Chapter 1 - The Floral Execution
I stared at my reflection in the porcelain bathroom mirror.
The smeared mascara under my eyes looked like bruises. Three months of sleepless nights, three months of clutching Adrian's favorite wool sweater to my chest in the dark, three months of buying frozen dinners for one and leaving half-filled teacups around my quiet living room—it had all been for a phantom. A ghost constructed out of thin air by a man I had promised to love until death did us part.
Death didn't do us part, I thought, a cold, crystalline stillness settling over my pounding heart. Cowardice did.
I turned on the cold water tap, cupped my hands, and splashed ice-cold water over my face once, twice, three times. I pressed a thick paper towel against my skin until every trace of water was dried. I pulled my floral shears from my leather tool belt, adjusted my dark black apron, and smoothed down my hair into a tight, professional bun.
When I stepped out of the restroom, I was no longer a grieving fiancée.
I was Meredith Vance: master floral designer, owner of Vance Botanical Design, and sole proprietor of my own life.
The reception hall was buzzing with soft classical music and the low, elegant murmur of one hundred and fifty high-society guests. The venue was the grand ballroom of the St. Regis, decorated with thousands of white roses, pale pink peonies, and delicate sprays of baby’s breath—the exact flowers I had custom-ordered four months ago for my own wedding.
My assistant, Chloe, sprinted up to me with a clipboard, her face flushed with anxiety. "Meredith! Thank God! Where were you? The bride's mother wants to review the main alter archway before the doors open, and the groom's party is assembling in the anteroom!"
"Chloe," I said, my voice steady, low, and smooth as polished glass. "Do you have the master invoice for this event?"
"Yes, right here," Chloe said, handing me the digital tablet.
I looked at the client name listed at the top: Bride: Genevieve Sterling. Groom: Adrian Parker. Billing Address: Parker & Associates Capital, LLC. Total Invoice: $48,500 (Paid in Full by Colleen Parker).
Genevieve Sterling. The twenty-four-year-old daughter of Jonathan Sterling, the real estate developer whose firm held seventy percent of the commercial mortgages in downtown Portland.
Suddenly, every piece of the sickening puzzle snapped into place with terrifying precision.
Adrian's boutique architectural firm had been on the brink of bankruptcy six months ago. He had complained constantly about cash flow, about loan defaults, about how his family's name would be dragged through the mud if he couldn't secure a multi-million-dollar equity injection from Sterling Development.
He hadn't been killed in a car crash. He had faked his own death, orchestrated a closed-casket funeral with the help of his mother—who had used her contacts at a private country morgue—and assumed a new legal identity under an offshore trust to wipe away his previous liabilities and marry into a multi-billion-dollar empire.
And they had let me stand over an empty casket, crying until my ribs ached, while they quietly arranged his grand debut into high society.
"Meredith?" Chloe whispered, staring at my face. "You look... different. What's wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong, Chloe," I said, taking a basket of heavy crimson roses—deep, velvet red blood-roses that were meant for the post-ceremony head table—and holding it close to my side. "In fact, everything is about to become completely clear."
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"Should I start lining up the aisle runners?"
"No," I replied, looking toward the heavy double doors leading into the ceremonial chapel. "I'll handle the altar arrangements personally."
