Married to My Father’s Killer

I wore white to the wedding, not because I was the bride but because I wanted him to look me in the eye and not see the blood on my hands. The colour made me appear soft and innocent, like someone who had never held a knife between her ribs only to twist it inward and smile. It was a quiet afternoon on the Voss estate. The sun hit the marble courtyard like a spotlight waiting for a scene. Guests sipped champagne under linen canopies. A string quartet played a soft, unfamiliar tune. Everything screamed money and power, as well as a facade of perfection. But I wasn't there to drink, smile, or pretend. I was there to get close to the man who ruined my life. Maxwell Voss. He stood like a statue by the fountain, dressed in a black tailored suit that fit like sin and secrets. He hadn't noticed me yet. His back was to me, but I recognized that frame. Tall and intense, cold like an unending storm. The last time I saw him, I was twenty-two and crying over my father's body. Now, I was twenty-six, still crying, but this time, I hid it better. "Name?" The guard at the entrance tilted his head. "Arielle Jason," I said smoothly, using the identity I built for this moment. He checked the list, nodded, and waved me in. Easy. Too easy. Inside, the air smelled like roses, old money, and something else, guilt, maybe, or lies. I moved carefully, knowing how to act like I belonged. Eyes followed me; men stared, and women judged. I didn't care. "Arielle." A voice behind me made my breath catch. It wasn't him. Not yet. Julian. My fake brother, my real friend —the only person who knew the whole story. He handed me a glass of champagne but whispered, "Camera near the piano. Angle favors the entry hall. Don't let it catch your face." "Noted," I replied without looking at him. We couldn't afford mistakes, not at this point. "Has he seen you yet?" "Not yet." "He will. You look dangerous." I gave a small smile. That was the plan. I circled the edge of the party, studied the faces, and looked for allies, enemies, or anything in between. I noticed a woman across the room—blonde, with cold eyes, wearing a designer dress that screamed money. Alina Kerr. Maxwell's fiancée. The one in the engagement headlines. She looked like the type who always got what she wanted. Except today, she wouldn't. Then it happened. He turned. Maxwell Voss. His eyes landed on me like a crash, like a car accident you see coming but can't stop. For a second, everything froze. Not him, not me. I felt the air squeeze my chest, but I held his stare. And smiled. He blinked slowly, trying to place me. Of course, he didn't recognize me; my hair was longer now, my voice smoother, and my name was different. But something in his eyes narrowed just a little. He walked over. Every step made my heart hammer harder. I reminded myself: This is what I came for. You wanted to look into the eyes of your father's killer and smile. "I don't believe we've met," he said. His voice was deep, rough like gravel and smoke. "Arielle Jason," I said, offering my hand. "Your fiancée and I share a few friends." He took my hand, and I held it a second too long, feeling his thumb brushing my wrist. "Friends," he repeated, as if he didn't believe in them. "And what do you do, Ms. Jason?" "I study strategies—business, politics, behavior. I watch how people move before they make a move." "A chess player." "Something like that." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Enjoy the party," he said. "I already am." He left just like that. I should have felt relieved, but I didn't. Something about that moment stuck with me. It felt like I was the one being played. An hour later, I slipped away from the noise and entered the study. I knew he would have files somewhere, secrets he thought were safe. I looked through the drawers but found nothing of interest. Then the bookshelf. My fingers found a hidden latch. Click. A small compartment opened. Inside was a folder. My breath caught. I opened it. Photos. Surveillance. Of me. Not like Arielle Jason. As Selene Darrow. He knew. The man I came to destroy had known all along who I was. My fingers trembled as I touched the edge of the photo—my graduation day, me with my father. He looked proud, and I looked happy. That version of me was gone. Footsteps. I shoved the folder back, shut the latch, and slipped out the side door. My hands were cold; my mind was racing. He knew. Why hadn't he said anything? Why invite me in? Why would you play along? I didn't have the answers, but I have more questions now and one hard truth: This wasn't going to be as simple as seduce and destroy. Maxwell Voss was watching me. And maybe he wanted me close. I returned to the party, trying to pretend my world hadn't just tilted. I smiled at a stranger's joke and complimented Alina Kerr's necklace. She barely nodded, but her eyes lingered on me a little too long. Like she smelled something off, maybe she did. "Where'd you go?" Julian asked when I passed by again. "To breathe," I said. "This place feels like it's full of ghosts." "More like sharks." "Same thing." Maxwell watched me from the balcony above, drink in hand. He was alone. Alina was gone. And I knew somehow, I knew he wanted me to see him. Standing in the shadows, above it all, like a god looking down on his creation. Or maybe a devil. I turned away. I couldn't let him see that he rattled me. Not yet. Later that night, when most of the guests had left, I slipped out and walked along the gravel path near the edge of the estate gardens. It was quiet, peaceful, almost too calm. Until I heard footsteps behind me. "You left before dessert," he said. Maxwell. I didn't turn. "I didn't come for the food." "Then why did you come?" I turned then and saw his eyes in the dark. "Curiosity." "Curiosity gets people killed." "Only the careless ones." He stepped closer, close enough to see the pulse in his throat. "And are you careless, Arielle Jason?" "No. But I'm not afraid either." He smiled. A real one this time. Not warm, but genuine. "Good. Fear makes people bored." "I don't think you've ever been bored in your life." He tilted his head. "You seem to know a lot about me." "People talk." "And what do they say?" "That you destroy what you can't control. That you have blood on your hands." His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes flickered. "People say many things. Doesn't make them true." "No," I said, stepping past him. "But sometimes, it makes them interesting." I felt him watching me as I walked away. This was the beginning. The game was on. And I wasn't sure who was playing who anymore.