My sister thought throwing me into her wedding pool would make everyone laugh, but one whispered confession turned her picture-perfect celebration into a nightmare…

The emergency room at St. Jude’s Memorial smelled of antiseptic and industrial floor wax.

They had cut away the sleeve of my bridesmaid dress with trauma shears, replacing the soaked fabric with a scratchy hospital gown. The pain medication they pushed through an IV in my left hand had finally taken the sharpest edge off the agony, leaving behind a dull, throbbing heaviness that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

The orthopedic surgeon on call, Dr. Vance, had just pinned the digital X-rays to the wall monitor.

"The head of the humerus completely tore through the anterior capsule," Dr. Vance explained, pointing to a dark, jagged gap where the bone was supposed to sit snugly in the socket. "The minor tear you had seven weeks ago? It’s gone. It’s obliterated. The force of the shove caused an involuntary muscular spasm while your arm was hyper-extended. You have a full-thickness rotator cuff tear and a Bankart lesion."

I closed my eyes. The tears I had been holding back since the pool terrace finally spilled over my eyelashes. "Does that mean surgery?"

"It means surgery within forty-eight hours," Dr. Vance said gravely. "If we don't anchor those tendons back to the bone immediately, you're looking at permanent loss of mobility in your dominant arm. Who did this to you?"

The question hung in the cold hospital room.

Before I could answer, the door swung open.

My mother marched in, her face pale, her hair coming undone from its elaborate updo. My father followed two steps behind her, looking hollowed out, as if he had aged ten years in the span of ninety minutes.

"The doctor needs to sign a release," Elaine said immediately, not even looking at the monitor or my splinted arm. "We told the guests there was an unexpected medical emergency with the bride’s sister, but that the reception dinner is still being served at six. Marissa, we need you to sign a statement for the venue insurance so they don't hold Paige liable for property damage or pool cleaning."

I looked at my mother. I looked at the diamond earrings catching the sterile fluorescent light. The pearl necklace. The silk dress that cost more than two months of my physical therapy bills.

"Get out," I whispered.

Elaine froze. "Excuse me?"

"I said get out, Mom."

"Marissa Lynn Cole! How dare you speak to me like that after everything we have done for you? Your sister is sitting in the bridal suite having a nervous breakdown! The Mercer family walked out! Ryan’s father told the caterers to pack up the bar! Do you have any idea how much money your little stunt has cost our family?"

"My stunt?" A strange, cold calm washed over me, burning away the lingering fog of the morphine. "Paige shoved me off a five-foot stone ledge into a pool knowing I had a severe injury. She did it intentionally. She laughed while I was drowning in my own dress."

"She didn't know you would land funny!" Elaine shouted.

"She knew," a deep voice said from the doorway.

Ryan Mercer stepped into the room. He had taken off his tuxedo jacket and undone his black bow tie, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms. In his hand, he held a plastic folder containing a printed stack of papers.

Elaine whipped around. "Ryan! Thank God. You need to come back to Willow Creek immediately. Paige is willing to forgive you for leaving if you just apologize and cut the cake with her. We can still do the legal paperwork tomorrow!"

Ryan looked at my mother with an expression of such pure disgust that Elaine actually took a step backward.

"I didn't come here to make up with Paige," Ryan said, holding up the folder. "I came here to deliver this."

"What is that?" my father asked, speaking for the first time.

"It’s the cancellation notice for the Mercer Foundation trust transfer," Ryan said evenly. "My father and I were signing over the commercial lease on Paige’s downtown boutique on Monday as a wedding gift. It’s canceled. Along with the honeymoon in Maui, the lease on the townhouse, and the wedding license."

Elaine gasped, clutching her throat. "You can't do that! That boutique is Paige’s dream!"

"Then she should have thought about her dream before she committed a felony in front of ninety witnesses," Ryan said. He turned to me, his gaze softening completely. "Marissa. The estate manager at Willow Creek pulled the security footage from the terrace cameras."

My breath hitched. "There are cameras?"