I Gave His Name to the Woman He Chose

The Ravencrest gala was built for people who smiled with knives behind their backs.

Every major family in New York was there: Moretti, DeLuca, Santoro, Hale. Women glittered in diamonds. Men traded threats over champagne. By midnight, three alliances had been hinted at, two insults had been swallowed, and at least one man had probably ordered another man's death in the bathroom.

I stood near the windows in a navy silk dress and watched Lucien move through the room with Isabella on his arm.

She wore silver. He kept a hand at her waist. Every few minutes, she leaned in to whisper something, and he bent his head as if the rest of the world could wait.

"Poor Grace Vance," a woman behind me murmured. "Not even married yet, and already replaced."

"Moretti men like useful wives and fragile mistresses," another said. "She should learn the difference."

I sipped my champagne and said nothing.

A man from one of the smaller families drifted toward me with a smile too sharp to be friendly. "Miss Vance. Brave of you to come alone."

"I'm not alone. I'm bored. There's a difference."

His smile thinned. "Must be hard, watching your fiance play house with another woman."

Before I could answer, Lucien appeared beside me.

"Careful," he said softly. "The last man who spoke about my fiancee like that lost more than his invitation."

The man went pale and backed away.

I looked at Lucien. There it was again, the part of him that wanted me under his name even when he was giving everything else to Isabella. In my last life, that possessiveness had confused me. I had mistaken it for love.

Now it only felt like ownership.

"You don't have to perform," I said. "No one is watching anymore."

"I am always watching you." Then Lucien lowered his voice. "There is one more thing. Isabella is staying in the bridal suite at Verona House. Her nightmares are worse in unfamiliar rooms. I need you to wait before moving in."

I looked across the room at Isabella, who was pretending not to stare.

"Fine."

Lucien blinked. "Fine?"

"She can keep the suite."

Relief crossed his face, but it did not last. My easy surrender unsettled him more than a fight would have.

"Grace, look at me."

Before I could, glass shattered above us.

The first shot hit the chandelier. Crystals rained down as screams tore through the ballroom. The second shot came from the balcony, aimed straight at Isabella.

Lucien moved on instinct.

He shoved her behind him and covered her with his body.

People ran. Tables overturned. Someone slammed into my shoulder, and I stumbled hard against the wall. I heard another shot, felt the punch of it before I understood the sound, then saw red spreading across my dress.

I had been hit.

Pain ripped through me so cleanly that my knees gave out. I pressed a hand to my side and looked through the chaos.

Lucien was on the floor with Isabella in his arms.

"I've got you," he kept saying. "Bella, look at me. You're safe."

He did not see me.

Not until a DeLuca guard shouted, "Miss Vance is down!"

Lucien's head snapped up.

For one second, our eyes met across the ruined ballroom.

Then the floor tilted, and everything went black.