From behind the door, Michael’s words were clear:

“She’ll die soon. The pill will shut her down before or after the vows—it doesn’t matter. Once she’s gone, everything she owns will be ours. Just make sure she takes one more pill before the ceremony.”

Amara’s blood ran cold. Her hands trembled, and tears welled up, smudging her makeup. Then, another voice—Rachel, her chief bridesmaid and childhood friend—responded on the phone.

“Hope you’ve worn your bridesmaid dress,” Michael chuckled.