---- Chapter 19 Farah Moore POV: Our wedding was rescheduled for three days later. My friends threw me a bachelorette party at a chic rooftop bar, determined to erase the memory of the city hall fiasco. "To Aurora!" my best friend, Chloe, toasted. "Finally marrying the man who's been in love with her since he was ten years old." | laughed. "What are you talking about?" "It's true," Brett said, his cheeks flushing slightly. He leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear. "I told my mom | was going to marry you after you shared your lunch with me on the first day of kindergarten." His confession was so sweet, so unexpected, it made my heart ache in a way | hadn't thought possible. The atmosphere was light, full of laughter and hope. For a few hours, | almost forgot the darkness of the past. From the shadows of a nearby building, a pair of eyes watched my every move. Caryl, her face gaunt and twisted with hatred, clutched a baseball bat, her knuckles white. "You're drinking too much," Brett said gently, taking a glass of ---- champagne from my hand. "I'm just happy," | said, smiling. | felt a little dizzy. "I'm going to splash some water on my face." "I'll come with you." "I'm a big girl, Brett," | teased, kissing his cheek. "I can find the restroom on my own." In the cool, marble bathroom, | looked at my reflection. There was color in my cheeks again. The shadows under my eyes had faded. | looked... happy. Then, a movement in the mirror behind me made my blood run cold. Caryl was standing there, a terrifying, manic grin plastered on her face. She was holding a baseball bat. "Hello, sister," she whispered. Before | could scream, she swung the bat. A starburst of white-hot pain exploded at the back of my head. The world dissolved into blackness. | woke up to the shock of ice-cold water. | was tied to a chair in a dusty, abandoned warehouse. Caryl stood before me, the bat resting on her shoulder, her grin wider, more unhinged. "You're insane," | gasped, the words catching in my throat. ---- "We're alla little insane, don't you think?" she replied, her voice a singsong-y whisper that sent a chill down my spine. "What do you want, Caryl?" Her expression turned ugly. "What do | want? | want my life back! The life you stole from me!" She was a mess. Her clothes were torn, her hair matted. She looked like a cornered animal. She ripped the gauze from her face. Where her right eye should have been, there was only a scarred, empty socket. "He did this to me," she hissed. "Brandon. After he found out the truth, he had them do this to me. He took my eye. And it's all your fault." My stomach churned. This was a level of cruelty | hadn't thought even Brandon was capable of. "You need help, Caryl," | said, trying to keep my voice steady. She let out a piercing shriek of laughter. "Oh, | don't need help. | need revenge." She pointed the bat at the corner of the warehouse. My eyes followed her gesture. My heart stopped. Tied to one of the support beams was a timer, its red numbers counting down. And wired to the timer were several sticks of dynamite. There were less than ten minutes left on the clock.