Page 58 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

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E verything about this is so wrong.

I lower myself to the floor beside the vanity chair, my knees buckle beneath the weight of the dress and everything it means. My hands tremble as I reach for my purse—the one thing they didn’t take from me when we arrived.

My fingers dig blindly through my cluttered purse.

They brush past a compact dusted in translucent powder, a crumpled tissue wrapped around a tube of lipstick, the sharp corners of breath mints, until they brush against the soft, velvet pouch I stowed away in here.

My heart lurches as I pinch the drawstring and pull it open.

The pouch spills into my hand, and the pill bottle rolls out across my palm.

I-I just want to sleep for a little while. I need to rest from the noise, the pressure, and the voice in my head nagging at me that I’m nothing.

I twist the cap open slowly, the sound soft and almost gentle, like a whisper. I tip the pills into my palm, where they rattle out in loud, metallic clinks before settling like a handful of silence, white, pale bricks, staring back at me like tiny, dangerous promises .

One by one, I lift the pills to my lips, each swallow smoother than the last, my throat working on instinct as the bitter chalkiness dissolves into nothing. There’s no hesitation, no pause to reconsider—only the quiet rhythm of surrender. The last one slips past my tongue, leaving the bottle empty.

I let myself slide lower, my cheek pressed to the cold marble floor. The train of the gown pools around me, tangled and heavy between my legs, trapping me in folds of satin that once felt suffocating, now feel distant.

Weightless.

It starts slowly. My arms begin to tingle, a strange, electric sensation that quickly turns to numbness.

The static creeps from my fingertips to my elbows, dissolving the edges of my awareness as it moves.

My lips lose feeling next, softening into an unfamiliar stillness, followed by the slow tightening of my chest. Breathing becomes difficult, like trying to suck air through a straw.

Each inhale is shallower than the last, and it feels as if someone is gently pressing their palm over my ribcage, just enough to keep the air from sinking in.

My heart struggles beneath the pressure.

I can feel it slowing, skipping, searching for a rhythm it can’t seem to find.

The world around me begins to blur, the chandelier above softening at the edges, its golden light dulling into a hazy white glow.

My eyelids grow heavier, dragging downward despite my effort to stay awake.

It’s not sleep pulling me under—it’s something deeper, more permanent.

The cold marble floor beneath me becomes my anchor, the only thing tethering me to what’s left of my body. My limbs refuse to respond. My fingers don’t twitch when I mentally tell them to. I try to speak, to say something, anything, but my mouth doesn’t form the words. I

A memory of my mother flashes behind my eyes, her warm hands, her voice calling me mi vida .

I hold onto that image as tightly as I can, even as my thoughts begin to unravel.

I imagine her waiting for me, just beyond this moment.

I imagine peace. I tell myself I’ll see her soon, and for the first time in a long time, that thought doesn’t scare me.

Far in the distance, past the fog in my mind, I hear voices.

At first, they’re soft and indistinct, but they grow louder, weighted with panic.

Men are shouting down the hall, their footsteps hammering along the marble floors.

There’s a sudden impact against the door, a hollow, violent thud that echoes through the bridal suite.

I recognize one of the voices. It’s rough, wild, and full of fury. I try to reach for it, to open my eyes, to lift my hand toward the sound—but nothing moves. The door struggles to slam open, until it crashes hard into the wall, practically hanging off its hinges.

I’m already drifting. The edges of the room fade into darkness—the light overhead flickers once more before dissolving completely. My body feels weightless, like it’s already gone. The sound around me dulls to a low hum, and I can no longer tell if I’m breathing.

There’s one final thought as everything slips away, the words I wish I had said to him sooner. It simply rests in the quiet of my mind, like the last breath before a deep ocean takes you.

I love you. I’m sorry.