Page 1 of Freed By Wrath

1

Valerie

Amber light spills across the gardens of Serena’s Greenbrook estate, gilding manicured hedges, fake silk cobwebs, and rows of carved pumpkins so perfect they look professionally sculpted. Someone curated every detail down to the last flickering candle, polishing until Halloween feels less like a holiday and more like a luxury campaign.

Maybe because it actually is.

Everywhere I look, one word follows me.

Cocktail napkins gleam with it, black velvet banners stretch across with it, and elegant cards tucked between crystal candle holders emboss it. A bottle of the perfume stands at the center of every table, tall and angular, carved from obsidian black glass. Gold lettering catches the candlelight, shimmering like it has a pulse.

Wrath. Her newest fragrance.

Only my cousin would turn a Halloween party into a product launch and name the product after one of the seven deadly sins.

Then again, she couldn’t have picked a better one.

Serena built an empire on perfume. She has an incredible nose and knows exactly how to bottle a feeling. Ironically, this might be the first fragrance that’s ever captured who she really is.

I catch it everywhere. Rich, smoky, with something sharp hiding beneath the sweetness. The scent pulls me back to years of family dinners, holidays, high school, birthdays, and every memory we were forced to share. Somehow, every single one ends the same way.

Serena angry.

Serena yelling.

Serena making herself the center of attention because someone looked at her wrong, said the wrong thing, or simply existed in a way she didn’t approve of.

My mother always says wrath is the deadliest of the seven sins.

If she’s right, my cousin already has a reserved seat in hell.

I pluck a glass of something dark red from a passing tray and bring it to my lips. It tastes like pomegranate with a bitter edge beneath the sweetness.

I let the flavor linger on my mouth as I scan the crowd.

Serena’s guests are exactly what I’d expect. Polished. Effortlessly loud. Every costume looks custom-made, probably costing more than my monthly rent. Some are pretty obvious— A vampire in a perfectly tailored suit, a witch draped in silk, someone wearing a skeleton bodysuit that almost certainly has a designer label stitched into the lining.

But in the end, what matters is that everyone has become something else tonight.

And then there’s me. The same as always, but dressed as a demon. Even if I doubt anyone would guess it.

The costume started as a twenty-dollar thrift store find, forgotten on a rack between a sequined angel and a pirate with a missing sleeve. I spent two evenings taking it apart at my kitchen table, replacing cheap lace with black mesh, hand-stitching the bodice until my fingertips ached, imagining what it could become.

If it had been entirely my choice, there would’ve been leather wrapping around my waist like armor. Crimson satin beneath layers of black tulle. Boots instead of heels. Makeup dark enough to make strangers stare twice. Wings, maybe. Something dramatic.

But Daniel smiled when I showed him the sketches.

It was not… mocking. It was softer than that. Almost indulgent, like he was explaining something I was too naive to understand.

“I just think a woman is most beautiful when she’s wrapped like a present,” he’d said, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Saved for her future husband to unwrap.”

It took me longer than I’d like to admit to understand what he meant, but I ended up cracking it.

He wanted long sleeves instead of bare shoulders. A hem that brushed my knees instead of my thighs. Nothing too tight. Nothing that invited attention. Nothing that belonged to anyone but him.

So here I am, wearing a black dress that hides more than it reveals. Sleeves despite the lingering October warmth trapped beneath hundreds of bodies. Tiny black horns nestled into my copper hair, almost disappearing unless someone looks closely. Winged eyeliner drawn sharper than usual, the only rebellion I allowed myself without asking permission first.

It’s funny.