Chapter 12 My eyes drift to the beautiful white wedding gown hanging from the back of my bedroom door. It glows, almost ethereal in the soft evening light, mocking me with its purity. I've been primped and preened within an inch of my existence. Waxed, plucked, exfoliated, scrubbed raw and moisturized back to glowing perfection. There's not an unwanted hair on my body, not a single one out of place on my head. My complexion? Spotless. But my eyes betray me. There's a sunken, hollow look in them I can't quite hide. Since Seamus left, food has been tasteless. My appetite died the day he walked away-no, the day I learned he wasn't who I thought he was. I've always been slim, but now I border on fragile. Gaunt. A whisper of who I was. I sit at my vanity, a small white one from my childhood, painted in fading pastels. I used to sit here and pretend I was a princess. Pretend Prince Charming would rescue me from this world and that I'd wear glass slippers and command a court of talking mice. I knew, even back then, it was just pretend. Because I was already a princess. A Bratva princess. And there are no Prince Charmings in our world. I've seen too much to believe in fairy tales. Once in a while, you see a family that genuinely loves each other. A couple that thrives on real affection. But that only works if they live by a code entirely their own. That's not my fate. I've already met the one man who could've loved me like that... or so I thought. And now? I've seen my future fiancé twice. The first time, he arrived with an entourage-wealthy, slick, polished. He looked more like a model on the cover of a finance magazine than a man about to be married. He's rich, no doubt about that. I'll have everything I could possibly want-except, of course, the only thing I really need. He came with sleek, black SUVs, the kind that scream power and protection. But I didn't show how impressed I was. And that pissed him off. He scowled at me, clearly expecting me to swoon. Not happening. That's not who I am. The second visit, he took me to a restaurant so exclusive he rented out the entire first floor. Some people might've been flattered. I wasn't. He treated the servers like dirt. Sent his steak back three times. Complained about the air quality. Who does that? And my brothers are marrying me off to him. He's not hideous. He's actually pretty attractive. Strong, tall, fit, I guess. But he barely looks at me. His voice is nasally, and he never shuts up about finance and politics. It's exhausting. Tomorrow should be a celebration, but instead, it feels like I'm being led to the executioner's block. I stare at the dress as if it's a pair of handcuffs. Sigh. I'm being dramatic. He's not... that bad. But he isn't Seamus either. I hear a soft sound at the window. I freeze. One tap. Then another. My stomach plummets. I see the flash of a hand. My room is on the second floor. Who the hell...? Whoever it is had to get past cameras, then scale the side of the damn house. Heart pounding, I walk to the window. I open it just a crack. The smart thing would be to call my brothers, but something stops me. "That's my girl." My chest constricts, and my body heats. Anger flares, but it's tangled with something else-something dangerous. Something like... hope. Seamus? "What are you doing here?" I hiss. "They'll fucking kill you." "Language," he whispers. No. We can't fall back into old rhythms. I can't let him drag me back into his orbit. And then-he's there. I help tug him through my window and into my room. Seamus. All six feet of hard, masculine beauty. Blue eyes even brighter than I remember. That messy hair, dimpled cheek. That jaw. Those lips, god, those lips I've wanted on every inch of my body. The ink on his arms. The Irish lilt in his voice that still unravels me. The room isn't big enough for the two of us. I slam the window shut behind him. Thank god, we have no cameras in the bedrooms. "You can't be here." "I am," he says simply, but his smile is wrong. Distant. Guarded. Is he angry? At me? "Why are you here, Seamus?" I snap, tossing my head. "You left me." "Left you?" he growls, prowling closer. "Zoya. Jesus, baby. I was arrested." His voice is a hush, and I hear footsteps in the hall. I press my ear to the door-then silence. We're safe... for now. My heart beats so fast I'm dizzy. He was... arrested? "I was in jail," he says, and now that he's closer to me, I can see the scabs on his neck and shoulders, the haunted look in his eyes. Russian prisons are notorious for their brutality. My stomach plummets. He was in... he was in prison? "I'm getting married tomorrow," I whisper, shaking my head, trying to push him out of my mind. "Whatever we had-it was never real. You orchestrated all of it." But I'm only whispering what I've feared. I want him to prove me wrong. "Me?" He steps closer, his eyes dark. "You betrayed me." "What?" I throw my hands up. "What the hell are you talking about, you idiot?" He growls, and suddenly I'm on fire. I thought I was over him. I thought I was free. But he's here, warm and real, and my heart aches. "I know you're getting married. Do you have any fucking idea how hard it is to break out of prison?" He broke out of prison. For me? Oh my god. That's why he disappeared. Why he didn't answer. Why he vanished week after week, month after month. "Why?" I ask, even though I know it's pointless. He could've done anything, just like my brothers. "Doesn't matter," he growls. "I never left you. I tried to come back. I couldn't." He's standing too close, his hand wrapped around the back of my neck in that possessive way that makes me melt. "And now you're marrying someone else." "Do you think I want this?" I snap. "Do you think I want to marry this pompous asshole?" "Language," he bites again, hand on my jaw now. I step closer, jab my finger into his chest. He doesn't flinch. "Fine. You were arrested. But you still left me," I say, hating the way my voice breaks. "I told you to come back-and now what? You got out because you found out I was getting married? You couldn't send me a single message?" Footsteps again. We freeze. A soft knock. "Zoya? You okay?" It's Polina. Sweet, gentle Polina. Rafail's wife. "I'm fine," I call. "Just on the phone. Sorry." Lying. Again. Ugh. "Okay," she says gently. "Let me know if you need anything. I know how hard this night can be." She doesn't know. She couldn't. "Thank you. I'm just going to sleep now." They all feel guilty. They know I'm marrying someone I don't love. I wait until her footsteps fully retreat before I lower my voice. "Why are you really here, Seamus?" I ask. "You went to prison. Probably deserved it. I'm getting married." I swallow hard. "Maybe I deserve that too." "It was too risky," he whispers. "Too risky to reach you. I couldn't." "Everything we had..." My eyes are stinging. "What was it, really? Secret meetings in the back of a pub?" He narrows his gaze. "You think that's all it was?" "I know who you are now," I say. "You work for The Undertaker." And the flicker across his face confirms it. I was right. "He owns all of Dublin. Maybe more. He's done terrible things, hasn't he?" And Seamus works for him. "I know who The Undertaker is," I tell him, my voice trembling despite everything in me willing it to stay steady. "I've heard the stories, Seamus. I know what he does. And you-you work for that man. You work for the most ruthless, cold-hearted bastard in all of Ireland. I know you do. I heard you on the phone with him. Right after you killed all those men. You slaughtered them, just hosed them down like they were nothing." My voice breaks. "And it was supposed to be my family." He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but I shake my head. "No." The word slips from me in a whispered rasp, harsh and cutting, because I can't risk raising my voice. Not when Polina's right down the hall. Not when my family's teetering on the edge, prepared for my collapse. They fear me, fear the moment I break, because no one wants to see Zoya Kopolova shatter. If I fall apart, it was all for nothing. Every sacrifice, every calculated move... meaningless. If I fall apart, then none of them will be able to stand tall either because I'm the youngest. I'm the one they all think is made of iron and spite. And if I can't hold strong in the face of this, then who will? "I know who you work for, Seamus," I repeat. "And you know just as well as I do, there can never be anything between us. Not now. Not ever." I try to step away, but his grip is too tight. "Why did you think I didn't mean it?" he asks, his eyes narrowing like he's trying to understand something that won't quite fit in his head. "Why did you think I came week after week and risked everything for you?" "Risked everything?" I hiss, shaking my head, my voice bitter and sharp-edged. I blink, and hot, fat tears slip down my cheeks. "You won't even risk being seen with me. You won't even let anyone know we were together." "Will you?" he asks. And I look away-because we both already know the answer. No. Of course I won't. "You thought I left you?" he asks again, and the way he looks at me, like his heart is breaking right there in his chest, hurts. "You thought I'd do all that, come week after week, and just abandon you?" "What else was I supposed to think?" I say, and I blink again. More tears, hot and fast, streaming down my face in thick, silent rivulets. "What was I supposed to think, Seamus, after everything you said, everything you promised, and then you didn't show? You couldn't send a message? You couldn't get word to me? Nothing? All this time?" I shake my head. "I showed up for you," I whisper, and I can't bear to look at him. I don't want to see the pity in his eyes. I don't want him to see how weak I really am. "I showed up. Week after week after week. I sat in the same corner, drank the same drink. I came looking for my Mr. Thursday. I risked everything just to sit there and wait for you. But you..." My voice breaks. "You never came back." "I couldn't, love," he says softly. "Don't call me that." I shake my head, turning away again. "Don't. And now you say I betrayed you? How dare you?" His gaze sharpens. "Zoya, you looked at information that wasn't yours." "You were going to kill my family because The Undertaker told you to!" My voice comes out too loud. I clamp it down and whisper instead. "You work for a man who wants to wipe out my family, Seamus." There's no room left for negotiation. "There can't be an 'us' anymore," I say bitterly. "Leave. Let me marry this stuck-up." I stifle a sob. "Go away. Go back to Ireland. Go serve your Undertaker." And I can't even pretend to hide the bitterness bleeding through every word. "Zoya," he growls, but before he can finish, there's another knock on the door. "Zoya, it's me, Yana. I just have something to show you." He lets me go, and my hand flies over my mouth. How can I hide him? The doorknob turns, and my god, there she is. I gasp, expecting shock on her face, expecting her to draw a gun and shoot him between the eyes. But she doesn't even blink. Not even a hint of surprise. I swallow hard and risk a glance over my shoulder. The window's wide open. Curtains billow in the breeze like ghosts. He's gone. Seamus is gone. My Seamus. The man I hate. The man I still long for. He came back into my life at the worst possible time, right when I needed him the least. And now, he's disappeared again. "Are you all right?" Yana asks, her face drawn and pale. "You look like you've seen a ghost." Have I? A ghost would've been easier to handle. I sigh and offer her a watery smile. "I'm fine." It's the biggest, boldest lie I've ever told. Bigger than the night I sent my brothers to that warehouse. Bigger than the wild goose chase I sent them on. This lie is darker. Deeper. "I'm fine," I whisper again, hoping that maybe if I say it enough, it'll start to feel true. Hoping it'll stitch the bleeding pieces of my heart back together. I cry myself to sleep the night before my wedding. I try not to because who wants photos with swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks? But I don't know how to stop. I don't know what else to do. I don't know what else to think, or how to stop the aching inside me. It feels a lot like the hollow grief I felt when my parents died. Raw. Scraped out. Gutting. Only then, I was just a kid. Too young to fully understand. Now, the pain cuts from a different place. Because now, I know too much. And that knowing is a different kind of wound. I wake early and stare out the open window. I half wish, half beg for him to be there. To see him again, just once more, even though I know it will kill me, and it won't soothe the aching in my heart. If anything, it'll make it worse. I can imagine him there. Perched on the windowsill, blue eyes steady on me, cheeks flushed with emotion, that maddening dimple in the corner of his mouth. I saw how it hit him like a two-by-four when I said the word Undertaker. He doesn't know that I know who it really is. But now I've said it out loud. Now I've exposed him for what he is. And because of that... he'll never come back again. He can't. After today, there will be a ring on my finger, and I will be Zoya Morozova. Oh god. It could be worse, I remind myself. It could've been someone cruel. That's something, I guess. I swallow hard, swipe at my eyes, furious with myself for crying. And when I catch my reflection in the mirror, they're not as puffy as I feared. Not great, but not ruined either. I dress for my wedding. Alone. What if Pavel is cruel? I've heard horror stories. We all have. It's why none of my family will make eye contact with me anymore. There's a soft knock at the door. "Yes," I say, resigned. And Polina slips back in. Polina, with that blonde hair so long it brushes the top of her butt. With those soft, understanding eyes and that gentle spirit that makes everything feel a little less sharp. "How are you doing?" she asks tenderly, like if she's careful enough, she might make this bearable. I only sigh. "Oh, honey," she says, settling on the edge of the bed and taking my hand. "You've been crying. I'm so sorry." Her voice wobbles. "When I tell you that Rafail agonized over this decision... When I tell you..." She trails off and shakes her head. "You had suitors, you know. Plenty. Men who wanted you. But he went through every single one of them." She's not being dramatic. "He vetted them. We talked, just the two of us. We spoke to their families. We asked the right questions. It was like... they were applying for a job or something." She lets out a dry laugh, the kind that doesn't reach her eyes. As if that absurd detail is supposed to make me feel better. It doesn't. "He just wanted someone who'd take care of you," she says softly. "This guy? He will." I nod stiffly. "Worked out well for you, didn't it?" Her marriage to my brother. She brushes the hair from my eyes, leans in, and kisses my temple. The gesture is small but sincere. "Yes, sweetheart. It did. It can work out, you know," she continues, coaxing. "Especially when someone's married to the likes of you." "I've seen it not work out," I counter, needing to argue. To push back, just a little. To remind her that this isn't all hearts and flowers. Because yes, I've been crying. And maybe, just maybe, she's right about why. She wouldn't be that far off. But she can't know the real reason. No one can. "All right," she says gently, shifting back to business. "Your brother said it's time to get this over with." So it's an early wedding. He didn't want me to have to sit with it or dwell. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay? I have these little eye masks you can wear to bring down the puffiness." She offers me a soft smile. "All those sleepless nights with babies, I swear by these." We stand as she helps me to my feet, our fingers linking briefly. I do look pretty, I'll admit that much. And I'm glad. I don't want to walk in there looking like a forgotten orphan. "Look at you," she says with a smile that feels like sunshine. "So beautiful. My god, this dress." It is beautiful, sleek and elegant in its simplicity. She shakes her head slowly, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I absolutely love it. All right, show me your shoes." I lift my skirt just enough to reveal the rounded toe of my pearly slippers. "Oh, they're so pretty. Everything's beautiful, Zoya. You're a gorgeous bride." "Thank you," I whisper. "All right," she says. "I'm going downstairs to appease your brother. He's pacing a hole into the rug. I'll tell him you're getting ready and that you'll be down soon. Do you want anything to eat? Drink?" "I'm good." She smiles again. "All right. Twenty minutes, okay?" I nod. "Okay. Thank you," I say, looking away. There's a lump in my throat that won't go down. I stare at my vacant window. She's right. Maybe, just maybe, there'll be something there to like. Something waiting for me. I'm told he has a beautiful home. I haven't seen it yet. And honestly? I don't want to. My gaze spins toward the window, irrationally hoping Seamus might materialize there like a phantom. He left last night. So why do I think he might come back? He said I betrayed him. And I did-I read those texts, and I accused him of conspiring with a murderer. What would I even do if he showed up? He didn't come for me. I'm here, alone. Polina comes back, a tray in her hands with ice water and some small snacks. "Try to eat something," she says, setting the tray down gently, her eyes full of concern. She sits across from me. "Can I ask you a question, Polina? Or... if I do, do you have to report everything back to Rafail?" Her expression softens, lips curving in a knowing way. "Girls can have some secrets," she says, lifting her chin and meeting my gaze. "What's your question?" Can I trust her? I swallow hard, nerves prickling my skin. "What do you know about The Undertaker? The Irish⁠-" "Oh, I know who you're talking about." Her whole face changes. She bites her lip, turns away from me, troubled. "Why do you ask that?" she says quietly. "Because I overheard you all that night. In the kitchen. After the bar." "Of course I remember," she says. "Now why are you asking about The Undertaker?" She gently adjusts a pin in my hair. I watch her in the mirror as she smooths one curl and straightens out the other, methodical, careful. Her fingers work fast, and she pins them in place like she's done it a thousand times before. "I've heard a lot of people talk about him," I go on, a little too calmly. "But I want to know what he's really like. Will you tell me? Please?" She exhales slowly, like she's been holding something in for a while. "I can only tell you what I know, darling," she says gently. "And I know that one of the reasons Rafail is marrying you is because The Undertaker told Semyon he was coming for his sister." Her voice drops to a hush. "And we assumed," she says, "that the sister he meant was you." I blink. Of course. Yana is already married. There are no other sisters. Who else could he have meant? "He said he was coming for me? Why didn't anyone ever mention that? That's... strange." What does Seamus think about that? "Right," she says with a sigh. "And Rafail didn't want to risk that happening. The Undertaker... the things they've said about him. He... he can disappear in a crowd, but you feel him. They say he once made a man confess his sins just by folding his coat in front of him." Oh wow. "He doesn't always carry a weapon, they say, because he is one. Never raises his voice, yet even the most hardened criminals fear and obey him." I swallow. And Seamus works for him? "No one's ever seen him bleed. He doesn't threaten either-everything he says is a promise, they say." My heart thunders. She blows out a breath. "They call him The Undertaker because no one has ever survived crossing him, and anyone who tried was buried. His code is older than dirt, and he doesn't break it, not for anything." "Oh," I murmur, quiet and shaken. "Well. Isn't he married?" I ask. "I mean... men like him usually are. Older. Settled. Right?" She laughs, a light sound that doesn't match the weight in my chest. Shakes her head. "He's not old," she says. "And no, he's definitely not married." "Oh." A chill creeps down my spine, trailing like icy fingers. I sit up straighter and try to swallow-but something hard and dry is lodged in my throat. I reach for my water glass and sip. Just a little. Just enough to wet my mouth. "He's... he's not?" I manage. "No. Not The Undertaker. He's quite young considering his reputation and rank, actually." She tilts her head, considering. "Older than you by about ten, twelve years. About Rafail's age." "About Rafail's age?" I echo. "What else do you know about him?" I ask, trying to sound offhanded. "He's the oldest son of Keenan McCarthy," she tells me. "The head of the McCarthy clan." I blink at her. "The McCarthys?" "They're powerful," she says. "In Ireland. Old blood. They live in this little place called Ballyhock." The words drop like stones in my stomach. "Ballyhock," I repeat, the name catching in my throat. My voice sounds hollow. "That... coastal village. Just outside Dublin." The one Seamus has told me about over and over and over again, so vividly I feel like I've been there. Oh my god. Nooooo. "Oh my god," I whisper. "Holy shit. Okay." I try to play it off, casual. "Do you happen to know his real name?" I ask. "The Undertaker's?" I feel so stupid. Idiotic. How could I have not seen this? How could I have believed something else, anything else? But I know. I know the truth before she says it. My body knows. My bones know. Every nerve ending is screaming. She looks me straight in the eye. "I think his name is Seamus," she says. The lights flicker. Downstairs, someone screams. It's like someone flipped a switch-sunlight replaced with shadow. The bedroom is swallowed in darkness. "That's strange," Polina whispers, rising to her feet. "Zoya, I need to see what's going on. Stay here," she says quickly. "Do you have a weapon?" "Of course I do," I reply, steadying myself. What is happening? Is it just my hopeless romantic brain wanting to believe he's coming for me-that he meant it when he said he would? No. He came last night. We exchanged words, fired off every emotion like bullets. And now... even if he wanted to claim me, he can't. I'm engaged to another man. Then why do I feel like I'm about to cry? I square my shoulders as calm settles over the house again. I've made up ghost stories in my head as if there's something to fear. No. I need to get this wedding over with. Now. Polina returns. "All good. I'm not sure what happened there." Interesting. I swallow hard when she smiles at me. "You ready?" I turn to my makeup. If they're going to take pictures, if I'm going to be a bride... I will be the most beautiful damn bride they've ever seen. Concealer, thick and perfect under my eyes. Foundation. Powder. A touch of highlighter, not too much. Mascara, eyeliner, lipstick. I never go this far. Never. But today... today feels like it calls for it. Still, it all feels like a dream. "I'm ready." I walk down the stairs as if facing my execution. My steps echo on the floor, but I don't shake. I won't. Strings of music play. Everyone looks gorgeous, all dressed in formal wear. The house has been decorated in whites and ivory, gold ribbons and bouquets of white flowers. Rafail smiles at me. I give him a half smile back. One day, maybe I'll forgive him. I look to the altar, but don't see my groom. That's a little odd. Rafail looks where I do and frowns. "Open the doors," he orders. A gasp rips through the room. Because it's not Pavel Morozov standing there. Rafail's gun is drawn, and Semyon is already moving. "Stand down," Rafail orders, his voice hard. Seamus holds my gaze across the crowded room. I can't breathe. Because even now, even knowing who he is, what he's done, my heart betrays me. Another gasp echoes, but Seamus's voice cuts through the tension like a bullet. "Quiet," he says with authority. "Everyone, stay still. This entire place is rigged." My breath catches. The air is suddenly thinner. "Kopolov," he says, his eyes locked cold on Rafail. "Before you even think about pulling that trigger, know this. I was under orders to take your family that night at the Wolf and Moon. You remember that? The night your little sister betrayed you?" Rafail nods. Frozen. My heart pounds, loud and erratic. "My testament," Seamus continues, eerily calm. "That night, I ended the lives of the men who betrayed me. My boss believed it was you. They'll know the truth soon enough. I told them they'd pay for their betrayal, and I always keep my word." He looks at Semyon, who's now ghost-pale. Rodion's hands curl into tight fists. Rafail refuses to look away. "I promised you one thing," Seamus says, eyes on Rafail. "Didn't I?" And then, oh my god, he turns to me. "I told you I would come for your sister. I remember it vividly. I bet Semyon does, too. And I never, ever back down on my word." He gestures, his hand steady, his voice quiet. "Come here, Zoya." My body refuses to move at first. "Go," Rafail whispers in my ear. "You have to do what he says now. I can't stop him." The room is rigged. Seamus's voice rolls through the room. "I have forty plants stationed on this estate. Every exit. Standing right beside you." My head snaps up. The guards, uniformed, still, all armed, are everywhere. We're surrounded. Holy shit. He snuck them all in. For me. A promise. A vendetta. A reckoning. "What did you do with Morozov?" Rafail asks flatly. Seamus's eyes ice over. "You know exactly what I did." Oh my god. "Did you start a war, Seamus?" I whisper. Rafail's gaze on me hardens. No one calls him Seamus. I shouldn't know his name. "It's hard to start a war that's already begun," Seamus replies, his tone glacial. Then he turns to me again. And even now, my traitorous heart expects a flicker of warmth. A softened look. Something. But his gaze is frozen. "I said come here, Zoya." My legs are made of jelly. But I walk. "Zoya, come," he says, gentler. "I won't hurt you, little lass. I promise. You have my word. Please, just come to me now." Polina's hand is on her mouth. Yana's watching us both with narrowed eyes. Anya's pale, her eyes wide. Everyone watches. Everyone heard him. So I go. I walk down the aisle. Past my family. Past everything I've ever known. Still clutching my flowers to my chest. Into the arms of Seamus McCarthy. Knowing what I've done. Knowing what this will cost them. Knowing they will never forgive me. That the blowback will be brutal. Unforgiving. Total. I go to him. He takes my hand. Then he turns to the priest and nods once. "Vows, Father," he says. "Make it quick." Rafail makes a move to come to us. "Don't, Kopolov," Seamus growls, and I see something in him I've never seen before, a dark glint in his eyes, the hardened set of his jaw. He's ready to kill. All of them. And then he'll take me away anyway, no matter what it costs. "Over my dead body," Rafail growls. "So kill me. But you won't take my sister. You won't." "No!" I scream. "Enough!" I wrench myself away from Seamus, slap at his hands when he reaches for me. And to my shock, he actually stops. He stares at me like he's never seen me before... and takes a step back. My brothers freeze, and the whole room goes still. Everyone, every single person in the goddamn room, is staring at me. "I will not let you war over me," I say, my voice rising. "No. Enough. Too many people have died already." My words rip through the silence. "Too many! I won't risk it. Stop. All of you. Just-stop." Silence falls, the kind that weighs heavy, thick, and unbreathable. I feel like I might throw up as I look at my brothers, trembling but resolute. "Rafail, I'm going to marry Seamus." I swallow hard. "I'm going to marry him... because I love him." A startled gasp breaks the quiet. Rafail's eyes narrow on me, disbelief hardening his face. "Zoya, don't you⁠-" "No!" I scream again, and I think it might be the first time I've ever raised my voice to him. "Stop talking," I snap, then turn to Seamus, pointing straight at him. "Listen. I didn't know who he was," I say, pushing through the weight of grief. "And it breaks my heart to know what he's done. But I want you to know something." I look at Rafail, and my voice cracks. "Next to you, there's no one I trust more." The look of betrayal on his face shreds me. Cuts me straight down the center. "Zoya," Rafail whispers, confused. Hurt. So damn hurt. "He's given everything to come for me," I say, my tears flowing freely now. I know my mascara's running, my makeup smeared-but I don't care. I can't care. Not now. "I have to stop this war." "What are you talking about?" Rafail asks, barely audible. "What do you mean?" "You heard her, Kopolov," Seamus says, steady and clear. "I said I love him." I lift my chin. Or I used to, anyway, before he broke my heart. I glance at Seamus out of the corner of my eye. "He'll have to prove he's worthy of my love. He'll have to prove he didn't lie to me. He'll have to prove a hell of a lot." I let out a shaky breath. "And I will too," I whisper. "God, I will too." Turning to the priest, I echo Seamus's words. "The vows, Father." I sniff, wipe my face with the back of my hand, and whisper to myself like a mantra. I dreamt of Seamus rescuing me. But the fantasy was a lie. It was nothing like this. In my dreams, he was noble. Kind. In my dreams, he didn't kill Morozov to get to me. My god, does the man even have a conscience? I fell in love with Mr. Thursday. With Seamus. Is The Undertaker someone I can love too? A Fated Encounter movie summary talks about Emma Brown who is forced by her father Henry to take her sister Bella's place and marry Tommy Anderson to save her business. Unlike the rumor Tommy turns ou...