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And I knew then that I didn’t give a fuck what it cost, I was going to get Léonie as my bride. . .

Present day

That little scar she carried from the thorns had always been my reminder to be careful what I asked my wife to do.

Because she would obey me instantly.

So these cold dead fingers I was gently holding in my own?

Weren’t hers.

If they didn’t show the evidence of her sweet and trusting nature? They weren’t my wife’s.

I didn’t have to see shit else. Because somehow I’d been played.

For a moment I stared uncomprehendingly at the two corpses.

Who the fuck⁠—

Then I wiped the blood off my face and stalked out of the room.

“Monsieur, so sorry for your loss,” the funeral director said, hurrying after me. “Would you like to arrange a time for the memorial service?”

“You can dump those bodies in the trash heap,” I snarled.

“But—Monsieur, your wife⁠—”

“That’s not my wife.”

“What?”

“I don’t know who the fuck you’ve got back there, but it’s 100% and completely not my wife. Now you’re going to let me drive that hearse of yours, because I have somewhere I need to be. I’ll have my men drop it back here when I’m done.”

“But, Monsieur⁠—”

I was already gone, grabbing his keys without asking and peeling the fuck out of the parking lot. I needed to get back to the lodge immediately and figure out what happened.

If that dead body wasn’t Léonie, where was she?

With the red hair on the dead woman, it had to be a Pinoteaux.

But where had a dead Pinoteaux woman come from? Who had killed her?

And why had I been told she was my wife?

There were a few remaining guards at the lodge, instantly snapping to attention when I drove up.

“Search this house from top to bottom,” I ordered. “I want to know where my wife is.”

“Sir—”

“I said search the house!”

The first thing I would do was figure out exactly what the hell Tilly and Armand had seen. Had they been fooled by the fake Léonie and Hugo too? And whose deception was it?

But when I yanked the front door open and strode inside⁠—

They were gone.