Winter shrugs. “I was pissed at first, but now I’m okay with it. I mean, I love him—but not enough to marry him.”
“What do you think about his kink?” Lyrical asks.
Winter raises an eyebrow. “How do you know about my fiancé’s kink?”
Lyrical sips her coffee, frowning. “He’s one of my besties. We’re close. Plus… he wears it on his sleeve. Literally—he has a tattoo of a woman in bondage on his arm.”
Winter laughs softly. “It was new, and I was scared at first. But he took me to the club a few times. Honestly? I love it. Best sex I’ve ever had.”
Lyrical rests her hand on the table. “What about you and Irvin?”
I straighten my spine and crinkle my nose. I’ll never let them know how I feel about Irvin. “We’ve been hanging out, but he’s about to be married in thirteen days. Once he is… we won’t be friends. I’m not going to be his mistress. I deserve my own man.”
Winter strokes her temple. “Are you sure there’s a fiancée?”
“Yes, he told me. Why?”
“Well… Keanu didn’t mention it. At dinner last night, they listed everyone in the club getting married—and Irvin’s name wasn’t on there.”
I swallow hard. “He said something about paperwork, then a ceremony.” I sip my cocoa, whipped cream dotting my nose. I wipe it away with a napkin.
Winter and Lyrical exchange a look that makes my stomach tighten. They know something I don’t. Could Irvin be lying? Would he lie? No. He’s always been honest with me… hasn’t he?
“I want you as my maid of honor, Lilac, and you, Lyrical, as my matron of honor,” Winter says, cutting the tension.
I beam. “Of course. I’d be honored.”
“Yay!” Lyrical cheers.
Winter pulls out a wedding magazine. “The color of your dresses will be icy blue, and everyone will wear their hair down.”
“You’re excited about the wedding?” Lyrical asks.
“Of course. This is the only wedding I’ll have, so it’s going to be my dream wedding.” She claps her hands.
“When are you getting married?”
“A month from now. The engagement ball will be three weeks away,” she says, finishing her drink.
We sip the last of our drinks as Winter chatters about her plans.
Outside, the campus is scattered with people. I don’t have class for the rest of the day, so I’ll head home to try to sleep—and finish my thriller.
Then—chills crawl up my spine. I feel it: eyes on me.
I tune Winter and Lyrical out, scanning the emptying campus. My gaze lands on a man dressed entirely in black. Inky hair. Broad shoulders. Six-five. His midnight eyes lock on mine.
My heart pounds. My palms sweat. My vision narrows. I shake my head, close my eyes, and open them again. He hasn’t moved.
He smirks.
The chatter around me warps—louder, sharper, yet muffled. Words slow to molasses. My body screams to run. Every instinct shoutsescape, but I’m frozen in place.
I stare at the man who tore my world apart, the one who was my first love and foster brother. He destroyed us.
No. It can’t be him. It can’t.
I watched the life drain from his eyes during his execution. I remember the judge announcing the time of death. 8:47 a.m.
