Page 11 of The Devil's Canvas

"Don’t call me that," Melanie snaps immediately.

I smirk, shifting my phone to my other hand. At least I’m not the only one suffering.

"Right, right," Bella says innocently. "Forgot how much you hate stupid nicknames."

Melanie ignores her.

"Father has spoken to you both, I assume."

"He called me," I say.

"And now you’re calling me," she muses, like she’s pleased we’re following some unspoken order. "I suppose it’s better than being ignored."

Bella sighs loudly. "So, what’s the plan here? You just want us to show up, sit through the ceremony, and pretend this whole thing isn’t one big PR event?"

"It is not just an event, Bella," Melanie corrects, voice clipped. "It’s my wedding. My career. My future. Everything has to be flawless."

There it is.

"The press will be watching. The entire industry will be watching. This isn’t just about me—" she pauses, correcting herself, "well, it is, but it’s also about the image of this family. This is a moment to solidify everything I’ve built. I cannot afford distractions."

I roll my eyes. Of course, she means us.

"And not about Dom?" I ask, leaning back against the couch.

Silence.

Her voice sharpens like a blade. "It’s Dominic. Not Dom." She doesn’t stop there. Her tone shifts, controlled but pointed. "And we both know he was meant to be mine, Ophelia."

I grip my phone tighter. The casualness of it, the certainty, makes something twist deep in my chest.

"Right. Of course," I say, keeping my voice even. I should let it go. I should move on.

I met him first. I loved him first. But that doesn’t matter. Not to Melanie. And now he’s marrying her.

I swallow the thought down like it doesn’t matter. Like it doesn’t make my stomach twist. Like it’s not another piece of something I had stolen from me.

"So, what exactly are you expecting from us?" I ask, forcing the words out.

Melanie, of course, doesn’t hesitate. "There’s a schedule. You’re both expected at the rehearsal dinner, the press brunch, the charity gala, and, obviously, the wedding itself. I’ll send over the itinerary, and I expect you to follow it exactly."

She doesn’t wait for acknowledgment. Doesn’t ask if we’re available. It’s already decided.

As if this entire conversation hasn’t been nothing but orders, she tacks on a sickly sweet, "Gotta go. Smooches."

And just like that, the line clicks.

She’s already hung up.

I pull the phone away from my ear, staring at the screen. Of course, she didn’t wait for a response. She never does.

"Bye, Melanie," Bella says, voice flat and unamused. "So great catching up."

"Yeah. Can’t wait for all of it," I add dryly.

Bella groans. "We are going to need so much alcohol to get through this."

"So much," I agree, finally exhaling as I let my head fall back against the wall.

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