The Harsher the Truth

SYBIL • KNIGHT Copyright © 2023 Sybil Knight This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means–electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise–without prior written permission. Cover Image: Rights reserved for Sybil Knight Cover Creator: 3Crows Author Services https://linktr.ee/3crows.author.services Editing: Kat Pagan, Lunar Rose Editing Services https://www.lunar-rose-services.com Paperback Formatting: Frankie Page Socials: Email: [email protected] Newsletter: www.sendfox.com/dahliaandsybil Facebook Group: www.facebook.com/groups/dahliaandsybilslittedevils Instagram: www.instragram.com/author.sybil.knight Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/authorsybilknight TikTok: www.tiktok.com/@queensofchaosbooks Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Sybil-Knight/author/B09QW5R3MB Dedication: Dahlia, thanks for letting me use your man. Chicks before dicks. For life. Author Notes: Before proceeding and/or placing judgment on the author or the actions of the characters in this narrative, please keep in mind that each individual responds differently to trauma. How someone copes doesn’t make them any more or any less deserving of empathy. The author asks that you refrain from judging the characters or their actions based on how you would, how you think you would, or how you think they should respond in any given scenario. People are not cookie-cutter and nothing was done thoughtlessly or without proper research and consideration. Trigger Warnings: ⚠⚠⚠ This book is recommended for a mature audience. ⚠⚠⚠ The enclosed content includes triggering situations such as (but not limited to) the following: on-page sexual assault/rape of a main character (not involving the romantic interest), profanity, detailed violence/gore, infertility, mental diseases and disorders, loss of a parent, amputation, motor vehicle accident, alcohol misuse/abuse, off-page accidental death of a pet, threats of violence and murder, kidnapping, physical disabilities, stalking, sexualization of female characters, gender inequality, obsession/possessiveness between romantic leads, criminal actions such as bribery and extortion, and crossing professional boundaries. Blurb: Shut up and look pretty, sweetheart. The instructions were simple.1. Do as you’re told.2. Don’t ask questions.3. And always smile. Men find it more attractive when you smile. Unfortunately, the job description forgot the part about not punching your partner square in the jaw. Guess they should have been more specific? Not that life lessons really mattered to a dead guy. Or the other halfwits looking to clean up his mess. If only the truth had been as easy to bury…But the past, yeah, it had a way of creeping up on you. Especially when you forgot the most important rule:4. Don’t mix business and pleasure. Again. Prologue The crisp, off-white envelope with embossed lettering was tucked inside his jacket pocket, the weight of the contents far heavier than the cardstock itself. It wasn’t wedding crashing. Not when you received an invitation from your ex, regardless of her motives. His eyes scanned his surroundings, faces both familiar and unfamiliar in equal waves while he sat the stranger amongst them. This was it, right? The thought popped in his head as he catalogued the banality of it all. This was what every woman wanted, what every decent man should give her. The flowers, the white dress, the three-tiered cake, the partygoers whispering their compliments and criticisms in the foreground like judgmental gods in the presence of mortals. Yes, this was where the story ended, where the chapter concluded, and the characters lived happily ever after. Or whatever it was they said at the culmination of every fairy tale, as the pages whittled down and the book closed. There was no last-minute plot twist. No “ah-hah” moment. No sudden turn of events that could unexpectedly alter the finality of these words. Because, as if circumstance begot reason, he understood there was no undoing what had been done. What had veered the story. His story. And her story too. So off course. He wasn’t blind to the truth. He knew what their vows signified. Those promises uttered in a breathy whisper as he watched her make them without a hint of duress. Without regret. But mostly, he knew now what he should have known back then. At the beginning. It was inevitable. Because this supposed storybook ending was just that. An ending. With none of the revelry. But then again, that was the irony of his presence. Here. Today. That the conclusion of one narrative was merely the start of another. Staring up at the feminine silhouette, who was now nothing more than an apparition from his past… A reminder of a life that no longer seemed like it was ever his own. A souvenir representing his younger self, a different self altogether. And the catalyst for the series of events which led him to this present moment. Yes, as he watched the figure who was so much more than a bride, it was evident how a man could be utterly oblivious to the delicate changes time inflicts on a woman on a daily basis. How a romanticized memory could replace what someone else saw as their reality. Especially when it stared back at them in the mirror. It wasn’t for lack of consideration—though most women would argue otherwise—but rather, he suddenly realized he would never envision her any other way than how she appeared at this moment, on this day. The image of her, with him, replacing the recollection so ingrained in his mind of their time together. In this instance, though cognizant of the fact that he was just another face in the crowd, words were meaningless and his were utterly lacking. Because, despite everything—and this seemed to irrationally plague him the most—she was not his. Not how he had once considered her… even if only in a memory. She would never be… Not ever again. And not in the way he’d once wanted. He forced a smile, or the closest thing he could muster, something more like a grimace. No, that