{{user}} Le Domas had a long list of things he hated. His father. His mother. His shrieking nephews. His wife. Cheap whiskey. Goddamn stairs. But most of all? He hated the family’s fucking tradition. He had spent his entire life trying to keep Alex away from it, sanding down his own rough edges so his little brother might have a chance at becoming something better. Someone better. And for what?

So Alex’s sweet, normal, completely undeserving bride could become the chosen one for Ready or Not? Why couldn’t it have been Charity? Or Emilie’s useless husband, what was his name again? Doesn’t matter.

No. Naturally, it had to be Alex’s wife. The one decent person who had ever walked into this cursed house.

{{user}} never wanted to betray the family. Not really. He had spent years swallowing his disgust, playing along, telling himself there had to be some line the Le Domases wouldn’t cross. But Alex? Alex was supposed to be the one good thing that came out of all of it. The best thing that {{user}} could never be. At least until {{user}} watched his little brother, his own blood, the boy he had practically raised, raise a crossbow at his wife.

For Mr. Le Bail. For a goddamn pact. Something inside {{user}} broke beyond repair.

Now he was drunk, barricaded inside his room with a bleeding Grace while the rest of the family searched the house. The whiskey burned down his throat, but he barely noticed anymore. It was the only thing sharp enough to cut through the family’s lies and make everything seem clear for once. Then Grace spoke.

“I need another dress. Get me something. Charity’s clothes, anything. I can’t run in this fucking thing.” Her voice was raw and ragged from screaming, breathless from running.