The cut was perfectly clean.

Behind me, someone stopped in the doorway.

Daniel.

He looked at the dress.

Then at the floor.

Then at the scissors.

His face went white.

“My mother did this.”

I turned.

“How do you know?”

His eyes dropped toward the scissors.

They belonged to Evelyn Mercer.

Gold handles.

Crystal-covered blades.

Her initials engraved near the hinge.

She used them at charity openings because photographers loved them.

“She threatened to interfere with the wedding,” Daniel said quietly.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Claire—”

“How do you know she did this?”

His jaw tightened.

“She told me she would make sure tomorrow never happened.”

My chest tightened.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I thought she meant she’d call vendors.

Convince relatives not to come.

Maybe threaten the venue.”

I held up the ruined lace.

“She broke into my house, Daniel.”

“I know.”

“She disabled my alarm.”

“I know.”

“She cut something my dead grandmother made for me.”

His eyes closed.

“I know.”

I stared at him.

And for the first time in nearly three years together, I saw something in Daniel Mercer I had never truly noticed before.

Fear.

Not embarrassment.

Not anger.

Not even guilt.

Fear of his mother.

“Call the police,” he said.

I looked around the room.

Then the forensic accountant in me took over.

The mud near the window narrowed into the print of a pointed heel.

Dark red lipstick marked the garment bag.

The alarm panel had not been damaged.

Someone had entered the correct code.

And Evelyn’s scissors were sitting in plain sight.

She hadn’t tried to hide what she’d done.

She wanted credit.

Daniel took out his phone.

“I’m calling now.”

“Not yet.”

He stared at me.

“Claire, she destroyed your wedding dress.”

“I can see that.”

I photographed everything.

The footprints.

The lipstick.

The scissors.

The keypad.

Every cut in the silk.

Then I opened the security-camera app on my phone.

Three weeks earlier, Evelyn had entered the townhouse while I was at work.

She claimed Daniel had given her permission to collect a Mercer family necklace.

Instead, she had opened drawers.

Moved documents.

Gone through my desk.

After that, I installed two hidden motion cameras without telling anyone except the security company.

One faced the bedroom entrance.

The other faced the mannequin.

A notification waited at the top of the screen.

Motion detected: 10:36 p.m.

Daniel moved closer.

I pressed play.

Evelyn appeared.

Burgundy coat.

Pearl earrings.

Hair perfectly arranged.

She placed her handbag on my chair, looked at the gown, and smiled.

Daniel stopped breathing.

Evelyn removed the crystal-handled scissors.

Then she made the first cut.

Straight through my grandmother’s lace.

Daniel stepped backward.

On-screen, Evelyn sliced through the bodice.