Chapter 1 - The Shreds of Paris Silk
he Atlantic gale slammed rain against the tall, arched windows of my Newport bridal suite, the
heavy glass vibrating with a low, menacing rumble. I stood in the center of the dimly lit room,
clutching my silk robe tightly around myself, my gaze frozen on the screen of my phone. Ten seconds
felt like ten years. On the screen was a high-definition photograph of my $18,500 custom wedding
dress—a gown of exquisite Parisian silk, hand-stitched with hundreds of tiny, glowing seed pearls
along the spine—lying completely mangled across Camille’s hotel bed. Beneath the image, my sister
had typed one word: "Oops."
My breath caught in my throat. The bodice had been carved open with heavy shears, the intricate
lace bodice torn in half. The sweeping cathedral train was shredded into thin, pathetic ribbons, and
my delicate tulle veil sat crumpled in the corner of the frame like dead skin. This dress was the only
extravagant, deeply personal thing I had allowed myself after six years of swallowing my family’s
insults, of playing the quiet, supportive daughter while they built their grand socialite narrative on
my back.
Before I could even process the crushing weight of the betrayal, my phone screen flashed with an
incoming call. Mom. I tapped the button and held it to my ear, my voice locked in my throat.
"Elise, before you start," my mother said, her voice already sounding tired and defensive, "your
sister made a terrible mistake. She is absolutely devastated."
"A mistake?" I whispered, my voice incredibly quiet, yet razor-sharp. "Mom, the dress is in
pieces."
"She said she tripped while holding a pair of fabric scissors," my mother snapped, her patience
evaporating. "You know how clumsy and fragile Camille is. She’s been struggling terribly with her
mental health ever since you got engaged to Daniel. Don't be dramatic, Elise. It’s just a dress."
My maid of honor, Nora, stepped out of the bathroom, her eyes widening as she caught the tone
of the conversation. She gestured wildly toward the phone, whispering, "Put it on speaker." I did.
The Silk in Pieces 1
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"Clumsy?" I repeated, looking out the dark window toward the massive reception tent being set
up on the cliffside. "She tripped twelve times? She carved the pearls out. She shredded the train, Mom.
This was deliberate."
"We will find you something simple in the morning," my mother said dismissively. "Honestly, that
Parisian dress was a bit too much anyway. It didn't suit you. Camille is crying in her room right now,
and your father is consoling her. You need to forgive her tonight, Elise. We cannot have family drama
ruining the wedding of the season tomorrow."
A profound, icy stillness settled over my soul. The familiar, suffocating pattern of our family
religion had just reached its absolute breaking point: Camille suffered, so Elise paid. But as I stared at
the dark glass, seeing the glowing lanterns of the Whitmore estate swinging in the storm, I realized I
was done paying. "No," I said softly. "I won't be forgiving her tonight. And I won't be finding a simple
dress." I hung up the phone before she could reply, opened my contacts, and scrolled down to a name
May you like
I had kept hidden for three years: Mercer.
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