Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 43: Killing Fiona

Chapter 43: Killing Fiona

VANESSA BELMONT

"Murder seems like an extreme solution," I said. I placed my palm against his forehead. "Do you have a fever?"

"She’s killed you several times," said Nathan. "Why not kill her back?"

"Would that start her on this crazy reborn journey?"

"Who cares! You’ll be alive. We’ll be together. Fiona will be gone. Permanently."

"I don’t want to spend this life in prison for killing Fiona. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you. Aren’t we logical, reasonable adults? Can’t we figure out non-lethal solutions to the Fiona Grand problem?"

"We’re rich," said Nathan. "We can hire hitmen."

"Do you know any hitmen? No, you do not. Also, have you ever watched Investigation Discovery? We might as well cuff ourselves and go to the police station."

Nathan gripped my shoulders. "She stabbed you, kidnapped you, and then crashed the car into the Sweetheart Oak. And I pulled her out of the wreckage because I didn’t know you were there. Not until later when the police and fire trucks arrived. You ... you were already dead." He gave me another bone-crushing hug. "Then I had to watch you get shot to death, run over by Fiona’s car, and then shoved off the balcony of my family’s hotel."

"Yeah. It’s a lot," I said.

I sat back, studying him. Dark-eyed, jaw set, fingers still tangled with mine like he was afraid I’d vanish.

"You know, I’m not really looking forward to attending our engagement party for the fourth time. Wait ... fifth? Oh, whatever."

Nathan’s mouth twitched. "Let’s definitely re-enact what we did in the hotel room in life number four."

"Nathan!" I felt my cheeks warm with embarrassment. "That strategy didn’t work. I still died. It’s becoming your legal wife that triggers Fiona to murder me."

Henry chose that moment to leap onto the bed, tail flicking disdainfully as he settled between us. Nathan scratched behind his ears absently.

The bedroom door swung open.

"Vanessa, we need to talk about—" My mother froze, taking in the scene: me in rumpled pajamas, Nathan on my bed, our heads bent together like conspirators.

Which, well. Accurate.

Mom’s eyes narrowed. "Nathan. I didn’t realize you were here."

Nathan straightened smoothly. "Mrs. Belmont. Sorry I didn’t say hello to you and Mr. Belmont. I was in a hurry to see my bride."

Mom actually smiled. "We were thinking of adding another clause to the marital contract."

I groaned. "Mom—"

"You’re right. It’s too late for that. You two should get ready for the engagement banquet." She turned on her heel and left, the door clicking shut.

Nathan stood, offering me a hand. "If we’re going to kill Fiona, we should probably do it before she kills you again."

I took his hand, letting him pull me up. "You’re really all in on this murder thing, huh?"

"For you? Absolutely."

***|***|***|***|***

VANESSA BELMONT

The ballroom of the Echelon Hotel glittered like a gilded cage. And I was trapped in it.

Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto the crowd of socialites, their champagne flutes raised in obligatory celebration.

"Remind me again why we’re doing this?" I muttered to Nathan.

"Because our parents are rich and we’re pawns in their—"

"Future Mrs. Jang!" Mrs. Whitmore gushed, grabbing my hands. "How absolutely—"

"If you say ’delightful,’ I will break this glass and stab myself," I said sweetly.

Nathan choked on his champagne. "She’s nervous," he lied smoothly. "Wedding jitters."

As Mrs. Whitmore scurried away, I leaned into Nathan’s side as we accepted more not-exactly-sincere congratulations. "This is torture," I muttered.

His fingers tightened around mine. "She’s here."

I didn’t need to ask who she was. Fiona stood near the balcony doors, her silver dress cutting through the crowd like a flashing knife. She smiled at me, poisoned sweetness.

"Oh, fuck her," I said under my breath. "I’m not dying at this hotel again."

A deafening crack split the air.

The chandelier above Fiona swayed violently. Gasps rippled through the crowd as one of its chains snapped—then another.

"Move!" Nathan yanked me back just as the massive fixture plummeted.

Crystal shattered.

When the dust cleared, Fiona lay sprawled beneath the wreckage, her silver dress streaked with red.

I stared, breath trapped in my lungs. "Did... did that just happen?"

The silence lasted only a heartbeat before the screaming started. High-pitched, panicked shrieks cut through the ballroom as guests stumbled back from the wreckage.

Nathan’s grip on my arm was the only thing keeping me upright. "Don’t look," he ordered, but it was too late.

Fiona’s hand twitched. Just once. A final spasm before going still. Blood pooled beneath her, spreading in a dark halo around her blonde hair. The chandelier’s centerpiece—a wrought iron fleur-de-lis—had impaled her chest with grotesque precision.

"Oh god." My stomach heaved. "Oh god oh god—"

"Breathe." Nathan turned me away, his broad shoulders blocking the view. "Look at me. Just me."

I focused on his dark eyes. The world narrowed to a single point of stability reflected in his gaze.

***|***|***|***|***

FIONA GRAND

Pain. White-hot and searing.

The world tilted sideways. Glass shards glittered around me like shattered stars. Blood filled my mouth. Metallic. Bitter.

Voices swam in and out.

"...is she dead?"

"...call an ambulance..."

Then I saw Vanessa. Nathan. Standing nearby. Watching.

Fury burned through the pain. I tried to move, but my body refused. My vision grayed around the edges, and I felt my heart slowing its beat.

I couldn’t breathe.

Tired. So tired.

I closed my eyes.

***|***|***|***|***

VANESSA BELMONT

The ballroom was chaos.

Screams. Shattered crystal. The stench of spilled champagne and something metallic—blood.

Fiona lay motionless under the wreckage of the chandelier, her silver dress dark with it.

I stared, numb. She’s really dead.

Nathan grabbed my arm. "We need to go. Now."

"But—"

"Now, Vanessa."

We shoved through the panicked crowd. Someone grabbed my elbow. "Miss Belmont! Are you—"

"Fabulous," I snapped, shaking them off.

We slipped through the panicked crowd, past guests clutching pearls and phones, their horrified whispers chasing us.

"Was that—?"

"—just saw her standing there—"

"—like it targeted her—"

Nathan shoved open a service door, pulling me into a dim hallway. The door swung shut behind us, muffling the noise.

The service hallway was eerily quiet after the chaos. Nathan backed me against the wall, his breath warm on my face. "She’s dead."

"You’re sure?"

"I checked her pulse. Nothing." His grip tightened. "Gregory Savage was here. Did you see him?"

I nodded. "But why is he here?"

"Well, someone took out Fiona."

"Your point?"

"My point is—" He caged me against the wall. "If someone killed her, we should probably find out who. And why."

"Isn’t that why we have police and true crime podcasters?" I studied his face--the tension in his jaw, the dark promise in his eyes. "You think someone intentionally sabotaged a chandelier to kill Fiona?"

"I think," he said slowly, "it’s possible someone pushed her forward just in time to get pancaked. And the chandelier shouldn’t have fallen. Those were inspected a couple of weeks ago for structural integrity."

A shadow moved at the end of the hall.

We both tensed.

Gregory Savage stepped into the flickering fluorescent light. His cold gaze locked onto mine.

"You’re welcome."

Nathan stepped forward, blocking me. "What the hell does that mean?"

Gregory smirked. "It means I just saved you both a lot of trouble."

My stomach twisted. "You killed her?"

"Don’t sound so shocked." He adjusted his cufflinks. "You were considering it."

Nathan’s voice dropped to a lethal calm. "We weren’t going to murder her in the middle of a goddamn—"

"No, you were going to bumble around." Gregory’s smile was razor-thin. "I took the shortcut."

I swallowed hard. "Why?"

His gaze flicked to Nathan. "Because Fiona makes Vanessa unhappy."

"So do spiders and bad-hair days," I said. "You can’t kill everything that makes me unhappy."

"I can try."

"I wasn’t in Prague!" I said, frustration gnawing at me. "I didn’t save your life."

Gregory Savage stared at me. "What does Prague have to do with anything? I know you didn’t save my life. What the hell are you talking about?"

"What’s happening here?" I whispered to Nathan. "How come his reason for tracking me down has changed?"

Gregory held up a single keycard. "Penthouse suite. Private elevator. Safe. Wait there and you’ll get some answers."

I didn’t take it. "From who?"

"You’ll see."

I sighed. "How mysterious and dramatic of you. Just like killing someone with a freaking chandelier."

Gregory leaned in. "That chandelier wasn’t me. I just made sure Fiona was under it when it fell."

The words hit like a punch.

Someone else rigged it.

Someone who wanted her dead. Or us. Or maybe it was about disrupting the party before Nathan and I could exchange rings.

Nathan snatched the keycard. "If this is a trap—"

"You’re fucked, aren’t you?" He flashed a toothy grin before vanishing into the shadows.

I turned to Nathan. "We can’t trust him."

"No." His grip on the keycard tightened. "But we can’t stay here."

A distant bang echoed—a door slamming. Voices. Too close.

Nathan pulled me toward the emergency exit. "Move."

We ran.

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