The Devil's Mercy

6. “Where the Game Begins”

My reflection in the mirror was indeed that of a dead bride.

The dress was plain, ending just above my knees. It was likely the only mourning dress I owned. All my other clothes were ornate and flashy—nothing a grieving bride would wear—but even this simple dress didn't look half bad. In fact, I looked quite beautiful. My light makeup made my hazel eyes stand out even more. I had tied my dark brown hair in a simple low bun at the nape of my neck. A hint of tinted balm added just a touch of color to my lips. As I looked at myself, I felt like crying simply because I had to attend a gala looking like this.

“Look at me!” I said, turning to Sarah. She, on the other hand, looked like a princess. Her long, curly chestnut hair was styled simply, yet she looked radiant. She wore a red dress that complemented her tan skin perfectly, with custom-tailored front and back necklines designed to captivate anyone who looked. And that red lipstick... she looked like a doll. “I look like a witch standing next to a princess!”

She burst into laughter. “Thank you for the compliment, and shame on you for insulting yourself!” she teased. “Besides, you can't be glamorous tonight. The dress should have been longer, but this works. We couldn't style your hair either; you're the dead bride, not the bride of the night.”

“Ugh, this is so frustrating!” I groaned, sitting on the bed. She patted my shoulder gently. “I don't want to show up like this. Even if I were in pain, I wouldn't let it show in my appearance. I’d wear something daring just so no one could guess my sorrow!”

“But he told you how to dress,” she reminded me, highlighting my role in the deal. “How about we ditch this dress and sneak out later tonight?” A wide grin spread across my face at her suggestion. “Remind yourself of who you really are. Let everyone think you’re a dead bride, but after midnight, show the world you’re alive!”

“You really know how to fire me up, cousin,” I said, smiling. “After midnight, I’m wearing that midnight-blue dress...” Her eyes sparkled. Ah, I wished I could wear it to the gala.

When we went downstairs, my family froze at the sight of me. They all stared with a mix of confusion and discomfort, while Sarah suppressed a smirk.

“Daughter,” my father said, his voice cautious. “Are you alright?” Sarah let out a snicker, which I promptly silenced by elbowing her in the ribs. She let out a muffled yelp and sat in the corner, pouting.

“This is how a woman whose fiancé was murdered at the altar should look, Father. What would people think otherwise?” I spoke with feigned gravity, though it couldn't be further from the truth. “No matter what, he was the man I was going to marry. I had respect for him.”

“If Kai rose from his grave, he wouldn't believe a word of this,” Derek interjected sharply. I shot him a glare. “You had more respect for Kai’s nephew than you ever had for Kai himself.”

“Don’t speak ill of the dead, Derek!” I snapped. He looked surprised, but there was a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “I won't let people say the Montoya girl was waiting for this day. It would be disrespectful to myself and the man I loved.”

Everyone stared at me in disbelief. LIAR!

“Look at my little sister, the one who used to plot Kai’s demise,” said Leila, Sarah’s older sister and my eldest cousin, arching an eyebrow. “If you were so devastated, why have you been so cheerful for the last three months?”

“I won't lose my respect for you just because you’re my elder,” I replied, dodging the question. Leila caught Derek’s eye. Neither of them bought it; they were going to keep digging. Sarah and I were the troublemakers, while Leila and Derek were the ones who cleaned up after us.

“I don’t want people calling me selfish or heartless. I want them to see me as a loyal, upright woman.” That final sentence seemed to satisfy them enough to drop the subject, even if they remained uneasy.

“She shouldn't come,” Derek told my father, pointing at me. I slapped his hand away, but he didn't care. “She’s been my little sister for years, but this is the first time I’m truly ashamed of her.”

“That hurts, Derek!” I said, crossing my arms.

“I don’t care, Valeria. Not when you look like this.” He turned and walked out, following the rest of the family.

Before I could follow Sarah, Leila stepped in front of us. She gave us a piercing look. “I smell something burning...” she said suggestively. “And I will find out where that fire is coming from.”

“Let me know when you find it,” I quipped, dodging past her with Sarah in tow. We walked away arm-in-arm, feeling the weight of the eyes watching us from behind.

After a nearly hour-long drive, my face was genuinely somber. I didn't even have to act; my appearance radiated an aura of mourning. Seeing how elegant the rest of my family looked made me want to cry again, but I resigned myself to my fate.

This was it... The Empire!

A place where only those deemed worthy by the Imperial Family could enter. And I had been invited by the Emperor himself. I was the guest of honor.

The massive, grand doors swung open to reveal a crowd, their voices filling my ears. Even the staff, dressed in all black, looked more elegant than I did! The sound of clinking glasses made me wish I could turn back.

As we entered, all eyes turned to my family. Leila was on Derek’s arm, while Sarah and I walked side-by-side. As newcomers, we were the targets of many curious stares.

“Shouldn't we welcome the Montoya family, the newest members of our circle?” I heard that familiar voice. He approached us, looking pleased that his guests of honor had arrived. He held a glass of whiskey, and that killer smile of his made my skin crawl once again. The room filled with a chorus of “Welcome.”

“To the Montoyas!” He raised his glass, his eyes drifting toward the Imperial table. I followed his gaze and met the satisfied eyes of a woman sitting there. I didn't know her, but I was certain she was his mother—the one who wanted to witness her revenge. She raised her glass of red wine in a silent toast to her son.

But her son was deceiving her!

He took a sip of whiskey, she took a sip of wine, and everyone followed suit. An Emperor always greets his own guests.

And so, the game began.