Page 8 of Burn it Down

And now he’s gone.

A toast rings out. My father lifts his glass, eyes glittering with straight up arrogance and pride. "To the future of the Kozlov legacy," he declares, his voice deep and rehearsed, like he’s practiced it in the mirror. "To new beginnings and strong alliances." I want to vomit on the table and show him how the sound of his voice makes me feel. I decide against it because I need to stop acting out and figure out how I’m actually going to get out of this mess.

"And to my daughter," my mother cuts in, her smile looks sugary and thin almost as if she wants to be here less than I do. That’s not possible. Butalmost."We couldn’t be more thrilled, darling. You look radiant tonight. To the happy couple."

I blink at her, wondering if she actually sees me as a human being.

Lucas leans forward, grinning. "You clean up well, little sister."

"Don’t call me that," I say under my breath.

He chuckles and takes a sip of wine. "What? Not feeling sentimental on your big night? Come on, this is what every girl dreams of. A rich husband. A glass of overpriced champagne. All eyes on you."

"You don’t know what I dream of," I say flatly.

Matthew laughs like he has any clue what’s even going on. He knows nothing about me and never will. None of these people will. "I know what you dream about, baby. You like it rough. I can tell. You’re feisty."

"I’ll cut you if you touch me," I mutter, but he chuckles. I’m serious, but he won’t know that until the time comes.

"You should be smiling," Lucas says, swirling his wine again. I’m starting to think he doesn’t like the taste of it. I hope he chokes on the next sip. "Or are you just sad Riven isn’t here to give you away?"

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 drawingattention 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.

Riven could’ve asked me to marry him in a parking lot with a twist tie and a scraped knuckle, and I would’ve said yes. His knuckles were always bloodstained for one reason or another, and I loved that about him.

I would’ve said yes.

He didn’t.

He left.

My nails dig into my palm. He’s my brother, at least in the eyes of everyone else in this town. He couldn’t have asked me, even if he wanted to, so I don’t know why I let my silly little heart go back to that concept. It never would have been allowed, even if we both wanted to be together.

From the corner of my eye, I notice rowdy movement that doesn’t pair well with the ambiance of this pretentious place.

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