Part 1: The Secluded Clearing
My sister’s fiancé shoved me into mud before my engagement shoot and said, “You belong there.” My sister just scoffed, “Pity points help.” I endured every second, knowing they’d never laugh at me again....
The white silk of my $3,000 Vera Wang gown soaked up the freezing, brown sludge before I could even process the impact. My hands scraped against the gravel of the Central Park pathway, skin tearing as the weight of my body collapsed into the puddle.
Above me, Bradley adjusted his Rolex, his face contorted in a sneer. "Oops. My bad, Avery," he said, wiping an imaginary speck of dirt from his tailored suit. "But honestly? You belong there."
I gasped, looking up through blurred eyes at my sister, Chloe. She didn't move. She didn't reach out a hand. Instead, she crossed her arms, her lips curling into a cold, satisfied smirk.
"Don't look so dramatic," Chloe scoffed, checking her manicure. "The camera loves a tragic backstory. Pity points help. Maybe Ethan will actually look at you with something resembling affection if you look like a drowned rat."
My engagement photoshoot was scheduled in exactly ten minutes. Ethan, my billionaire fiancé, was already waiting at the Bethesda Fountain with the high-profile photographer we’d booked months ago. Bradley and Chloe were supposed to be our bridal party, walking with us to the site. Instead, they had cornered me in this secluded, muddy clearing.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, forcing back the tears. They wanted me to cry. They wanted me to ruin my makeup, cancel the shoot, and run home sobbing. They wanted the world to see Avery Vance as the fragile, pathetic little sister she had always bullied.
But I didn't cry. I stood up, the wet mud dripping down the pristine white silk, ruining the dress completely. I looked Bradley dead in the eye, then turned my gaze to my sister. I knew something they didn't. I knew that the shell corporation Bradley used to embezzle millions from Chloe’s inheritance was registered under my name without my consent—and I had just handed the forensic audit to the FBI an hour before walking into the park.
"You're right," I whispered, wiping a streak of mud from my cheek, my voice chillingly calm. "Pity points do help."
Just then, my phone buzzed in my clutch. It was a text from Ethan: The feds just arrived at the fountain. They’re looking for Bradley. Where are you guys?
Bradley’s phone rang a second later. He answered it, his smug expression instantly freezing into pure horror as a voice on the other end spoke.
What did Bradley hear on that phone call? And just how far did Chloe go to protect her fiancé when she realized the trap they had walked into? The web of lies is about to unravel, and the mud on my dress is the least of their problems.
The rest of the story is below
