Updated Feb 14, 2026 • ~11 min read
[ASPEN POV]
I’d made a mistake approaching him in the garden.
Fatal mistake. Amateur mistake. The kind that got plans unraveled and ten-thousand-dollar payouts cancelled.
But he’d looked so trapped during that dinner. So perfectly miserable while everyone toasted his upcoming marriage. And I’d followed him outside like an idiot because—
Because he looked the way I felt. Performing. Trapped. Desperate.
Now he was watching me. All night. Those dark eyes tracking my movements through the conservatory like he’d clocked me as threat.
He knew something was wrong.
“You okay?” Ada asked, handing me clipboard with tomorrow’s timeline. “You look stressed.”
“I’m fine. Just—big day tomorrow.”
“Tell me about it.” She rubbed her temples. “If this wedding goes perfectly, I can retire on the referrals. If anything goes wrong, I’m ruined. No pressure.”
Guilt twisted in my stomach. Tomorrow I was going to detonate this woman’s career along with the wedding.
“It’ll be perfect,” I lied.
“It better be.” Ada checked her watch. “Rehearsal dinner’s wrapping up. You can head out. Be back tomorrow at 8 AM. Sharp.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I gathered my things—fake resume, notes, floor plan I’d memorized. Started walking toward the estate’s service exit.
“Aspen.”
Male voice. British accent. Too close.
I turned.
Marius stood three feet away, having appeared silently. He’d changed from dinner clothes to dark jeans and sweater. More casual. More human. More—
Dangerous. He looked dangerous.
“Mr. Khatri. Can I help you?”
“Walk with me.”
Not a request. Command.
Every instinct screamed: Run. Make excuses. Disappear before he asks questions you can’t answer.
But running would confirm suspicion. Better to play the role.
“Of course.”
We walked toward the garden. Away from the conservatory. Away from witnesses. Into darkness lit by estate lights and expensive landscaping.
My heart pounded. My phone was in my pocket—I could text Bailey, could call for help, could—
Could what? I was the one planning to ruin his wedding. He had every right to be suspicious.
We reached a fountain. Ornate. Excessive. Probably cost more than my mother’s entire year of care.
Marius turned to face me. His expression was controlled but I saw calculation underneath. Intelligence. Awareness.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I told you. Aspen Colby. Ada’s—”
“Who sent you?”
My blood went cold. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” He moved closer. Not threatening. Just—direct. “You’re not wedding staff. Your posture is wrong. Your questions are too personal. You’ve been watching me all night like you’re gathering intelligence. And Ada’s assistants don’t follow grooms into gardens to ask if they’re excited about their marriages. So I’ll ask again: Who sent you?”
I could lie. Should lie. Dominic’s instructions were explicit: Don’t tell anyone. Especially not the target.
But Marius was looking at me like he already knew. Like he just needed confirmation.
And something about his expression—that trapped desperation I’d recognized immediately—made me want to tell the truth.
Stupid. Dangerous. Fatal mistake.
I told the truth anyway.
“Dominic,” I said quietly. “Dominic Thornton sent me.”
His expression didn’t change. But something shifted behind his eyes. “Allegra’s brother.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He hired me to—” God, this sounded insane. “To sabotage your wedding.”
Silence. Just fountain water and expensive landscaping and my career imploding in real-time.
Then Marius laughed.
Actual surprised laugh. Like I’d told unexpected joke instead of confessing to conspiracy.
“Sabotage,” he repeated. “By doing what, exactly?”
Might as well finish the confession. “Crashing the ceremony tomorrow. Claiming we had an affair two years ago in New York. Dominic provided fake evidence—photos, receipts, messages. Enough to create scandal. Enough to—stop the wedding.”
“Did we? Have an affair?”
“No. But the evidence says we did.”
He processed this. Touched his beard—nervous habit, I’d learned from research. “Why would Dominic want to stop his own sister’s wedding?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t explain. Just paid me to execute the plan.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
He didn’t mock the amount. Just calculated. “That’s—specific. Not enough to be extravagant, but enough to be life-changing for someone who needs it.”
I didn’t confirm. Didn’t need to. He’d already figured it out.
“You needed money,” he said. “Desperately. So when Dominic offered you ten thousand to crash a wedding, you took it.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you just tell me? Why not execute the plan as hired?”
Good question. I didn’t have good answer.
“Because—” I struggled for words. “Because you looked trapped at dinner. Because this marriage is clearly arranged and you clearly don’t want it. Because sabotaging you felt wrong when you’re already being sabotaged by your own life. And because—” God, this was stupid. “Because I’d want someone to tell me. If I were you.”
He studied me. Long enough that I felt dissected. Analyzed. Understood.
“Show me,” he said finally. “The evidence.”
“What?”
“The fake evidence Dominic provided. Show me.”
This was insane. But I’d already confessed. Might as well complete the disaster.
I pulled out my phone. Opened the folder Dominic had sent. Showed Marius the Photoshopped images: Us together at NYC restaurants. Brooklyn Bridge. MoMA. Architectural sites he’d actually visited.
“These are good,” he said, scrolling through. “Professionally done. If I didn’t know they were fake, I’d believe them.”
“The receipts are real too. From restaurants and hotels you actually visited. Someone did serious research.”
“Someone spent serious money.” He looked up from the phone. “Dominic wants this stopped badly enough to pay you ten thousand and whoever created this evidence probably double that. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do. You’re too smart not to have theories.”
Was I? I’d taken the job without asking questions. Desperate people didn’t ask questions.
But—
“Maybe the merger threatens him somehow,” I said. “Business interests. Family dynamics. Or maybe he knows something about the marriage that makes stopping it urgent. Or maybe—”
“Maybe he’s protecting Allegra,” Marius finished. “From me. From this arrangement. From—something.”
We stood in expensive silence.
“You could still do it,” he said. “Execute the plan. Collect your money. I just told you I know, but you could still crash the ceremony tomorrow. Create the scandal. It would work.”
“Would it?”
“Probably. Even if I denied everything, the doubt would be enough. My family wouldn’t proceed under scrutiny. The wedding would collapse. You’d get paid.”
He was right.
“But you won’t,” he continued. “Because you told me. Which means you’re not actually willing to destroy a stranger’s life for money. Which means you’re—conflicted.”
“I’m desperate,” I corrected. “Different from conflicted.”
“Is it?”
“My mother has early-onset Alzheimer’s. She’s in assisted living that costs twenty-eight hundred a month. I was two months behind on payments. I had four days until eviction. I work three jobs and I’m still drowning. So yes, I took this job. Because ten thousand dollars means my mother keeps her care facility and I keep my apartment and I get to breathe for the first time in three years. That’s not conflict. That’s survival.”
His expression softened. “I’m sorry. About your mother.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just—understand. I’m not a good person doing a bad thing for fun. I’m a desperate person doing a bad thing because I don’t have better options.”
“What if I gave you better options?”
“What?”
“What if I paid you twenty thousand not to do it?”
I stared. “Are you serious?”
“Completely. Twenty thousand to walk away. Don’t crash the wedding. Don’t create scandal. Just—leave. Take the money. Let tomorrow proceed.”
Twenty thousand. Double what Dominic offered.
My mother’s care for seven months. Rent for almost two years. Student loan payment. Breathing room. Freedom.
“Why?” I asked. “Why would you pay me to let your wedding happen?”
“Because I don’t want to marry Allegra either.”
The confession hung between us.
“Then why—”
“Arranged marriage. Family contract. My grandfather signed it six years ago as part of business merger. If I back out directly, the deal collapses. My family loses significant investment. I become the villain who destroyed everything.” He moved closer. “But if the wedding fails for external reasons—scandal, exposure, public humiliation—it’s not my choice. It’s circumstance. The merger collapses but I’m not responsible.”
Understanding clicked. “You want me to do it anyway.”
“Yes.”
“But—you just offered me twenty thousand not to.”
“I offered twenty thousand to test your loyalty. To see if you’d take better money from me or stay loyal to Dominic who hired you first.” He smiled slightly. “You didn’t immediately take my offer. Which means you have ethics. Complicated, desperate ethics, but ethics nonetheless.”
Was this a test? A trap?
“What do you want from me?” I asked carefully.
“Partnership. Not ambush.” He pulled out his phone. “You execute the plan tomorrow exactly as Dominic instructed. But I know it’s coming. We choreograph it. You crash, present evidence, I act appropriately shocked. The wedding collapses, we both get what we want.”
“Which is?”
“You get ten thousand dollars from Dominic. I get freedom from arranged marriage. Everyone wins.”
“Except your family. And Allegra. And—”
“Allegra doesn’t love me either,” he said quietly. “Six years engaged. We’ve barely kissed. She’s marrying me for family name and business connections. I’m marrying her because my grandfather’s contract says I have to. This isn’t love story. This is merger. And you’d be ending something that shouldn’t exist anyway.”
He was right. Everything about this was wrong—arranged marriage, family pressure, contracts deciding futures.
But—
“Dominic won’t pay me if I tell you,” I said. “That’s off-script. He’ll know I betrayed the plan.”
“Then don’t tell him. Let him think you executed perfectly. He’ll pay you regardless—he just wants the wedding stopped. How it happens doesn’t matter.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you get out of this? Besides freedom from the wedding.”
He looked at me. Really looked. Like he was deciding how much truth to share.
“Control,” he said finally. “Choice. My entire life has been decided by other people. Family business. Arranged marriage. Expected path. I’ve never chosen anything. This—conspiring with you, planning my own escape—it’s the first real choice I’ve made in years. That’s—that’s worth everything.”
I understood that. God, I understood that.
My entire life decided by circumstances I didn’t choose. Mother’s illness. Student debt. Financial drowning. Working three jobs I hated to survive situations I didn’t create.
Choice was luxury. Agency was privilege.
And Marius was offering both of us a chance to choose.
“Partners?” he asked, extending his hand.
I looked at his hand. At him. At the impossible situation we’d both created and stumbled into.
This was insane. This violated every instruction Dominic gave. This could backfire spectacularly.
But it was also—honest. Real. Two people conspiring to escape their separate cages.
I took his hand. “Partners.”
His grip was warm. Firm. Real.
“Tell me the plan,” he said. “Every detail. We have—” he checked his watch, “sixteen hours until ceremony. Let’s make sure this explosion is perfect.”
We sat by the fountain and plotted.
I showed him everything: The timeline. The fake evidence. The dramatic entrance Ada had unknowingly helped me choreograph. The moment I’d object. The words I’d say.
Marius added details: How he’d react. His expression of shock. The exact level of denial that would seem genuine but not too convincing. How to make it look real while ensuring maximum impact.
We were choreographing a performance. A public explosion. A carefully planned disaster.
“Tomorrow at 2 PM,” he said. “The officiant will ask if anyone objects. That’s your cue.”
“I know.”
“You’ll be nervous. That’s good—use it. Real emotion sells the performance.”
“I’m not performing. I’m terrified.”
“Perfect. Stay terrified.” He met my eyes. “This works because we’re both desperate. Both trapped. Both willing to do something extreme to escape. That’s—that’s real. Let tomorrow be real. Just—controlled real.”
“Controlled chaos.”
“Exactly.”
We planned until midnight. Until every detail was perfected. Until the explosion was carefully orchestrated detonation instead of random destruction.
“I should go,” I said finally. “Ada wants me back at 8 AM.”
“Thank you,” Marius said. “For telling me. For—not just executing without warning. For giving me choice.”
“Thank you for not having me arrested.”
He smiled. Actually smiled. “Night’s not over yet.”
I laughed despite everything. Despite the insanity. Despite tomorrow’s disaster waiting to happen.
“Goodnight, Marius.”
“Goodnight, Aspen.”
I walked back through the estate toward the exit. My phone buzzed. Text from Bailey: You alive?
Alive. Complicated. Tell you later.
That doesn’t sound good.
It’s not. But it’s—necessary.
I didn’t tell her I’d just allied with my target. That tomorrow’s explosion was now conspiracy instead of ambush. That I’d chosen honesty over deception and hoped I wouldn’t regret it.
At the estate gates, I turned back.
Marius still stood by the fountain. Watching me leave. Looking less trapped than he had at dinner.
Tomorrow we’d detonate his wedding.
Together.
Partners in necessary destruction.
God help us both.
Reader Reactions