My Groom’s Mistress Tried to Kill Me for My Fortune

The morning air carried a chill as I wheeled myself through the garden path, my fingers absently tracing the roses that lined the way. The Anderson estate gardens had always been my sanctuary—a place where even Chase rarely ventured. Today, they would serve as something more: a covert meeting spot.

I glanced at my watch. 10:15 AM. He should be here any moment.

"Miss Anderson?" A deep voice called from behind a hedge.

I turned to see a man in landscaper's clothing, his face partially obscured by a baseball cap. But I would recognize those eyes anywhere.

"Lorenzo," I whispered, my heart skipping a beat. "You're taking quite a risk coming here."

He approached cautiously, his gloved hand reaching into his pocket. "Some risks are worth taking."

From his pocket, he produced a small flash drive, handing it to me with careful movements. "James found what we were looking for."

"James?" I asked, taking the drive between my fingers.

"My investigator." Lorenzo's voice lowered as he stepped closer. "Traffic camera footage from three years ago. The footage that was supposedly corrupted beyond recovery."

My breath caught. "You found it?"

"Not just found it." His eyes held mine, intense and determined. "We restored it. And it shows exactly what happened that night."

I clutched the drive tighter. "Khloe."

"Her car, license plate clearly visible, ramming yours off the road." His jaw tightened. "We have our smoking gun, Anna."

"Then why wait?" I demanded, frustration bubbling up. "Let's expose them now!"

Lorenzo shook his head, his expression unreadable. "We kill them at the altar, not before."

The cold calculation in his voice sent a shiver down my spine—one that had nothing to do with the morning air.

---

Three days before the wedding, chaos erupted in Chase's office.

I sat in my wheelchair in the corner, watching as he paced frantically, phone pressed to his ear.

"I don't care what it costs!" he shouted. "Cover the margin call!"

I kept my expression neutral, though inside I was seething with satisfaction. Lorenzo had done it—triggered a cascade of financial disasters that had Chase scrambling.

"I need you to sign this," Chase said, approaching me with a stack of papers. His smile was tight, his eyes desperate. "Just a precaution."

"What is it?" I asked, feigning confusion.

"Power of attorney." He knelt beside my wheelchair, his voice softening to that patronizing tone I'd grown to hate. "In case of emergency before the wedding. You understand, don't you? We need to protect your interests."

I widened my eyes innocently. "Of course, darling. Anything for you."

I took the pen he offered and signed my name—not with my legal signature, but with one I'd practiced for just this occasion. A signature that would never hold up under scrutiny.

"There," I said, handing him the papers. "All better?"

He kissed my forehead, relief evident in his shoulders. "Thank you, Anna. I don't know what I'd do without you."

I smiled sweetly. "You'll never have to find out."

---

"Stand still," the seamstress instructed, pins clenched between her lips as she knelt to adjust the hem of my wedding gown.

I stared at my reflection in the three-way mirror, barely recognizing the woman who looked back at me. The dress was stunning—a masterpiece of silk and lace that had been designed to accommodate my wheelchair.

"Perfect," the seamstress said, stepping back to admire her work. "You'll be the most beautiful bride Manhattan has ever seen."

"If you say so," Khloe's voice came from behind me, dripping with false sweetness.

I watched her approach in the mirror, her hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. She wore a bridesmaid dress that had been altered to accommodate her pregnancy—a fact that made my stomach turn.

"Khloe," I acknowledged coolly. "How nice of you to join us."

"I wouldn't miss it." She circled me like a predator, her eyes taking in every detail of the gown. "You look... comfortable."

Before I could respond, she gasped dramatically, stumbling forward. Red wine cascaded down the front of my dress, staining the pristine white silk.

"Oh my God!" The seamstresses scrambled for towels. "Quick! We need to blot it!"

As chaos erupted around us, Khloe leaned close to my ear.

"I hope the baby has Chase's eyes," she whispered, her breath hot against my skin.

I turned to face her, my expression serene despite the rage boiling inside me.

"I hope the baby has your luck," I replied, my voice ice-cold. "It seems to be running out."

Something flickered in her eyes—fear, perhaps, or uncertainty. For the first time since I'd known her, Khloe Dixon looked unsure of herself.

Good. Let her wonder what I knew. Let her fear what was coming.

Because in three days, at the altar, I would destroy them both.