His name cuts through my chest, and I feel physical pain. I’m not the only one, though, because Matthew stops laughing at the mention of Riven’s name. He looks on edge and I see the way he glances around the room, almost like he’s afraid that saying his name out loud will summon him to appear. Even though I know he’s not coming for me, it’s nice to know that the spoiled prick next to me is afraid of him.

"Don’t mention him," my father says sharply, reprimanding Lucas for once in his privileged life.

I want to scream that none of them should be mentioning Riven, but I stay quiet. Because if I open my mouth, I won’t be able to stop. I stop listening to everyone. I’m too focused on keeping my hands still in my lap. Too focused on not drawing attention to the storm clawing through my ribs. I feel like I’m going to combust into a million pieces.

Matthew leans in close, warm breath hitting my cheek. “I was right, wasn’t I? You’re going to fight me,” he murmurs.

My stomach rolls and I taste bile rising up. I force a smile and take a sip of champagne so cold it burns all the way down because he’s enjoying how uncomfortable I am. I grip the stem of my glass so tight it nearly snaps, and I kind of wish it would. Anything to get him to stop hovering so close.

In my mind, all I can see is the way Riven used to hold my hand secretly. It was like it was something special, not to be flashed around for everyone to gawk at. Like I was something sacred to him that he didn’t want to share with anyone else. With Riven, I felt cherished. Like I belonged to no one, but still somehow belonged to him.

With Matthew, I feel like property that he wants to destroy. A deal sealed with a handshake and a signature.

He touches me. Just my bare arm with his fingers at first. His palm settles there and I want to cut my own skin off.

I’m not going to make it through this dinner. They’re going to have to kill me. I’m not going anywhere with him. Not today, not on the wedding day, not ever.

Across the table, my mother raises her eyebrow and gives me the kind of look that says behave.

I breathe through my nose and keep my voice trapped behind my teeth.

This isn’t real. It can’t be real. This isn’t how things were supposed to end.

The dinner is being held at The Mill, Castlebrook Falls’s only upscale restaurant. The kind of place where white linen hides blood money and the waitstaff knows better than to ask questions.