Chapter 1 A Brother's Omen
# Chapter 1: A Brother's Omen
The call came at 3:17 PM on a Tuesday. I remember because I had just finished reviewing the final details for my wedding invitations—ivory cardstock with gold foil lettering, announcing the union of Maren Elizabeth Reed and Gideon James Blackwood. My phone vibrated against the marble countertop, displaying an unknown number.
"Ms. Reed?" The voice was clinical, detached in the way only hospital staff can manage. "This is Memorial General. Your brother, Emmett Reed, has been in a serious car accident."
The world tilted on its axis. I don't recall the drive to the hospital, only fragments: running three red lights, abandoning my car in what was definitely not a parking space, the antiseptic smell hitting me as I burst through the emergency room doors.
"Where is he?" I demanded at the nurses' station, my voice unrecognizable. "Emmett Reed—where is he?"
They directed me to a trauma room where doctors were working frantically. Through the small window in the door, I caught glimpses of my baby brother—his face obscured by an oxygen mask, his brown hair matted with blood, his chest rising and falling with mechanical assistance.
"Ms. Reed." A doctor approached me, his scrubs splattered with crimson. "We're doing everything we can, but your brother's injuries are catastrophic. The impact was severe—"
"Let me see him," I interrupted. "Please."
When they finally allowed me in, Emmett's eyes fluttered open as I approached his bedside. Recognition sparked in his gaze—those same hazel eyes we'd both inherited from our mother.
"Mar..." His voice was barely audible beneath the oxygen mask. I leaned closer, my tears falling onto the thin hospital sheet. "Listen..."
"Shh, don't try to talk. You're going to be fine," I lied, the words bitter on my tongue.
His hand clutched mine with surprising strength. "No... listen." He pulled the mask aside despite the nurse's protests. "Don't... marry him. Gideon... he's your... greatest danger."
"Emmett, what are you saying?" I whispered, confused.
"Promise me..." Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. "Don't marry... him."
The monitors began their frantic beeping as his grip weakened. Medical staff rushed in, pushing me aside, shouting terms I couldn't process. Twenty-seven minutes later, my brother was pronounced dead.
---
The funeral passed in a blur. I stood beside the grave, numb as they lowered the casket into the ground. Gideon's arm was around my shoulders, solid and warm—my anchor in the storm. His face was a perfect mask of grief and support, his designer black suit impeccable against the gray October sky.
"He loved you so much," Gideon murmured as we walked back to the car. "I know how close you two were."
I nodded, unable to speak. Emmett's last words echoed in my head: "Don't marry him." But how could my sweet, sometimes paranoid brother be right about Gideon? My fiancé had been nothing but supportive throughout our two-year relationship—attentive, generous, ambitious. The perfect match for my own drive and determination.
"The wedding," I said suddenly, stopping on the gravel path. "We should postpone."
Gideon's expression flickered for just a moment before settling into understanding. "Of course, darling. Whatever you need. But remember what we always said—life is for the living."
That night, I found myself sitting on my apartment floor, surrounded by photos of Emmett and me—childhood beach trips, his college graduation, the night he met Gideon for the first time. In that last photo, I noticed something I hadn't before: while Emmett smiled for the camera, his eyes were wary, assessing the man beside me.
My phone chimed with a text from Talia, my closest friend since college: "How are you holding up? Need company?"
I typed back: "I'm fine. Just tired."
A lie. I was drowning in questions. What did Emmett know? Was it just the painkillers and trauma talking? Or was there something about Gideon I couldn't—or wouldn't—see?
---
Three weeks after the funeral, wedding preparations resumed. Gideon insisted it would help me move forward. "Emmett would want you to be happy," he said, kissing my forehead as we met with the caterer.
Perhaps he was right. The accident report had been straightforward: wet roads, a sharp turn, no guardrail. Tragic but simple. Yet something kept nagging at me—a shadow I couldn't quite define.
The night before our rehearsal dinner, Gideon's company held a charity gala. I stood beside him in a black evening gown, smiling as photographers captured the power couple: the brilliant architect and the successful tech entrepreneur. His hand rested possessively on the small of my back as we mingled with Boston's elite.
"You're quiet tonight," he observed as we clinked champagne glasses.
"Just thinking about Emmett," I admitted. "He should be here for all this."
Gideon's expression softened. "I miss him too. He was like a brother to me already."
Later that evening, I excused myself to the powder room. As I was returning, I overheard Gideon speaking with Cameron Westfield, his chief financial officer—a sleek, calculating man I'd never warmed to.
"She's still upset about her brother," Gideon was saying, his voice lower than usual. "We need to handle this carefully."
"The timing is unfortunate," Cameron replied. "But everything else is proceeding as planned."
"It has to. There's too much at stake now."
I stepped forward, and both men turned with practiced smiles. "There's my beautiful bride," Gideon said smoothly, extending his hand to me. "Cameron and I were just discussing wedding jitters."
I smiled back, the expression not reaching my eyes. "Is that all?"
"What else would it be?" Gideon laughed, but something cold slithered down my spine.
---
The rehearsal dinner was elegant—crystal and candlelight, soft music and champagne flowing freely. I moved through it mechanically, accepting congratulations and well-wishes. Talia watched me carefully from across the room, her dark eyes concerned.
"You look like you're at a funeral, not a wedding," she whispered when she finally caught me alone. "What's going on?"
I hesitated. "Did you ever think Emmett didn't like Gideon?"
Talia's pause was a fraction too long. "Why do you ask?"
"Something Emmett said... before he died."
Her expression changed subtly. "Like what?"
Before I could answer, Gideon appeared, sliding his arm around my waist. "Time for toasts, darling. Everyone's waiting."
The night progressed with speeches and laughter. Gideon's best man recounted their Harvard days, while Talia delivered a touching tribute to our friendship and my future happiness. When Gideon stood to speak, the room fell silent.
"When I met Maren three years ago, I knew she was extraordinary," he began, his voice rich with emotion. "Brilliant, beautiful, and fiercely loyal—especially to her brother."
My heart stuttered at the mention of Emmett.
"Emmett and I shared one fundamental truth—we both wanted what was best for Maren." Gideon's eyes found mine across the table. "His loss leaves an immeasurable hole in all our lives, but especially in yours, my love."
Murmurs of sympathy rippled through the room. I forced a smile, even as unease settled in my stomach.
As the evening wound down, Gideon clinked his glass for a final toast. The room quieted once more.
"Tomorrow, I marry the woman of my dreams," he said, raising his glass. "To new beginnings and happily ever after."
Everyone stood, glasses raised. But as I looked at my future husband, bathed in golden light and adoration, Emmett's warning pounded in my ears.
Then it happened—the moment that shattered everything.
Gideon leaned close to me, his lips brushing my ear, voice pitched for me alone but just loud enough that those nearby could hear: "Your brother should have died long ago. Tomorrow, it all becomes mine."
The glass slipped from my fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor. Silence fell as every head turned toward us. Gideon's face was a mask of concern, his hand steadying me.
"Darling, are you alright?" he asked, voice full of worry. "You've gone pale."
I stared at him, searching his perfect features for any trace of the monster who had just spoken. Had I imagined it? The faces around us showed only confusion and sympathy.
"I—I need some air," I managed, pulling away from him.
As I stumbled toward the terrace doors, I caught Talia's expression—not confusion, but grim confirmation. She'd heard him too.
My wedding was less than twenty-four hours away, and I was suddenly certain of only one thing: my dead brother had been right all along.
