My sister walked into my wedding wearing a white bridal dress

We had twenty minutes left.

"I'll go to the study," Mia declared, smoothing down her designer blazer. Her expression was completely devoid of fear, replaced by a ruthless mask of icy calm. "I need to keep him talking. If all three of us disappear, his men will sweep the house immediately."

"Mia, no," I said, grabbing her arm. "He's dangerous. He’s a psychopath."

"Lila, look at me," Mia said, her grip firm and warm on my wrist. For the first time in our turbulent lives, there was absolute sincerity and love in her eyes. "I spent the last ten years playing the villain because I thought survival meant being the cruellest person in the room. Let me use that venom for something good. I know how his mind works. He feeds on arrogance. I'll flatter his ego, pretend I want to betray you two to become his sole heir."

"Mia..." Celeste whispered, clutching her sister's hand.

"Run through the back servant corridor," Mia instructed, pressing the encrypted flash drive into my palm. "Take the cellar tunnel to the greenhouse. If I can buy you fifteen minutes, that’s all you need."

Before we could argue further, Mia turned on her heels and strode purposefully down the grand hallway toward Nicholas’s study.

I looked at Celeste. "Stay close to me. Keep your head down."

We slipped through the concealed panel behind the grandfather clock in the dining room—a passage Victoria had used to spy on guests, but which now served as our lifeline. The air inside the secret passage was damp, smelling of mold and ancient stone. Down a winding iron spiral staircase, we descended into the foundation of the manor.

Above us, we could hear the faint murmur of voices. Mia’s sharp, melodious laughter drifted through the floor vents, followed by Nicholas’s deep, triumphant chuckle. She was playing her part masterfully.

"Hurry," I whispered to Celeste.

We navigated the narrow earthen tunnel that led toward the outer grounds. Cobwebs brushed against our faces, and the cold seeped through our clothes. But as we neared the end of the tunnel, the faint aroma of dried lavender and fresh pine needles hit my senses.

I pushed against the rotting wooden hatch at the end of the passage. It gave way with a soft creak.

We scrambled out into the damp earth beneath the shattered glass panes of the abandoned greenhouse. The moonlight filtered through the cracked glass, casting spiderweb shadows across overgrown ivy and wild ferns.

And standing in the center of the greenhouse, wrapped in a dark woolen cloak, was a figure holding an antique storm lantern.

The light flickered, illuminating silver-blonde hair and soft, sorrowful gray eyes that I had only ever seen in a faded baby photograph.

"Lila. Celeste," the woman whispered, tears shining in her eyes.