Page 1 of On Edge

ON EDGE

I’m engaged to the man who murdered my sister.

Troy Severin thinks he’s gotten away with it. Why else would a billionaire live in the cursed estate where my sister, Nell, died? Leave razors like calling cards? He’s taunting me, hunting me, drawing me into Grayfleet Hall’s shadows, where edges have teeth and every mirror lies.

He watches me sleep, plays with my fears, and knows exactly how to make me fall. He’s untouchable—a predator in designer suits with poison-green eyes and a brooding look that cuts deeper than any blade.

But as I dig into his past, the truth slips through my fingers. These blood-soaked walls hold more than his secrets. They hold Nell's.

Troy might be temptation wrapped in danger, who can shatter my resolve with one glance and, steal my breath with just a whisper, but I won’t go quietly to the altar.

He thinks I’m here to marry him.

I’m here to bury him alive.

1

SAGE

The boat engine’s sleek hum vibrates through my bones.

Any other time, it might lull me to sleep—it is the middle of the night, or some would say morning, after all. But my grip on the worn-out bench, nails digging into cracked leather, keeps me stiff and upright. Random sprays of water keep hitting me in the face. The smell of death, ingrained in the teak beneath my suede boots, clings to the air, thick and suffocating.

Sleep is impossible.

At least the canopy of the boat is keeping me dry from the rain. And I’m alone, apart from the driver. I thought I would have to endure the ride here with Severin’s men, but apparently, his thugs have better things to do than babysit me. I’m free to sit and stare at the endless stretch of black water and think about jumping.

Jump then,my dead sister mocks inside my head.

She does that sometimes, spits out snide comments just as she did when she was alive. It’s not real. It’s my mind throwing intrusive thoughts back at me with a bit of flair. It doesn’t botherme. Most of the time, it feels like she’s here, watching over me, looking out for me in a way I never could for her.

Other times, it feels like she’s haunting me...

Especially in places like this where death feels so close. The cold air, thick with damp moss and rotting wood, curls around me like a noose while my fingers, locked on the seat, feel frozen, cut off. It feels as though I’m holding hands with a corpse.

I glance down to make sure that I’m not, that her ghostly fingers aren’t entwined around mine. But I see nothing but my own pale, shaking ones. My dead sister isn’t here, sitting beside me, silently cheering me on as I make my way to meet her ex-fiancé, the predator in a tailored suit who will soon become my husband.

But I wish she were.

The longing for her to take control is like a punch to the stomach. She was the strong one, the brave one who made rebellion as a teen seem so easy. She gave me strength when I had none. And now she’s missing, presumed dead.

I miss her terribly.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait for the lump in my throat to pass, the pain in my heart to subside. It comes in waves. But that could be the speedboat that’s now bouncing over a choppy lake. The wind has picked up, and it’s making me feel sick enough to throw myself overboard and swim to shore.

I wish. Escape is not an option. Even if all I want to do is run away, I can’t. In a few hours, I’ll be locked away in a rotting mansion until the godforsaken wedding. In a month, I’m to be married to the man who took my sister’s life. After that, I might be dead too.

You need to kill him before he kills you, too,Nell’s voice reminds me, in that sweet way of hers.

Oh sure, let me just check my murder manual.

My sister snorts a laugh. The sound bubbles inside my chest, pressing against my ribs before slipping past my lips. Just a tiny, sharp laugh, but the boatman hears it. He shifts, shooting me a strange look over his shoulder.

I bite my lip and drop my gaze, pretending not to notice as I mentally berate myself for arguing with my dead sister. I’m tired.The aftershock of being escorted onto this boat without a choice is getting to me. That and my mother’s parting words keep mocking me like a bad song on repeat.“Keep him interested, darling. If he wants you, that’s protection. If he doesn’t… they’ll all assume it was your fault.”

As if it were Nell’s fault for what happened to her.

It wasn’t. I know deep down it wasn’t an accident. But the crux of the matter is...I don’t actuallyknowif he’s the one responsible, not for sure. The stats keep floating around in my head (62% of women killed in England are murdered by a current or former partner), as does the disturbing fact that he is a reclusive billionaire with a dangerous reputation, who lives alone in a creepy house in the middle of a lake. Perhaps he enjoys the isolation and the silence.