Page 118 of Sadistic

"Is it? Because from what I hear, your bride isn't even speaking to you."

"She'll be there."

"Will she?" Mom's quiet for a moment. "Doran, darling, what's your plan if she doesn't show?"

The question hits me hard.

I've been so focused on keeping her alive, I haven't considered she might simply... not come.

That she might choose to humiliate me in front of both our families, all our allies, and enemies.

"She'll be there," I repeat, but the certainty is gone.

"I hope so. But perhaps you should consider?—"

"There's no backup plan, Mom. She shows up, or none of this matters."

"The alliance?—"

"Fuck the alliance." The words surprise us both. "If she doesn't want this, doesn't want me, then the alliance can burn. I won't force her."

"Oh, Doran." Her voice softens. "You really do love her."

"More than I thought possible."

"Then fight for her. Not with violence or the way you always need to have control, but the way she needs you to fight. With honesty. With the vulnerability you've spent your whole life avoiding."

I hang up before she can probe deeper, leaning against the wall.

Eighteen hours until the wedding.

Eighteen hours to eliminate threats, fix relationships, and somehow convince the woman I love that I'm worth the risk.

Back in the office, they've been planning.

A map spreads across Runes' desk, marked with locations and times.

Red pins for Bembe's known positions, blue for our people, yellow for civilians at risk.

"Ingrid makes contact in two hours," Fenrir explains. "Plants the seed about Bembe planning something for tomorrow. Njal's already fixated on the wedding—we just redirect that energy."

"Not 'we,'" Runes corrects. "Ingrid. This only works if it comes from someone he trusts."

"I can do it," she insists. "I've talked him down before. This is just... talking him sideways instead."

I study the map, the careful planning, the pieces being positioned like chess pieces. "We're really going to do this. Use a sick man as a weapon."

"We're going to point an already-loaded gun away from innocent people," Rati corrects. "Would you rather he show up at the wedding tomorrow?"

The thought chills me.

Njal, manic and armed, crashing the ceremony.

Revna in her dress, vulnerable, exposed.

Her family gathered, celebrating.

The bloodbath that would follow.

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