Prologue
Wynter
Running.Mylungsburnfrom the frozen air surrounding me, seeping into my soul. I can’t stop. Not when I know she wants me. The yellow tulle from my ball gownsnags on briars and branches, but it doesn’t slow me. I won’t let it.
The Alaskan taiga stretches endlessly before me, a vast expanse of snow-covered wilderness. Towering conifers, their branches heavy with snow, loom like silent sentinels at night. The ground beneath my feet is a treacherous mix of ice and snow, each step a gamble. The cold bites at my exposed skin, turning my breath into visible puffs of mist.
With each step I take, I feel the pins holding my hair slip until it’s whipping in the wind behind me.
The forest is eerily quiet, the only sounds are my ragged breaths and the crunch of snow underfoot. The moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting long, ghostly shadows, dancing and flicking. Now and then, a gust of wind sends a flurry of snowflakes swirling around me, momentarily blinding me.
My legs scream in protest with every step, the muscles burning from the relentless exertion. The cold has seeped into my bones, making each movement feel like wading through molasses. My long discarded heels leave my toes numb and a sharp, stinging pain radiates from my feet up to my calves. The skin on my legs and arms feels tight and hard, as if encased in ice.
I push forward, my heart pounding in my chest. The air is so cold it feels like shards of glass slice through my lungs with every inhale. The thought of him catching me sends a fresh wave of adrenaline through my veins.
Fear grips my heart in a cold, unrelenting vice. Every shadow seems to hide his figure, every rustle of the wind, his approach. Exhaustion is beginning to take its toll; my mind races, a chaotic swirl of panic and determination. I can’t let him catch me.I won’t.
As I sprint through the darkness, a low-hanging branch slices through my arm. The pain radiates through my body. The blood from the wound is warm against my chilled skin, themetallic smell sharp and pungent. My vision blurs and darkens, threatening to consume me. I stumble, catching myself on a tree trunk.
The bark is rough and uneven beneath my fingertips, the sensation anchoring me to the present. I press my forehead against the rough surface, focusing on the solidity of the wood. I only rest for a moment because I need to get as far away from Evilin as possible. I shove off hard from the tree and continue running through the forest, realizing that a small stop could put me in his clutches. My body is numb with cold, my lungs burning from exertion.
Suddenly, the forest opens up to a vast, frozen lake. The moonlight reflects off the ice, casting my surroundings in an eerie glow. I hesitate momentarily, my breath visible in the cold night air. Behind me, I hear the distant sound of footsteps crunching through the snow. He’s getting closer.
With no other choice, I step onto the ice. It creaks under my weight, but I press on, each step more precarious than the last. Halfway across, I hear a sharp crack. The ice begins to split, and I scramble to stay on solid ground.
Desperation fuels my movements but I push forward, the ice cracking and shifting beneath me. I reach the other side and dart into the trees as my breathing wheezes. This corset was pulled so tightly that I think she was trying to kill me before the party even began. My ribs feel as though they may break from the sheer force of my ribs pressing against the bodice as I fight for breath, but I don’t look back. I can’t afford to.
Ahead, I see a faint light flickering through the trees. A cabin. Hope surges within me. If I can just reach it, maybe I can find help. I sprint towards the light, my legs aching, my lungs burning. The cabin door is slightly ajar and I burst inside, slamming it shut behind me.
Inside, the warmth is a stark contrast to the freezing night. An older man sits by the fire, his eyes widening in surprise.
“Help me,” I gasp, collapsing onto the floor. “He’s coming,” I whimper as my hair fans around me, suffocating me. With all my strength I try to undo the corset, but it’s too late.
Before he can respond, the world tilts and darkens around me. The exhaustion, the cold, and the fear finally overwhelm me. My vision blurs and I feel myself slipping into unconsciousness. The last thing I hear is the old man’s urgent voice calling out, but the words are lost as I succumb to the darkness.
One
Two hours before…
Wynter
AsIbeginmydescent of the grand staircase, the ballroom unfurls below me like a gilded cage. The polished marble floor gleams under the oppressive twinkle of crystal chandeliers, reflecting a thousand points of light I cannot feel. The walls are paneled in rich, dark wood, their intricately carved floral motifs seeming to writhe in the periphery. Moonlight spills through massive velvet-draped windows, casting a silver, spectral glow across the room. In a corner, a string quartet saws through a melodious waltz, a sound that mingles with the brittle hum of conversation, all of it feeling distant, as if happening under glass.
My heart hammers a frantic, desperate rhythm against my ribs, a stark counterpoint to the elegant music. With every soft echo of my steps, the heads of the guests turn. They are a sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns, their eyes widening not just in admiration, but with a predatory curiosity. This is my debut. The ghost they've only heard whispers of, finally made flesh. The weight of their collective gaze is a physical pressure, threatening to crush me.
The yellow silk of my gown flows like liquid sunshine, a cruel irony for a girl who has lived in shadows. The skirt flares into a sweeping train, its delicate gold embroidery tracing patterns that feel more like chains than decorations. The bodice, a deep, unforgiving blue, hugs my torso with an expert, suffocating craftsmanship. Each breath is a deliberate, shallow act, a battle against the tight lacing. My stepmother’s work. A perfect, poised doll on the outside, while my lungs scream for air within.
My hair is a crown of midnight, the glossy black strands woven into an intricate braid, coiled and pinned with a regal severity that feels like a costume. It’s all a facade. A beautiful, breathtaking lie.
And the architect of this lie is my stepmother, Evilin. A name that has never felt more appropriate. This grand celebration is not a gift; it is a display. A spectacle of her supposed generosity,masking intentions I can feel coiled in the air like a serpent. Even here, surrounded by opulence, the familiar dread gnaws at me. Tonight is my eighteenth birthday, but it feels more like my unveiling at an auction.
The memory of her hands on me just hours ago is a phantom chill on my skin. Cold and unyielding as she fastened the corset, pulling the laces until stars danced at the edge of my vision.
She had leaned in close, her voice a cold whisper in my ear, her expensive perfume a cloying mix of florals and power. “Remember, this is an honor. People want to celebrate you.” Her reflection in the mirror told the truth; her eyes were chips of ice, an ugly sneer twisting her perfect lips. “Don’t forget,” she’d continued, her voice dripping with saccharine poison, “how lucky you are.”
“Suck it in, for fuck’s sake,” she’d seethed, one final, brutal yank on the laces stealing the very air from my lungs. Then she’d pushed me away from the mirror to gaze at her own reflection, standing still for a long moment, as if waiting for an answer.
“Shut up!” she had suddenly screamed at the glass, before snatching my vanity chair and hurling it. The mirror shattered into a million glittering tears. Her rage-filled eyes met mine, and a promise of violence I knew all too well flashed within them. “It’s you,” she’d cursed.
