After My Sister Took My Dowry and Groom

The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor outside my prison. I pressed my ear against the door, straining to hear. Emanuel's voice carried through the wood, tense and hushed.

"It's done," he said to someone—Adeline, from the sound of it. "The President's task force is auditing everything. Every account, every transaction."

My heart pounded against my ribs. Riley was moving faster than I'd expected.

"What does that mean?" Adeline's voice trembled slightly.

"It means," Emanuel's voice hardened, "that we're out of time."

I stepped back from the door just as it swung open. Emanuel stood there, his usually perfect appearance disheveled, his eyes wild with a desperation I'd never seen before.

"Lillian," he said, his voice almost gentle. "We need to talk."

He closed the door behind him, his movements unnaturally calm. Something about his demeanor sent ice through my veins.

"What's happening?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.

Emanuel paced the small room, his hands clasped behind his back. "The President's elite team has been digging into my finances. Into your father's dealings."

"And they've found something."

"Everything," he admitted, stopping to face me. "Every transaction, every falsified document with your signature."

I swallowed hard. "I never signed those papers."

"But you did." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Your handwriting is on every document. Your father made sure of it."

He moved closer, his cologne suffocating me in the small space. "You've become a liability, Lillian."

The word hung between us—liability. Not person. Not even woman. Just a problem to be solved.

"What are you going to do?" I asked, though I already knew.

Emanuel's expression shifted, something darker emerging beneath his polished exterior. "I've been thinking about our situation. There's only one solution that makes sense."

He pulled a small bottle from his pocket—prescription pills, I realized with a jolt.

"An overdose," he said softly. "A tragic suicide note expressing your despair over losing me to your sister. Everyone will understand—the poor, broken-hearted bride who couldn't bear the shame."

My blood turned to ice. This wasn't just imprisonment anymore. This was murder.

"You're going to kill me," I whispered.

"It's the only way," he replied, as if discussing the weather. "Your testimony would destroy us all."

He turned away, pacing again. "Adeline agrees. She's already helping me plan the details."

A soft giggle from the hallway made my skin crawl. Adeline stepped into view, her face flushed with excitement.

"Oh, Lillian," she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "You've always been so dramatic. Even your death will be theatrical."

She moved to Emanuel's side, pressing against him. "We'll make it look like you just couldn't bear the pain of losing him."

"Losing him?" I echoed, disbelief washing over me. "He was never mine to lose."

Adeline's laugh was high and brittle. "That's what makes it perfect. The pathetic older sister, driven to suicide by jealousy."

She reached for the pill bottle in Emanuel's hand. "How many will it take?"

---

Across town, in the presidential compound, Marcus Webb's eyes widened as he stared at his monitor. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up surveillance feeds from across the city.

"Sir," he called urgently, "I need you to see this."

Riley appeared in the doorway of Marcus's security center, his expression already tense. "What is it?"

"Communications intercept from the George estate." Marcus turned his screen toward Riley. "They're planning something."

Riley leaned closer, his jaw tightening as he read the transcribed conversation. "They're going to kill her."

"Yes, sir." Marcus's voice was grim. "Emanuel Knight just ordered a lethal dose of prescription medication. They're planning to stage it as suicide."

Riley's face went completely still—the calm before a storm. Without a word, he reached for his phone.

"Get me a secure line to Judge Harmon," he ordered. Then, to Marcus: "Assemble the team. Full tactical gear."

"Sir?" Marcus looked surprised. "We don't have warrants yet."

Riley's eyes met his, cold and determined. "We don't need warrants. This is a matter of national security."

He moved toward the armory with purposeful strides. "And Marcus? Make sure everyone understands—this isn't a political matter anymore."

As Riley armed himself with practiced precision, his mind focused on one thing only: Lillian. The woman who had once shared her blanket with a shivering boy by the river. The woman who had suffered enough for people who never deserved her sacrifice.

"Not this time," he murmured, checking his weapon. "Not again."

The presidential security team assembled with quiet efficiency, each member understanding the gravity of what they were about to do. Their President was about to break protocol in ways that would shock the nation.

But as they prepared to move out, Riley's expression made one thing perfectly clear: some rules were meant to be broken.