Reba’s POV


    As we walked toward Golden Sands Bay and the upscale seafront restaurant that sat at its edge, passersby began to notice me in my wedding dress. People pulled out phones to take pictures, whispering to each other. Good. The more witnesses, the better.


    “Table for two, please,” Sofia told the hostess at the restaurant. “My friend is getting married at Golden Sands this afternoon, but she’s still got an empty stomach. We’d like to enjoy ate brunch.”


    The hostess beamed at me. “Congrattions! Let me get you a table with a view. It’s a beautiful day for a beach wedding.”


    “Thank you,” I managed a weak smile.


    Sofia discreetly slipped the hostess something–money or instructions, I wasn’t sure–and we were seated at a prime table on the terrace overlooking the beach where, in three hours, I was supposed to be William’s wife.


    “Would the bride like a celebratory drink?” our server asked cheerfully. “Our Sea Goddess cocktail is perfect for beach weddings.”


    “That sounds lovely,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice.


    When the server left, I leaned toward Sofia. “Ironic name, considering I’m about to have a ‘mishap‘ by the sea.”


    Sofia squeezed my hand. “Are you ready? Remember, you need to make it natural but dramatic


    enough for people to remember.”


    I nodded, taking a deep breath. The blue cocktail arrived, garnished with an orchid and a delicate sugar rim. Sofia casually dropped something into it when the server turned away, then nodded at <ol><li>me. </li></ol>


    I took a long sip, tasting nothing unusual beneath the coconut and blue cura?ao vors. Whatever Sofia had added was tasteless.


    We maintained light conversation for about ten minutes, long enough for the substance to take effect. I began to feel lightheaded, but in a controlled way–just as Sofia had described.


    It was time.


    I stood gracefully, letting the ss slip from my fingers. It shattered on the terrace floor, drawing the attention of nearby diners.


    “I feel… not right… something’s wrong,” I said, my voice loud enough to be heard at adjacent tables but not so loud as to seem performative.


    I swayed on my feet, making my way toward the railing as if seeking fresh air. My face had gone pale naturally—a side effect of whatever Sofia had given me–and cold sweat beaded on my forehead.


    “Reba! Are you okay?” Sofia called out, her voice pitching higher with convincing rm.


    I turned to look at her, allowing my eyes to unfocus, then rolled them back dramatically. My body pitched backward, a genuine cry of fear escaping my lips as I fell. The white wedding dress billowed around me like sea foam in the sunlight.


    I hit the ground hard–harder than I’d intended—and my body began to convulse unnaturally. Foam appeared at the corners of my mouth, another effect of Sofia’s concoction, and the restaurant


    erupted in screams and chaos.


    “Someone help!” Sofia shrieked. “Please call an ambnce!”


    Through slitted eyes, I could see dozens of phones recording the scene. A few people who identified themselves as medical professionals rushed forward to help, and I surrendered to the drug’s effects, letting myself fall unconscious.


    Thest thing I heard was Sofia’s panicked voice: “She’s supposed to be getting married today! Oh God, please help her!”


    Then darkness took me, and I slipped away from William Moretti’s grasp—at least for now.


    The time I woke, voices pulled me from the depths of drug–induced sleep. I kept my eyes closed, instinctively sensing I should listen before announcing my consciousness.


    “Is there any news about the incident?” William’s voice, tight with anger. “Who poisoned her food? Have they found anything?”


    “The hotel manager checked the surveince footage and all ingredients,” Sofia replied, her tone cautious. “Everything seemed normal. They think someone might have been jealous of Reba and wanted to poison her.”


    7:54 Sat, Sep 20


    There was a pause, and I could almost feel William’s tension from across the room.


    (90)


    “Fuck,” he finally said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “This is just fucking perfect timing. Let the hotel know they don’t need to investigate further. It was probably just an ident.”


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