The photo in Nicholas’s hand was slightly crumpled at the edges, but the image was terrifyingly clear.

The girl in the picture wore a sleeveless silk dress, her dark hair pinned back with a pearl clip. She was laughing, her head tilted slightly to the side. It wasn’t just a passing resemblance. It wasn’t a case of having the same shade of eyes or a similar jawline.

It was my face. Z

The small, distinct mole just beneath the collarbone. The slight asymmetry of the upper lip. The way her dark eyes seemed to look right through the lens. Looking at that photo was like staring into a mirror that had somehow captured a life I had never lived.

“Who is she?” My voice was barely a whisper, the coldness of the room finally seeping into my bones. The cut on my palm pulsed with a dull, throbbing ache, dripping a single bead of blood onto the plush rug beneath my feet.

Nicholas didn’t answer right away. He slid the photo back into his breast pocket, his long fingers moving with a terrifying, calculated precision. When he looked up, his gaze caught the blood on my hand. Without a word, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a clean, monogrammed linen handkerchief, and wrapped it tightly around my palm. His grip was firm, unyielding, but surprisingly devoid of the violence I had braced myself for.

“Her name was Sofia,” Nicholas said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a weight that seemed to press down on the entire room. “And she was supposed to walk down the aisle of a private chapel in thirty minutes. But three hours ago, her car was pulled from the bottom of the Rio Grande. No survivors.”

The air left my lungs in a sharp gasp. “If she’s dead… why am I wearing a wedding dress? Why did you buy me from my father?”

“Because the people who put her in that river don’t know she’s dead yet,” Nicholas stepped closer, his shadow completely engulfing me. The scent of rain, expensive cologne, and the faint, bitter metallic tang of gunpowder rolled off him. “And they cannot find out. Not tonight. The alliance between my family and the Alvarez syndicate depends entirely on this marriage. If the Alvarez faction thinks I backed out, or if they realize Sofia was eliminated before the ink on the treaty dried, El Paso becomes a slaughterhouse by midnight. Your father’s debt wasn’t a coincidence, Alma. I’ve been looking for you for three weeks.”

“You… you knew about me?”

“I know everything,” he said flatly. “I knew your father was a degenerate gambler who would eventually risk his own blood. I ensured his debts fell into the hands of men I control. I needed a ghost, Alma. And your father practically wrapped you up and handed you to me on a silver platter.”

The betrayal cut deeper than the glass in my hand. My own father hadn’t just lost me in a bad hand of cards; he had been a pawn in a game played by a monster.

Before I could speak, the older woman—the one who had handed me the dress—stepped back into the room. Her face was a mask of severe, unreadable lines. “The priest has arrived, Don Nicholas. And Señor Alvarez’s men are securing the perimeter. They are asking to see the bride.”

part2