I Married My Fiancé for My Dead Lover’s Face

The music shifted to a gentle chime.

It was time for the rings.

The double doors at the back of the room opened. A hush fell over the two hundred guests.

Biscuit stood in the doorway.

He was ten years old. His gray muzzle trembled slightly, and he favored his left rear leg from where Destiny had kicked him earlier. But he held his head high. In his mouth, he carried the little silver ring box tied with a satin ribbon.

He took a careful step forward. His claws clicked softly on the marble.

My throat closed up. My eyes stung with sudden, sharp tears.

I looked at Biscuit and didn't see an old dog walking down a grand aisle. I saw a tiny, shivering puppy pressed against the back of a crate in Brooklyn. I saw Leland’s warm hands lifting him out ten years ago, laughing as the puppy licked his nose.

Biscuit was the last gift Leland had ever given me. He was the one thing that had kept me alive during those three hollow years. He was the only piece of truth in this entire fake day.

The guests murmured softly.

"Look at him," someone whispered.

"He's so sweet," another woman cooed.

Biscuit kept his eyes locked on me. He took another step, limping a little, but his tail gave a weak, determined wag. He was doing his job. He was bringing the rings to me.

For thirty seconds, the world felt quiet. The humiliation from the bouquet faded. The shrimp on Destiny’s plate didn't matter. It was just Biscuit, walking toward me. Everything was almost all right.

Then, white silk swished.

Destiny stepped right into the center of the aisle.

Her matching gown flared around her legs. She didn't look sweet or innocent anymore. Her mouth was twisted into a tight, ugly sneer.

She blocked Biscuit’s path.

Biscuit stopped. His ears flattened against his head. He looked up at her with big, cloudy eyes, clutching the box tight in his jaws.

Destiny reached down. Her fingers were like claws. She didn't wait for him to drop it. She snatched the ring box straight from his teeth, yanking it so hard that Biscuit whimpered.

"Filthy mutt," she muttered. Her voice was sharp and venomous.

Then she did something that made my blood run cold.

She reached down with both hands. She grabbed Biscuit by the loose skin of his scruff and the velvet harness around his chest.

She lifted him three feet into the air.

"Destiny, no!" I screamed.

She didn't hesitate. She threw him downward. She slammed his small, frail body directly onto the polished marble floor.

*Crack.*

The sound was loud. It was sick and wet, like brittle dry wood snapping under a boot. It echoed off the high ceiling and bounced against the glass windows.

The entire ballroom went dead silent. Nobody breathed.

Biscuit hit the stone and slid two inches.

He didn't yelp. He didn't whine. He didn't roll over to kick his paws.

He just lay there on his side. His gray tongue spilled out past his teeth. His cloudy brown eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. His chest did not rise.

He didn't move.

"Biscuit!"

A scream ripped out of my chest. It sounded like an animal dying.

I didn't think about the crowd. I didn't think about my veil or the cameras. I lunged forward, throwing myself off the small platform.

The heavy satin hem of my gown caught on the leg of a chair. *Riiip.* The fabric tore in half, exposing my knees, but I didn't care. I kicked my shoes off and scrambled across the floor.

I needed to reach him. I needed to hold him.

A wall of black wool stepped directly into my path.

Tyson.

His large hands caught my bare shoulders. His grip was made of iron. He shoved me back a step, keeping me from getting to Biscuit's still body.

I looked up at his face.

He didn't glance at the floor. He didn't look at the blood beginning to pool under Biscuit's ear. He didn't care that an innocent life had just ended two feet away.

Tyson’s jaw was tight. His forehead was creased with pure, cold irritation. He looked at me the way a man looks at someone who just spilled red wine on an expensive rug.

"Pull yourself together, Kailani," he said. His voice was completely flat. "Stop making a scene."

"Move!" I clawed at his chest, digging my nails into his tuxedo. "Get out of my way! Biscuit—"

"The dog was sick anyway," Tyson interrupted. He didn't even blink. "Look at Destiny. She’s terrified. You need to apologize to her right now for letting your mutt ruin our ceremony."

The words hit the room like lead weights.

The silence stretched so tight it felt ready to shatter.

Behind Tyson, Destiny stood with the silver ring box pressed to her chest. She had already pulled her face into a terrified pout, her lower lip trembling on cue.

At the head table, Elena stood up so fast her chair crashed backward onto the floor. Her hand flew to her open mouth in pure, unvarnished horror.

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

Two hundred guests held their breath, their eyes darting between Biscuit’s motionless body, Tyson’s cold sneer, and me.