Cold wind whipped across the cliff face as Sarah struggled to draw breath.
Her fingers, raw and bloody, clawed at the unforgiving rocks, scraping against edges that sliced into her skin. Crimson mixed with the dark mountain dirt beneath her nails, but she refused to loosen her grip. Her wedding dress caught on the rocks, tearing again as she climbed.
Her body trembled. Every muscle screamed. Her vision blurred. A numbness had settled into her lower half; she could barely feel her legs.
She should have died.
But a single, vengeful thought kept pushing her forward. I can't die. Not like this. Not after what they did to me.
With a guttural groan, Sarah dragged herself higher, loose stones dislodging beneath her weight and disappearing into the dark below. One slip of her bleeding fingers, and she'd fall right back into it.
Finally, her hand hooked over the cold asphalt edge of the road above.
With the last of her strength, she hauled herself forward and collapsed onto the pavement, gasping. Above her, the stormy sky spun.
Headlights sliced through the fog in the distance.
Sarah lifted a blood-stained hand into the light. "H... help..."
Her voice was a breathless whisper, swallowed by the wind. Before she could move, the world faded to grey.
Voices. Muffled, echoing.
Sarah forced her eyes open, blinking against the fluorescent glare above her. The sharp scent of antiseptic told her exactly where she was: a small, underfunded rural clinic.
Her head throbbed. She looked down and saw the IV taped into her forearm.
"You're awake," a nurse said, walking over. "You were found unconscious by the roadside. You're lucky to be alive."
Sarah stared at the stained ceiling tiles, the nurse's voice fading into white noise as memory flooded back — the wedding hall, the silence of the crowd, Rachel standing flawless at the altar in her stolen dress. The betrayal.
Without warning, Sarah wrapped her fingers around the IV line and ripped it out of her arm.
"Miss! What are you doing?" the nurse said, lunging forward.
Blood trickled down Sarah's wrist. She didn't blink. The physical sting was nothing next to the venom boiling in her veins.
"You need to lie down," the nurse insisted, reaching for gauze.
"I'm fine."
Her voice was a low, ice-cold snap. The nurse froze mid-step.
"But—"
"I said, I'm fine."
Sarah swung her legs off the mattress. A white-hot jolt shot up her spine the moment her feet hit the floor, but her face stayed rigid as she forced her weight onto her trembling legs. Every step threatened to send her back to the floor, but she kept moving, past the nurse and out into the freezing night without a backward glance.
The wind bit at her skin. Her thin hospital gown hung loose over her shoulders, the tattered remnants of her wedding dress still visible beneath it. Pedestrians stared as she passed — a bride, barefoot, caked in blood and mountain mud, walking through the neon-lit streets like something that had crawled out of a grave.
A taxi slowed to a crawl. The driver's jaw dropped through the window. "Miss... oh my God, are you okay? Do you need the police?"
"Just drive." Sarah climbed into the back seat and slammed the door.
The driver caught her eyes in the rearview mirror and swallowed. "Where to?"
She hesitated, staring out at the dark skyline. Then she gave the only safe address left in her memory. "Old Willow Street."
The taxi stopped in front of a small, worn-out house on the forgotten outskirts of the city. The paint had long since begun to peel, and the wooden fence leaned to one side.
Sarah stepped out, her legs shaking, and pushed the unlocked front door open without knocking.
Inside, the living room was dim, lit only by a single brass lamp. An elderly woman sat in a rocking chair, knitting, the click of her needles the only sound in the room.
She looked up.
"Sarah...?"
For a moment, nothing else happened. The yarn slipped from her fingers and hit the floor.
"My granddaughter!"
The old woman scrambled up, tears already in her eyes, but before she could reach her, the adrenaline that had kept Sarah upright finally ran out. Her body collapsed forward.
Her grandmother caught her, straining under the weight. "Oh my God — Sarah, what happened to you?"
Sarah's lips parted, twitching as if trying to form a word, but nothing came. Her body gave out entirely. Her eyes rolled back, and the darkness took her again.
The old woman held her on the floor, rocking her. "Don't worry. You're safe now. Nana has you."
But deep down, in the quiet of the house, she knew. Nothing about tonight was safe.
The darkness didn't bring peace.
Sarah was running. Cold air burned her lungs as she sprinted down the road outside Luca's villa.
Gunshots.
Stop her! Don't let her get away!
Her dress dragged, soaked and heavy. Not with rain.
Blood. Her hands were covered in it. Someone had been shot inside the villa.
Another gunshot. A bullet struck the asphalt near her feet. She stumbled, hit the ground.
Silence.
Then headlights, blinding, too fast, out of control in the rain. A white car. It swerved to miss her — and crashed through the barrier.
For one suspended second, the car hung over the cliff edge.
Then it fell.
The sound of metal and glass echoed through the valley. Sarah opened her mouth to scream—
Her eyes snapped open.
Sarah gasped, tearing herself out of the dream, drenched in cold sweat. She lay shivering in a modest bed, the smell of old wood and lavender filling the room. Her grandmother's house.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared at the ceiling, trying to anchor herself back to reality. Her hands were still shaking against the patchwork quilt.