When My Fiancé Let My Sister Die

I couldn't stay on my knees. Emmeline's blood was pooling too fast. Her breathing sounded like something tearing.

I had to move.

I pulled off my jacket and pressed it against her head. The fabric turned red instantly. Then I stood. My legs shook but they held.

"I'm taking her to the hospital."

Danny didn't move from the doorway. "No. You're not."

"Get out of my way."

"We need to talk about this. Figure out a story that works for everyone."

I looked at him. Really looked. His face was calm. Like we were discussing a business problem. Like my sister wasn't dying on the floor behind me.

"There's no story," I said. "There's just what happened."

"What happened," Danny said slowly, "is that your sister attacked one of my security team. He defended himself. It was an accident."

Behind him, the man with the decorative stand nodded. His face was blank.

I felt something crack inside my chest. Something that had been holding for seven years.

"Move."

"Vivienne—"

I ran at him.

He wasn't expecting it. I hit him full force and he stumbled sideways. I was through the door before he recovered. Down the corridor. My heels clicked against the marble. Behind me, Danny shouted something. Footsteps followed.

The parking garage. I had to get to my car. Get Emmeline to a hospital. Nothing else mattered.

I slammed through the stairwell door. Took the steps two at a time. My dress caught on the railing. I heard fabric rip. Kept going.

The garage was concrete and fluorescent lights and the smell of exhaust. My car was on level three. I ran past rows of vehicles. My breath came in gasps. The footsteps behind me were getting closer.

There. My black sedan. I yanked the door open and threw myself inside. My hands shook as I jammed the key in the ignition.

The engine turned over. I shifted into reverse.

Then I looked down.

Fluid on the concrete. Dark. Spreading.

I put the car back in park. Got out. Crouched down.

The brake line was cut. Not frayed. Not worn. Cut. Clean. Deliberate.

I stood slowly.

Danny stepped out from behind a concrete pillar. His tie was loose. His jacket was gone. He looked different in the harsh garage lighting. Older. Harder.

"You should have just accepted it," he said. His voice echoed off the concrete. "The engagement. The arrangement. All of it. But you had to make a scene."

I backed up. My shoulders hit my car.

"You cut my brake line."

"I needed insurance. In case you tried something stupid." He moved closer. "Now look what you've made me do."

"Emmeline needs a hospital."

"Emmeline shouldn't have interfered."

He held out his hand. "Give me your phone."

I pulled it from my pocket. Held it away from him. "No."

"Vivienne. Don't make this harder."

"Harder than what? Attempted murder?"

His jaw tightened. "It's not murder if it's self-defense. You attacked me. You were hysterical. Dangerous. My security team had to intervene."

"No one will believe that."

"Everyone will believe it. You livestreamed a mental breakdown to sixty thousand people. You assaulted me in front of witnesses. You're clearly unstable."

He took another step. I had nowhere to go.

"The phone, Vivienne."

I looked at the screen. No signal in the garage. No way to call for help.

Danny's hand shot out. Grabbed my wrist. Twisted. The phone fell. Before I could reach for it, his foot came down. The screen shattered. He ground his heel into it. Glass and plastic crunched.

"There," he said. "Now we can talk like adults."

My wrist throbbed where he'd grabbed it. I pulled my hand back. Cradled it against my chest.

Seven years. I'd loved this man for seven years.

I didn't know him at all.

My other hand went to my throat. To my mother's necklace. The pendant was small. Antique. I'd worn it every day since she died.

Danny didn't know what it really was.

I pressed the tiny button hidden in the clasp.

Nothing happened. No sound. No light. Just a signal, transmitted somewhere I couldn't see.

The Spencer family emergency beacon. I'd activated it once before, years ago, when I was sixteen and got separated from my security detail in Paris. Help had arrived in minutes.

I didn't know if it would work now. Didn't know if anyone was monitoring. Didn't know if help would come.

But it was all I had.

Danny was still talking. Something about damage control. About stories we could tell. About how this could all go away if I just cooperated.

I wasn't listening.

I was counting.

One minute. Two. Three.

Danny's hand closed around my arm. "Are you even hearing me?"

"I hear you."

"Then let's go back upstairs. We'll call a private ambulance for your sister. Get her to a hospital quietly. No police. No scandal."

"She might already be dead."

"Then it's too late anyway."

Five minutes. Six.

Danny pulled me toward the stairwell. I didn't fight. I was too tired. Too numb.

Then I heard it.

Tires. Squealing. Coming fast.

Danny heard it too. He stopped. Turned.

Black SUVs poured into the garage. Three of them. They surrounded us in seconds. Doors opened. Men in dark suits stepped out. Not hotel security. Not police.

Private security. Military bearing. Earpieces. Weapons visible under their jackets.

The back door of the center SUV opened.

Riggs Williamson stepped out.

He was in shirtsleeves. No jacket. No tie. Like he'd left somewhere in a hurry. His eyes found me immediately. Scanned me head to toe. Stopped on my bloody dress. My bruised wrist. My face.

His expression went very still.

"Let her go," he said to Danny. His voice was quiet. Controlled.

Danny's hand tightened on my arm. "This is a private matter."

"I said let her go."

Danny didn't move.

Riggs walked forward. Each step was deliberate. Measured. When he was three feet away, he stopped.

"I'm going to say this once," Riggs said. "Release her. Step back. And pray I'm feeling merciful."

Danny's hand dropped from my arm.

I stumbled forward. Riggs caught me. His hands were steady. Warm.

"Where's Emmeline?" he asked.

"Upstairs. Plaza ballroom. She's hurt. She needs—"

"I know." He looked at his security team. "Medics. Now. Third floor."

Two men ran for the stairwell. A woman in tactical gear stayed close to me.

Riggs turned back to Danny.

"You had seven years with her," he said. His voice was still quiet. Still controlled. "And this is what you did."

Then he hit him.

Danny went down hard. Riggs followed him down. One punch. Two. Three. Clinical. Precise. Not rage. Something colder.

When he stood, Danny didn't.

Riggs straightened his cuffs. Looked at his security team. "Make sure he doesn't go anywhere. The police will want to talk to him."

Then he turned to me. His expression softened. Just slightly.

"Let's get you out of here," he said.

I nodded. My legs gave out.

Riggs caught me before I hit the ground. Lifted me like I weighed nothing.

"I've got you," he said. "You're safe now."

I believed him.