Chapter 6

The alarm cut through the room like a serrated edge, snapping the last thread of tension holding everything in place.

Violet was waking up.

I had to give it to her — this woman had the kind of presence that could make a man lose his mind.

Even after three years in that bed. Even pale as paper. The moment her eyes opened, she carried that particular quality — fragile, devastating, utterly practiced.

A gift for manipulation so natural it looked like breathing.

"…Water."

A small, faint sound.

Helena and Arthur, who had been barely holding themselves back, practically fell over each other rushing to her side.

"Violet! My baby! You're finally awake!""

Helena sobbed, tears and snot running freely, hands trembling as she guided a straw to Violet's lips.

Arthur stood beside her, incoherent with emotion, his old face flushed red.

Only Liam hadn't moved.

He stood there like a statue, the dashcam drive still locked in his fist.

His eyes were fixed on Violet's face — but the look in them was no longer tender. It was the kind of look you use when you're taking something apart.

He was waiting.

Waiting to find out whether my bet had been right or wrong.

Violet drank a few sips of water. Her unfocused eyes slowly sharpened.

She saw her parents first — crying, barely holding themselves together — and a flicker of disdain crossed her face. It vanished in an instant, replaced by something soft and dependent.

"Dad… Mom…"

Her voice was gentle. It had a hook in it.

Then her gaze drifted past their shoulders and landed on me.

The air stopped moving.

I was still sitting in the chair in my bloodied wedding dress, turning the scalpel casually in my fingers, watching her with a half-smile.

I had imagined a hundred different reactions. Fear. Rage. A mask quickly assembled.

But I had underestimated Violet.

Or rather, I had underestimated how much she hated me — and how deep that obsession had run in the moment before the crash took her under.

Her pupils snapped tight. That frail body produced a sudden, violent surge of energy. She shoved herself half-upright.

That pretty, pitiful face twisted. Shock and pure venom, stripped bare.

"Vivian?! How are you still alive?!"

The words came out sharp enough to cut the air.

Not a question. An accusation.

Carrying the particular tone of someone who considers your continued existence a personal insult.

The basement went dead silent.

Helena's hand froze mid-wipe.

Arthur's mouth fell open, like someone had grabbed him by the throat.

And Liam — those eyes that had still held the smallest trace of hope — went dark.

Like the last ember of a fire hit with a bucket of ice water.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

I brought my hands together slowly.

The clean sound of applause rang out through the dead silence, sharp and deliberate.

"Congratulations, Liam."

I turned to look at him standing in the shadows, and let the smile reach my eyes.

"Looks like I win again."