The White Dress Rule Chapter 03

The White Dress Rule Chapter 03

The divorce papers were drawn up by my new lawyer, Alexander King. He flew in from London with a smile and a briefcase full of case law.

“Angelica,” he said, “we’re going to make him pay.”

But Michael struck first.

I woke to the smell of grease and distant screams. I opened my eyes and found myself strapped into a seat on a drop tower. The world felt tilted.

My stomach lurched. I’d been afraid of heights since I was a child. Michael knew.

He stood below. Lily was tucked against his side, her face pressed to his chest.

A small speaker by my ear carried his calm voice, “You’re afraid of heights, Angel. You’re afraid of losing control.”

The tower groaned as it rose slowly. “Lily is afraid of water. Now you know how she feels.”

“Michael, don’t,” I said, my voice trembling.

“It’s just a lesson,” he repeated the words I’d said by the pool. “A reminder. She’s under my protection. Remember that.”

The voice cut out. He turned and led Lily toward the exit. But she glanced back at me, and smiled.

Her eyes flicked to the side of my seat, to the carabiner. I looked. The surface was covered in deep saw marks, nearly cut all the way through.

My scream was swallowed by the wind. My body felt weightless, spinning through the air. I clung to the harness, but a moment later, it gave way completely.

“Angelica, we are never getting divorced.” Michael’s voice from years ago echoed through the chaos.

He had rescued me from an arranged marriage. He had fought his own family and promised me a different life.

I had believed him. I had given up everything for him. The Rossi name. My own inheritance. For what?

Michael, if I die, will you cry for me? Or will you feel relieved?

A violent jolt snapped my head back. The world spun for a moment, then steadied. I was dangling in midair, swaying, but the fall had stopped.

The harness cut into my shoulders. I looked up, blinking against the blinding sun. A helicopter hovered above, its downdraft whipping my hair.

A figure was rappelling down toward me. Alexander.

He reached me, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “I’ve got you, Angel. I’ve got you.”

His voice was steady, an anchor in the storm. He clipped me into his own harness. “Hold on. Don’t look down.”

We were winched up into the helicopter. As soon as I was inside, my legs gave out.

Alexander caught me and lowered me to the floor. His hands were shaking as he checked me over.

“Jesus, Angelica. Your phone’s tracker went dark. I followed the signal to you… what the hell did that bastard do to you?”

I couldn’t speak. He wrapped a blanket around me and held me until the shaking stopped. His pilot flew the helicopter away from the amusement park, the city spreading out below.

My phone, recovered from the crash site, buzzed on the seat. A social media notification. Michael had updated his profile.

It was a beautiful photo. Michael in a tuxedo at a charity gala, handsome and charismatic. And on his arm was Lily, wearing a flowing, pure white silk gown beneath the crystal chandeliers.

He had captioned the photo: [My one and only pure white lily.]

“Get me out of this city, Alex,” I said, my voice raw. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

He looked at the photo, then at my face, his jaw tight. “What about the hit and run? And what happened today? That was attempted murder.”

“Handle it through your people. But I… I have to leave.”

He nodded, something bitter in his eyes. “Okay. Let’s go.”

—

Three days later, at a private airfield, I looked back at the city. At the lake where the Moretti estate stood. That house had never really been mine.

“One last thing before I go,” I told Alexander. “A farewell gift for Michael.”

“What do you need?”

“Make me disappear. Make him believe I’m dead.”