Chapter 1048
She looked down at her feet. Strappy, diamond-encrusted stiletto heels.
When she had put them on in her bedroom, she had realized they were half a size too small. The straps dug viciously into her toes, and the arch was painfully steep.
She could have asked the maid for a different pair. But she remembered the whisper.
Don’t forget the pain.
She kept them on. Every step sent a sharp, grounding spike of agony up her calves—the only thing keeping her anchored to reality as the dream tried to drown her in luxury.
“Miss Skye Sterling!” the butler’s voice boomed over the chatter below.
The music paused. Hundreds of faces turned upward.
Skye gripped the mahogany banister and began her descent.
At the bottom of the stairs stood Liam.
He was wearing a classic black tuxedo, his hair perfectly styled. As he looked up at her, his eyes were wide with genuine awe—no calculation in his gaze, no hidden agenda, no lingering resentment from a forced marriage. Just pure, unadulterated devotion.
Skye felt a sickening twist in her gut. It was too easy. It was fake.
Ethan stood a few feet away, holding a glass of champagne and grinning proudly.
Next to him stood Bastian and Beatrice Kensington.
Skye’s breath hitched. Bastian was smiling—the smile of a benevolent patriarch, a kind father-in-law. He even raised his glass to her in a silent toast.
The man who had carved a bullet out of her shoulder without anesthesia. The man who had tried to drown her in a glass tank.
Her stomach heaved. The urge to lunge across the stairs and tear his throat out was overwhelming. She dug her toes into the tight shoes, using the pain to suppress it.
She reached the bottom step.
Liam stepped forward and offered his hand. “You look absolutely breathtaking, Skye.”
Skye placed her hand in his. His skin was warm, his grip gentle. She let him lead her into the ballroom.
As they moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and compliments, the heavy double doors to the kitchen swung open.
A waitress hurried out, carrying a heavy silver tray of champagne flutes. She wore a plain black uniform, her hair pulled back in a tight, messy bun. Her shoulders were slumped with exhaustion.
It was Seraphina.
Skye stopped walking. She watched as Seraphina navigated the crowd with her head down, offering drinks to people who didn’t even glance at her.
Liam didn’t look in Seraphina’s direction at all. He was entirely focused on Skye.
This was the dream’s ultimate offering—the complete degradation of her enemy. Seraphina reduced to a servant, invisible and pathetic, while Skye reigned supreme.
But Skye felt no triumph. There was no thrill of victory.
It was hollow. A cardboard cutout of revenge.
She pulled her gaze from Seraphina and scanned the room.
Where was Julian?