low-rent bait-and-switch scam? He shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "He’s known for a long time."

Gideon’s jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitching violently as his temper flared.