Part 2His Brother's Bride

I was eighteen when I died as Finn.

Caleb was only seventeen then. A decade had passed.

At twenty-seven, Caleb was taller, his boyish features sharpened into the hard, commanding lines of a man who was used to getting his way. He carried an oppressive aura of power.

His gaze swept across the wreckage, finally landing on the pile of broken clay.

His eyes turned dangerously cold.

The assistant’s legs buckled, and he looked seconds away from dropping to his knees and begging for forgiveness.

“Finn?” I spoke first, my voice clear and steady. “I broke it. It has nothing to do with them. The guy’s been dead for ten years. Having his stuff around felt… morbid. If you have a problem, take it up with me. Leave the hired help out of it.”

Every head in the room bowed, every breath was held.

Caleb’s gaze shifted slowly, deliberately, until it locked onto my face.

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” he asked, a faint, chilling smile playing on his lips. It held no warmth.

I spread my hands. “Finn. I know who he was. Your stepbrother, right? The one you weren’t related to by blood. Wait, don’t tell me you actually miss him? That’s hilarious. Everyone knew you two hated each other’s guts. You couldn’t wait to be rid of him.”

“That’s true,” Caleb said, the curve of his lips deepening, his eyes crinkling in a parody of good humor.

“So,” I pressed, my voice more confident than I felt, “you won’t be mad that I broke his last remaining keepsake, right?”

I’d inherited this mess from the body’s previous owner, Ava. She’d thrown the tantrum that led to a fatal brain hemorrhage and heart attack, which was my cue to enter stage left. The mess wasn't my doing, but the consequences were all mine.

“Mad? Of course not,” Caleb said, his tone surprisingly agreeable. “You’re right. He’s been dead ten years. It’s bad luck to keep it around.”

The cleaning crew, taking this as their cue, scurried to clear the debris and then vanished.

Just as I thought I was in the clear, Caleb’s hand shot out and clamped around my neck.

“Ava,” he snarled, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. “I told you. You can throw any tantrum you want. You can break anything in this house. But you do not touch Finn’s things.”

His eyes were like chips of frost, a deep, primal coldness in them that sent a shiver down my spine. His grip tightened, constricting, cutting off my air.

I started to choke.

“Today,” he breathed, his face inches from mine, “you and I are going to settle this score.”