Mabel's POV

Five years ago, my sister drugged me, and my parents locked me in a psychiatric hospital to keep me quiet.

Today, they needed me to marry in her place.

The iron gate screeched open.

"Your family sent a car for you, Miss Baldwin," the nurse said. "You should be grateful."

"Oh, I am." I smiled at her. "More than you know."

She frowned, like she couldn't tell if I was joking.

I peeled the plastic bracelet off my wrist and dropped it on the ground. Patient 666 could stay in that building. I was never going to be her again.

She was the girl who thought begging would work. I could still hear her.

"Camila drugged me. Please, believe me."

"Camila has a future to protect," my father had said, without looking up. "Don't ask this family to sacrifice her for you."

My mother wouldn't even look at me. "You've shamed us enough."

That was the last time I begged anyone for anything.

They thought I'd rot in there. They thought Mabel Baldwin was dead.

Dead? How could I die when I hadn't made them pay yet?

I had four debts to collect. Three belonged to my family.

My baby. I carried that baby for eight months. Then I lay on a delivery table, soaked in blood and too weak to lift a hand, and watched a nurse carry my baby out of the room. "It didn't make it," the doctor said. I screamed until they strapped me to the bed.

My shares. My ten percent of the Baldwin Group went to Camila while I was still bleeding.

My five years. 1,826 days of cold showers and straps on the bed, with nobody believing a word I said.

The fourth belonged to a stranger. A man in a Halloween mask, in a dark room, who pressed a jade ring into my hand. "I'll marry you," he said. "Wait for me."

I waited. He never came. I never even saw his face. All I had left of him was that ring, locked in a bank safe across town.

He had a lot of explaining to do, too.

Hate was the only thing in that building that stayed warm. I fed it every day. Every night, I whispered the same three words to the ceiling.

Make them pay.

A woman in a gray coat was waiting beside the black car. She pressed an envelope into my hand and walked away without a word.

Inside was a share transfer agreement, ready to sign. Five years was plenty of time to make friends my family didn't know about.

I already knew why they wanted me back. The Griffiths family needed a Baldwin bride for their second son, Jayden.

Everyone said he was sick and disabled, and a psychic had told his parents he wouldn't live past twenty-eight.

Camila was supposed to be the bride. But my mother couldn't stand the thought of her darling girl becoming a widow.

So they remembered the daughter they'd thrown away.

Fine. Let them need me.

I stopped at the front door. This was the house where I'd begged them to believe me. I would never beg here again.

I pushed the door open and walked in like I'd never left.

My mother was on the sofa with Camila, peeling grapes and dropping them into Camila's hand one at a time. In all the years I'd lived there, she had never peeled anything for me.

"You're so clever, sweetheart," my mother said. "If you hadn't thought of Mabel, I'd have cried myself sick."

"Mom, don't be hard on her." Camila hugged her arm. "I only brought it up. She might say no."

"She doesn't get to say no. That shameless girl got pregnant by some stranger and had a dead baby. It's a miracle anyone will take her."

My father didn't even look up from his newspaper. "She should be grateful anyone asked."

Dead baby.

The plate of grapes hit the floor before I knew I'd moved.

Everyone jumped. Camila screamed.

"Mabel!" My mother shot to her feet. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Not yet, Mom." I stepped over the broken plate, dropped into the armchair across from them, and crossed my legs. "I heard you were shopping for a bride. Here I am."

My father lowered the paper and stared at me like a stranger had walked in. "You're supposed to be on your way to the Griffiths house."

"I'm on my way. I just stopped by for something."

"What?"

"My ten percent." I slapped the envelope on the coffee table. "Sign, and I'll marry your dying man."

He slammed his hand on the table. "You have some nerve! You disgraced this family, and now you want a reward? Your scandal almost bankrupted this company!"

"My scandal?" I tilted my head. "You locked me up and handed my shares to Camila. If the stock fell, ask her."

Camila's eyes filled with tears. "Mabel, how can you say that? We're sisters!"

"Cut it out, Camila. Those tears don't work on me anymore."

Her mouth snapped shut.

"After everything we've done for you!" My mother jabbed a finger at me. "We fed you! We gave you a home! That hospital was supposed to fix you!"

"It did." I smiled at her. "I used to think you'd love me if I behaved. Five years in a locked room cured me of that."

"Careful, Dad," I said. "Your face is turning purple. If you drop dead, who's going to sign the contract with the Griffiths family?"

My father glared at me. He had no answer.

"Here's the deal. Sign, and Camila stays your happy little princess. Don't, and she can start picking out a wedding dress."

"I won't do it!" Camila grabbed my father's sleeve. "Dad, I won't marry a dying man! Please!"

"Funny," I said. "Mom said it was a miracle anyone would take me. But you wouldn't take him yourself."

Camila's face went red, then white.

"Sam," my mother whispered. "Think about Camila."

He stood up and raised his hand.

I didn't flinch. I looked straight at him.

"Go ahead. Hit me. Then go tell Camila why she's the one in the white dress."

His hand froze in the air.

I took a pen from my pocket and pressed it into his other hand.

"Tick-tock, Dad. Time to pay up."

He signed. His hand shook so badly that the signature came out crooked.

Ten percent back. One debt down. Three to go.

My mother sat down hard, like her legs had given out.

I folded the agreement into my pocket and walked over to Camila. She was already blinking back fresh tears.

The slap cracked through the room.

Camila's head snapped sideways. She pressed a hand to her cheek and stared at me.

"That's for the Halloween party," I said. "You still owe me the rest. Think hard about what."

"Mom!" Camila wailed. "She hit me!"

"You hit your sister in front of me?" my father roared.

I looked at him. "You raised your hand at me. I just chose someone who deserved it."

"How dare you!" My mother rushed over. "You wretched girl!"

"Careful, Mom. The agreement's signed, and a lawyer already has a copy." I turned to leave. "Don't worry, you'll get an invitation to the wedding. Front row, so you can watch the bride you picked."

My father said nothing. He just stood there, staring at the pen in his hand.

"Oh, and Dad." I stopped at the door. "Keep the pen. You'll need it again."

Outside, a plain gray car waited at the curb. No flowers. No ribbons. The Griffiths family's idea of a wedding car.