A WEEK BEFORE MY WEDDING, MY FIANCÉ PAID A MAN TO ATTACK ME SO HE COULD SECRETLY MARRY ANOTHER WOMAN — WHILE I LAY IN A HOSPITAL BED, I HEARD HIM SAY "AFTER THIS, WHO WOULD EVER WANT HER?"

A WEEK BEFORE MY WEDDING, MY FIANCÉ PAID A MAN TO ATTACK ME SO HE COULD SECRETLY MARRY ANOTHER WOMAN — WHILE I LAY IN A HOSPITAL BED, I HEARD HIM SAY "AFTER THIS, WHO WOULD EVER WANT HER?"

I regained consciousness in a private hospital room at Ashgrove Memorial to the sound of my own fiancé's voice, low and satisfied, speaking to someone I didn't recognize near the door.

"After this," Desmond said, "who would ever want her?"

I kept my eyes closed. My face was heavily bandaged, my skin burning beneath layers of gauze — an attack six days earlier that the police had described, carefully, as a targeted assault involving a corrosive substance, thrown at close range by a man who'd fled before anyone could stop him.

I'd told the detectives I hadn't seen his face. That had been true, at the time.

I did not scream at what I'd just overheard. I lay perfectly still, breathing evenly, and listened.

"You're certain she can't identify anyone?" the second voice asked — a woman's, unfamiliar, careful.

"She was hit from behind. Even if she remembers something, it'll be circumstantial." A pause. "Priscilla, I need you to trust me on the timeline. We move forward exactly as planned."

Priscilla. I filed the name away with a clarity that surprised even me, given the pain radiating through the left side of my face.

They left a few minutes later, Desmond's hand briefly resting on my shoulder — a gesture, I understood now, performed entirely for the benefit of anyone who might walk in, not for me at all.

Once the door closed, I opened my eyes.