His Brother's Bride

I spent the entire day at the city dump.

My hands were cut and scraped, my nails were caked with filth, and my clothes were soaked in foul-smelling garbage juice. The workers stared at me like I was insane—a woman frantically digging through a mountain of trash.

At dusk, I finally found it, buried in a pile of rotting food.

But the picture of my grandmother was gone.

I opened the locket ring with trembling hands. The tiny photograph that had been inside was missing. It was the only color photo of her as a young woman, my last anchor in this world.

It felt like a knife had been twisted in my heart. I knelt in the garbage, sobbing in despair.

I ran back to the hospital like a madwoman.

Isabella was just being discharged. When she saw me, filthy and reeking, a triumphant smirk crossed her lips. The nurses around us stared—a woman who smelled like a landfill.

"Find your ring?" she asked loudly, drawing more attention. "About that picture, though..."

"What did you do with the picture?" I lunged at her, grabbing her shoulders.

"Tore it up. Flushed it down the toilet," she said nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather. "Last night. Tore it into tiny, tiny pieces. I guarantee you'll never find it. Looking at that old hag's face was disgusting anyway."

My sanity snapped.

SLAP!

I hit her with every ounce of strength I had left. Isabella staggered back, a bright red handprint blooming on her perfect cheek.

"Rose!" Dante's voice, full of shock and fury, echoed down the hall. "What are you doing?!"

He stormed over and shoved me so hard I nearly fell. He rushed to Isabella's side, gently stroking her face.

"How can you be so vicious?!" Dante glared at me, his eyes filled with disgust and disappointment. "Isabella is still recovering! Are you trying to kill her? My God, what have you become?"

Vicious? He was calling me vicious?

Watching Dante fuss over Isabella, seeing the judgmental stares of the people around us, and catching the victorious glint in Isabella's eyes, I started to laugh.

"Dante, that's enough," I said, my voice unnervingly calm. "You have no idea what real viciousness is. But you're about to find out."

I turned and walked away, my fingers clenched around the recovered ring. The photo was gone forever, but I had made my decision.

If Isabella wanted to play games, to destroy me piece by piece, then I would play.

I would make everyone see her for what she was—a vicious high-school bully. I would make her feel what it's like to be despised, to be condemned.

I would show her what true viciousness looked like.

Back in my car, I dialed my colleague, Sarah. She was an investigative reporter who specialized in exposing the dark underbelly of society.

"Sarah, I need a favor. Can you help me find some people...?" My voice was choked with tears, but my words were firm.

There was a pause on the other end. "Rose, are you sure about this? The Blackwood and Rossi families are not people you want to cross."

"I'm sure," I said, gripping the steering wheel. "Compared to what she did to me, this is nothing."

Tomorrow, at my wedding, the game would reach its climax.