Syn Carnahan thought that the only true darkness around her was in her own head, but after witnessing the horrific murder of her friend, she is pulled into a world that she wished she didn't belong in. A world where every dirty little secret is rev...
I'll make you pay. I'll make you regret. Even if it's the last thing I do.
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I FUCKING LOVE THIS BITCH NAME, like I am so clever. Syn, like damn, Genius
Syn POV
They all sat there, black suits, ties. Old and young.
Woman, careless and smiling. Adorned with jewels and long dresses. They all sat there, in this mockery event as I stood at the end of the aisle, behind a curtain that hid me.
"Here comes the bride." Aleksei said from behind me, as I stood forward, staring.
"Don't." I whispered, closing my eyes.
"Oh come on." He whispered as he walked up behind me, closer. "This is like second nature for you, how many times have you been married now?" He asked.
But he didn't know me. My story. They all thought they knew, but they didn't.
No amount of research could ever discover me fully.
"Don't." I warned, my voice more acidic then I'd meant it. Or maybe I meant it exactly as it came out.
He came beside me, staring forward too. "Just be good sweetheart, and things will go well for you." He told me, as he walked through the curtain and forward and forward until he stood on the side of—
Elias Volkan. That name sounded as terrifying as he looked. A name couldn't be scary, but he made it so. I wonder if everyone here knew his name.
I wondered how many people he'd invited purely for show and how many did he invite that knew what a fake this was, I was.
I wondered what he told people, where he met me, who I was.
Why he wanted me.
I felt cold, dead. There was no words to describe the ache I felt in my chest.
I stepped back, like I was thinking of running.
The exit doors were just down that hall, not far, I could run. Well, stagger, I've never been much of an athlete.
But I could try, but the three men he stood at them, I looked at them and saw how they watched me. I wonder if they knew I was a fake.
I held a Bouquet of flowers, red roses in my two hands and I squeezed the stems and pricked myself on its thorns. And I wondered if he picked the prickled roses on purpose.
I wondered for what reason I was doing this, was it to survive? Did I even really care about that anymore?
He told me he'd give me whatever I wanted, but what I wanted he could never give.
