He Married Me for Revenge, Not Love
Chapter 3
She stumbled out of the room in a daze. Soren was already gone.
The night wind of Kingsport cut like razors, slicing through her exposed skin. Each gust felt like it was peeling her alive.
Snow whirled under the streetlamps, and for a moment Linnea was back in the first year they’d been together.
Her grandmother had just died. She’d run away, weeping, without telling a soul.
Soren had turned down deals worth millions to search for her, combing the city for three hours before finding her by the frozen lake.
It had been snowing then too. His eyes were bloodshot as he stripped off his coat and wrapped her tight.
“Linnea, how could you run off alone? Do you know how worried I was?”
He shoved her freezing hands into his coat, warming them with his own shivering body.
“Soren… I don’t have a grandmother anymore.”
His face softened instantly. His voice went hoarse.
“You know I can’t do anything to you.”
She had cried herself to sleep in his arms that night. He had carried her ten kilometers home through the snow.
Back then, she had never felt cold.
Now, walking alone in it, she felt frozen to the bone.
By the time she reached the villa, the soles of her feet were raw and bleeding.
She pushed open her bedroom door—and froze.
A girl in a white gauze dress sat in Soren’s lap. At the sight of Linnea, they sprang apart, breathing hard. A blush stained the girl’s cheeks, and the red mark on her neck spoke of what had just happened.
Linnea’s hand stilled on the doorknob, as if needles had stabbed straight through her chest.
Soren barely looked at her.
“I forgot to tell you—Agatha is moving in. This will be her room now.”
The girl tilted her chin in smug challenge.
“Soren, who is she?”
Linnea stared. The face was almost identical to Soren’s late sister’s—right down to the tiny red mole at the corner of her eye.
He took the girl’s hand and kissed it.
“Her? Just a dog I keep.”
His voice turned casual, cruel.
“Your leg’s not in good shape. She’ll be handling your rehab.”
Then, his arm slid around Agatha’s waist.
“You still here? Want to watch us—”
“Soren,” Linnea interrupted, voice shaking, “you promised me my parents’ belongings.”
“Promised?” He gave a sharp laugh. “I said I’d return them if you accompanied someone. You only went to Mr. Dale—so you get one thing.”
The bitter taste of blood rose in her throat. Pain radiated through her ribs as she crumpled to the floor.
“Soren, you—”
“Three seconds,” he cut in coldly. “Three… two…”
“My mother’s piano!” she screamed, dragging herself upright.
Agatha’s voice was syrupy sweet.
“Soren, is that the Carrington family’s custom piano? I’ve never seen it. Can I try?”
He smiled indulgently. “Of course.”
As he set her on the bench, she curled her fingers around a lighter, hiding it from him, and flashed Linnea a sly grin.
Linnea lunged forward, grabbing her hand.
“This piano is my mother’s last hope of remembering. Please—”
She dropped to her knees, bowing desperately.
Agatha’s eyes welled with crocodile tears.
“Soren, she hates me. I didn’t mean to steal it… I only touched it and she—”
His gaze softened at the sight of his sister’s double. In the next breath, his boot slammed into Linnea’s chest.
“Killed my sister, now you won’t leave Agatha alone? Still acting innocent?”
His grip on her hand was crushing.
“You like to act? Take it out and burn it!”
Bodyguards swarmed in, hauling the piano away. Moments later, flames roared into the night sky.
Linnea screamed and bolted after them—straight into the fire.
The heat scorched her skin instantly. The stench of burning flesh filled her nose, but she didn’t let go.
She clung to the blazing piano, and through the flames, she saw her mother’s gentle smile.
Linnea, you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.
I’ll give this piano to you as a dowry.
Then—blood on the stairs. Her mother’s body crumpled.
“Mom!” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry—”
Through the haze, she thought she saw Soren drop Agatha and run toward her.
“Linnea!”
Tears slid down her blistered cheeks.
Was this a dream? How could he possibly call her that now? Care about whether she lived or died?
No. He should be happy she was burning.
With that thought, she let go—and let the fire take her.
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