The day is bright, the air crisp, and the radiant spring sunlight makes everything feel perfect. As perfect as the church, and as perfect as the groom, meticulously prepared, with just a touch of nervousness that his brother-in-law and best friend had reassured him was normal.
After all, he'd been nervous himself when he married Daphne.
Anthony manages a tight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Everyone knows he doesn't love his future wife, but they've come to accept that one doesn't always marry their soulmate.
There are worse things than marrying a beautiful woman — the first person he's had a stable relationship with in what feels like decades.
So, Anthony Bridgerton waits for his bride at the altar, in a gorgeously decorated church, with fresh flowers and harmonious ribbons meticulously arranged, courtesy of his mother, who's always had an eye for events.
The wedding march begins, played by his sister Francesca, who decided it would be her special gift to him. He's pleased; he's always loved hearing her play, but he knows what this means: it's time. He lifts his gaze.
The woman walking toward him looks angelic, moving with grace in a gown that seems crafted to embody every fantasy of perfection. Anthony knows she is far from perfect, but appearances matter. They will be the most beautiful couple, the most envied, and that's fine with him. If anything happens to him, she'll know how to handle it. She's young but a true shark in business—he couldn't have chosen better.
But when she's only a few steps away, an expression of surprise and pain crosses his face. His left wrist begins to burn, a sudden, searing pain. He doesn't understand, clutching the aching limb, but then, everything fades into blackness.
Anthony wakes in a completely white room. The faint scent of antiseptic and the distant sound of footsteps make it clear where he is: a hospital. He has no idea how much time has passed since everything faded into darkness, but a dull ache persists in his left wrist.
He glances down, finding his wrist bare; his Rolex is gone, showing his soulmate mark, which now seems to stare back at him accusingly. It's still the same, a little acorn with the number 12 inside. And yet, there's something different, a tension as if the pain itself is radiating from that mark.
Struggling to focus, he scans the room and finally finds the button to call for assistance. An orderly arrives quickly, followed by the doctor, who explains that they're running tests and that his family is waiting outside, eager to see him.
The first to enter is his mother, followed by Cressida, his fiancée. Her hair is styled exactly as it was at the wedding, suggesting it's only been a few hours—just enough time to change and handle the disruption of the ceremony. The wedding is likely canceled.
Strangely, though, Anthony isn't worried. His mind is fixed on one thought, on one person he suddenly feels an overwhelming need to see. "Where is Penelope?" he asks, his voice rough.
His mother's face shifts into an expression of confusion. "Penelope?" she repeats, trying to understand his request.
Cressida, too, looks surprised. "Why do you need her?" she asks, a hint of irritation in her tone.
"I need to speak with her," Anthony replies without hesitation.
Both women exchange puzzled glances, but neither protests. After a brief pause, Cressida nods and steps out to make arrangements to bring in his assistant, while his mother sits beside him, likely assuming he wants to discuss some important matter, perhaps something to do with the delay caused by the postponed wedding.
But the truth is different. It's an acorn… but on a different wrist.
"My Rolex?" he asks suddenly, his voice betraying a hint of urgency.
His mother sighs, her tone gentle. "Darling, you should rest. Don't worry about a watch."
"It was Dad's, you know…" he says, his voice softer, and his mother's expression softens at the memory.
But that isn't why he wants it. When Penelope arrives, he doesn't want her to see the mark. He wants to keep it hidden, to keep her from knowing. Though part of him suspects she might already know. Maybe she's known all along, long before he ever realized it.
As he waits for Cressida to return with Penelope, Anthony lets his thoughts drift back to the first day she entered his life. She had arrived impeccable, with an impressive resume, but what truly made him hesitate before hiring her was the acorn on her right wrist, a mirror image of his own.
In that moment, Anthony understood. He was standing before his soulmate, the one who was meant to be by his side. He made the decision then to keep her close, even though he would never reveal who he was to her. He would protect her, but never let her know the truth.
It was also the moment he began looking for a wife. Within weeks, he started courting Cressida, and after six months, they began planning their wedding. It was supposed to be the event of the year, if not the century. And yet, here he was, fainting, and finding it strange that it was taking so long for his assistant to arrive.
Finally, the door opened. It was just his mother, who had stepped out to give some news to his siblings. "Have you seen Cressida? Why is she taking so long?"
His mother gently took his hands in hers, and a cold shiver ran through him.
Had something happened to Penelope?
Penelope had to be okay.
He started hyperventilating as panic overwhelmed him, and everything went black. Again.
When Anthony woke up again, it was dark. He decided not to alert anyone. The pain in his wrist had subsided, which he took as a good sign. But something had happened to Penelope, and though he didn't yet know for certain, he felt deep down that it was his fault.
His wedding.
Did Penelope know they were soulmates?
He had never told her, assuming she didn't know. But…
What if she knew?
He continued staring out into the darkness, lost in these thoughts, until a restless sleep finally overtook him.
The next morning, Anthony asked for Penelope again, surprising his brother Benedict, who had expected him to ask for Cressida.
"Is she your lover?" Benedict asked bluntly.
Anthony shook his head, his voice firm. "No. Penelope has never been my lover."
But he must have revealed something in his face, a slip of emotion he hadn't meant to show, because when he met Benedict's gaze, he saw the flicker of realization there. Somehow, the secret he'd guarded for months no longer felt hidden. Benedict gave him a long, assessing look before standing up.
"All right," Benedict said quietly, a touch of understanding in his tone. "I'll find some answers for you." He laid a hand on Anthony's shoulder, urging, "But for now, rest."
With that, Benedict left, leaving Anthony alone with the tangled thoughts he could no longer ignore.
Benedict returned after what felt like an eternity, though it had probably been less than half an hour. "Stay calm," he said, though his expression suggested he knew how impossible that would be.
Anthony tried, forcing himself to hold back the panic rising within him. Another attack would only waste precious time. So he braced himself, listening with barely concealed horror as Benedict recounted what had happened.
"Penelope... your" the pause was short "Penelope... she almost didn't make it, Anthony." Benedict's voice was steady but edged with something raw, something that made Anthony's blood run cold. "She tried to take her own life. She—she cut her right wrist." He paused, seeming to hesitate before adding, "The wrist with her soulmate mark."
He knew it now
The words hit Anthony like a blow, and he gripped the edge of the bed, feeling himself shake.
"But she's alive," Benedict continued quickly. "Her brother-in-law was in town for a conference. By some miracle, he found her—he's the one who called emergency services and dressed the wound temporarily to stop the bleeding."
Anthony's heart twisted painfully. She had been so close to dying, and he'd never even known she was suffering.
The reality of it crashed over him, leaving Anthony reeling. All this time, he'd thought he could protect her by staying away, by keeping his distance. But he'd been wrong—terribly, heartbreakingly wrong.
Anthony was finally discharged from the hospital, but only after undergoing a psychiatric evaluation. His collapse had been attributed to a panic attack, and though he was now feeling better, the specialist's approval for his discharge came with one condition: he had to meet with a soulmate expert.
Anthony hadn't been thrilled. Even though he wanted to know how Penelope was, he hadn't changed his mind about not pursuing a relationship with her.
But after speaking with the expert—and after signing several NDAs—he learned something unsettling about "mirror marks," a rare type of soulmate bond. With mirror marks, one partner feels the effects whenever their soulmate breaks vows of fidelity, regardless of whether they've met.
This revelation troubled Anthony for two reasons.
First, ever since his father's death, he had essentially lived the life of a playboy, rarely going more than a few days without some kind of sexual encounter. He had only slowed down after starting to date Cressida, not wanting to betray the woman he intended to marry.
The second reason was even more disturbing: he hadn't felt anything until Penelope's attempted suicide. As it turns out, feeling the approach of death was another side effect of mirror marks.
Memories of his father's death—holding him as he passed, hearing his mother's agonized scream from inside the house—came flooding back.
He recalled the sharp, unbearable pain he'd felt in the church just before fainting.
Now he knew what it was.
And Penelope had been feeling something like that every night for the past twelve years.
It was unfathomable.