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I mutter under my breath, “This better not be some kind of setup.” But even as I say it, I know it’s not a joke. Something’s off. Something’s been off since the second she tossed that money down.

I don’t know what the hell I’m even doing here. I feel so lost and wonder if I should just leave, but then I’ll be the one leaving Chiara hanging. I’m trying to model the fact that when you make a promise, you show up. I’m hoping she sees the example I’m trying to set—and maybe follows it for once.

The ceiling stretches so high, but it feels like it’s pressing down on me as my heart begins to hammer down in my chest. It is a beautiful church, though. The colored light filtering in through the stained glass windows paints the walls with gorgeous images. This wedding definitely isn’t organized cheaply. The combined net worth in this room could crush a small country’s GDP. I’m sure of it.

I tug at the dress Chiara made me wear. It’s off-white, tight in places I don’t like, and I told her it didn’t feel right for a wedding.She just smiled and said, “It’s perfect for today. Trust me. It fits the theme.”

What theme? No one else here seems to be in on it.

I look around again. The guests are gathering in little groups, murmuring, nodding, talking. But the men in the corners stand out—tall, broad, serious-looking. Their suits are too stiff, and their eyes move around with mechanical precision. And then, when I look closer, I notice the holsters on their hips.

Security? But why would a wedding need this much security? A chill skitters down my spine.

My phone offers no answers—the screen is still blank despite the dozen messages I’ve sent to my sister in the last hour alone.

Where are you?

Who are these people?

Should I leave?

Chiara, I’m getting scared.

Nothing.

I step backward, my heel catching on the carpet. I stumble, righting myself against a marble column, and find myself face-to-face with a gilt-framed mirror. For a split second, I think I see Chiara staring back at me—same blonde waves, same hazel eyes, same small button nose.

But it’s just me, of course.

What would Chiara do? She would run. In a split second, I convince myself to get the hell out of here. Enough of wanting to set an example by showing up for my sister. I’ve been doing it for years, but it hasn’t made a difference to her, has it?

Chiara will always do what she wants, and I’m done living my life on her whims and fancies. I turn on my heels and am about to stride off when my phone vibrates. I nearly drop it in my haste to answer.

“Chiara? Where the hell are you?” I hiss, ducking behind a floral arrangement nearly as tall as I am.

“Aria.” Her voice sounds strange, too tight and too high. “I’m so sorry.”

Ice forms in my veins. “Sorry for what? Where are you?”

“I can’t be there. I just can’t.” A ragged breath. “They would’ve killed me, Aria. Maybe they still will.”

The room tilts slightly. “What are you talking about? You said it was handled. What’s happening? Who wants to kill you?”

“I entered a contract.” Her words tumble out, rushed and desperate. “He offered so much money, enough to clear all my debts, enough for us to start over, and I was in so much trouble with the debtors and knew this was my only chance. I thought I could take the money and do what he wanted, but what he asks of me, Aria, you don’t under?—

She’s rambling, and I cut her off, unable to make heads or tails of what she’s saying.

“Slow down,” I whisper, pressing closer to the flowers. “What contract? Chiara, did you take more money? And who’s ‘he’?”

“I don’t know his name,” she says. “He’s—God, Aria, he’s dangerous. I know he is. But he offered a way out, and I took it because we needed the money so badly after—after everything.”

We? There is no we. I’d have a lot more money if she didn’t rely on what I earn, too—but now’s not the time to bring that up. My mind flashes back to our childhood: foster homes, locked cabinets, nights spent curled up together, whispering promises that one day, somehow, we’d be safe.

“What did the contract say?”

A pause. I can hear traffic in the background. She’s outside, maybe in a cab.

“The contract… It’s a marriage agreement.” Her voice cracks. “He wants a wife. But not just anyone—he wants you, Aria.”