The Girl Came Back from Hell

"Go ahead."

Liam stood by the operating table, his thin lips parting to utter those two words.

His gaze was tender as the spring breeze, as if the blood-stained wedding dress I wore was a bridal gown for a wedding night, not a burial shroud.

I opened my eyes and looked at the foster parents behind him—they were gathered around Violet's hospital bed, faces full of affection, not even sparing me a glance.

"Mr. Liam," I smiled, shaking the vial in my hand, "this poison—did you prepare it for me, or should I give it to Violet?"