Maybe I would use it to try to lock up Beryl Crowne for good.
Her eyes blazed. “You have to try. We have to try—”
The door beyond us opened, and we both turned as the four Horsemen came out.
A tattoo.
The Crowne family crest was tattooed bright on Grim’s inner wrist. The Horsemen and the Crownes were now irrevocably tied together.
“Does this make us family now, Rich Girl? Should I call you sis?”’
She worked her jaw.
I didn’t even have a second to contemplate what that meant, or what else Gemma had given up.
Gemma stood off the wall. “Go save my brother.”
Everyone looked to me.
“You don’t have to do this, Story,” Lottie said softly.
“I’m tired of being a pawn,” I said. “I can’t keep being the girl behind the girl. I’ve spent so much time hiding. Hiding my body. My hopes. My dreams. My love.” I paused. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”
Everyone knew my name, and I was hiding more than ever. Hiding under fiction and fantasy.
I took a deep breath and turned the phone’s camera to face me. I’d always been stuck on what happened when the prince chose someone like me. But what happened if I decided I was worth choosing?
Before we faced the final dragon, I had my own to slay.
I would tell the truth.
The ugly.
Raw.
Jagged.
Truth.
Sixty-Nine
Dear world,
You don’t know my name, but you think you know me.
You called me Cinderella.
You called me slut.
You’ve read my letters for months and cheered me on, all the while tearing the real me down.
Do you want to know the real me?
My story started once upon a time when I kissed a boy who didn’t belong to me. I tried to fix what I broke, but fell deeper in love. I promised myself I would be nothing like my mother, who cheated, and stole, and lied, who raised me to do the same. I promised I would be different.
Trying to be better, I was worse.
I’m a cheater.
I’m a liar.
I’m a coward.
I’m a thief.
I stole his happily ever after when I slept with him on his wedding day, then I married a man I didn’t love to run from my fate, a man who raped me, a man I still had feelings for, a man I wanted so badly to be a hero.
Because then maybe that meant I was less of a victim.
I was only given one story, and you wrote the ending before you ever heard my beginning.
But, dear world…
YOU. DON’T. GET. TO. DICTATE. MY. PAIN.
You don’t get to tell me how I have to behave just so I can wear the mantle of victim.
I am a victim.
I was raped.
Even if I went back to him a thousand times.
Even if I fell in love with him a thousand more times.
It still fucking happened.
You don’t get to tell me that because I made a mistake, it makes me less of a victim.
You don’t get to tell me that.
Dear world, I don’t think you’re the villain either.
I think our roles have become corrupted.
It’s too easy to pretend they aren’t.
Wouldn’t it be so much easier if everything was black and white?
If we hated who we were supposed to hate, and loved who we were supposed to love?
But…if I hated who I was supposed to hate, then I never would have loved who I shouldn’t have.
I never would have loved him.
So, dear world.
I am not Cinderella.
I am not a stepsister.
I am not the woman I hoped to be.
I am more.
My name is Storybook Hale, and I won’t fix what I’ve broken. I’m not hiding anymore.
So, world, if you’ve ever been given one story when someone has been given a thousand.
Or if you’ve given a thousand when you should have given just one…
Please help me.
I don’t want to lose everything when I’m so close to having it all.
My happily ever after is held hostage and I need your help.
Seventy
GRAY
Story.
Story.
Story.
I thought I was dreaming when I heard Story’s name being chanted, thought my nightmares were tormenting me. The sun was setting on the night of the Swan Swell, my grandfather’s favorite holiday, and the moment he’d been planning for decades.
The day we’d been waiting for, my revenge nearly complete.
And hollow.
Because the love of my life was dead.
“Your bastard siblings are here,” my grandfather said, coming into my wing.
I didn’t lift my eyes to meet his. “And? Come to gloat about your dynasty some more?”
I stood, going to my grandfather. A rare moment where he was alone with me—he’s never alone with me, maybe he could feel the murder beneath my