Dean. No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
But Lizzie’s expression was unwavering, solid and resolute.
I found myself gasping for breath, the air thick and suffocating.
Thoughts swirled chaotically in my mind, the ringing in my ears growing louder as vertigo threatened to consume me.
I can’t believe he’d still marry her after everything she did.
Lizzie tilted her head, studying me with narrowed eyes, a hint of realization dawning on her. “You know what? I think I understand what’s happening here. You probably banged your head against the headboard last night and scrambled your brain. Totally understandable. I once did it with this guy and-“
And just like that, the reality of my world began to unravel.
I interrupted her abruptly, my voice a jagged edge. “Dean is still marrying Chloe?” The words escaped my lips, trembling and raw, as if each syllable was a shard of glass.
“Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he? Is something wrong?” she replied, her tone innocent, yet it struck me with the force of a dagger. She was blissfully unaware of the tangled web of betrayal, deceit, and the unspoken agreement that existed between Dean, Chloe, and me.
I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth, fighting against the surge of emotion that threatened to break free. A sob clawed its way up my throat, desperate to escape, but somehow I summoned the strength to craft a brittle smile. “You’re right. I’m just… rambling. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Thanks, Lizzie.”
Before she could respond, I slammed the door shut behind me, leaning against it as if it were my only anchor in a storm. My chest heaved violently, my lungs feeling as if they were ablaze, as though I had just sprinted a marathon. I exhaled a shuddering breath that left me feeling both light-headed and hollow.
“He’s still going through with the wedding,” I murmured to the empty space around me, clutching my chest as if I could physically hold the pain at bay. “Is he out of his mind? Obsessed? Under some kind of spell? What in the world is happening?”
“Well, damn. Hate to say this, but…”
I jumped at the unexpected voice, spinning around to find Roman standing there, a towel draped casually around his hips, droplets of water clinging to his skin and tousled hair. His dark eyes sparkled with a mix of pity and a smug satisfaction that made my blood boil.
“…I told you so.”
His words sliced through the air like a razor, inflicting a fresh wound on my already shattered heart.
He sauntered across the room with an unsettling nonchalance, as if he hadn’t just obliterated the fragile remnants of my hopes. “Dean would accept anything as long as she’s the one offering it. Didn’t I warn you about that?”
I felt an overwhelming urge to scream, to claw at the truth until it bared itself before me in all its grotesque clarity. Instead, I tugged at my hair in frustration, jagged breaths escaping my lips. “How can he be so foolish?”
Roman didn’t flinch at my outburst; it was as if he had grown accustomed to my emotional eruptions. “He’s in love. Besides…” He picked up his phone from the bedside table, scrolling through it as if we were merely discussing the weather. “He told me at the rehearsal dinner that he only got close to you to get closer to blondie. It’s like he’s been programmed to love her, no matter what she does.”
The room tilted dangerously, my knees feeling weak beneath me. A knot twisted in my stomach so tightly that I feared I might be sick.
Everything. Everything that had existed between Dean and me… had it all been a lie? The joyful moments, the tearful ones, the passionate exchanges-were they all just a facade?
So when I cried, when I pleaded, when I poured pieces of my soul into him that I could never reclaim, his gaze had always been fixed on her. Chloe. My sister.
A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat, a hysterical sound that lodged there, choking me, never able to escape.
“Sav,” Roman’s voice cut through the tumult in my mind, a sharp reminder of reality. “You need to get ready. You’re her maid of honor.”
I whipped my head around to face him, anger flaring like a wildfire. “Whose side are you on, Roman? You’re supposed to be on my side. Why do you even want this wedding to happen? What do you care?” My voice cracked, the shrillness of it grating against my own ears.
His gaze locked onto mine, unwavering and intense. “Yes, I want the wedding to happen. And do you want to know why?” He stepped closer, his presence enveloping me, heavy and suffocating. “Because once this farce is over, you can finally stop pining after that weasel. And I can have you. All to myself. Is that enough of an answer for you?”
The air between us thickened, pulsing with unspoken tension, heavy with implications.
I was rendered speechless, my thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm. His words echoed within me, dangerous and possessive, like a chain tightening around my heart.
Roman leaned in, his expression darkening. “Now…” His voice dropped to a low, commanding growl. “I’m giving you sixty seconds to walk into that bathroom and prepare for your sister’s wedding.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of his stare pressing down on me, a challenge laced with a promise of consequences.
“…Or else.”
An hour had slipped by, and there I stood, transfixed before the full-length mirror, confronted by the reflection of a stranger.
The emerald green dress clung to my form with an almost possessive grip, accentuating my curves in a way that felt both alluring and intimidating. The daring neckline seemed to challenge gravity itself, daring it to humiliate me before the wedding even had a chance to begin. My face was a canvas of glamor, painted to perfection. The makeup was flawless, my lashes long and fluttery, and my lips were a bold shade of red that screamed confidence. Yet, as I scrutinized my appearance, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I looked different-too polished, too meticulously arranged.
This wasn’t me.
I nervously tugged at the neckline, my mind racing with thoughts of potential nip slips, when suddenly, I caught a whiff of it-his scent. That sharp, intoxicating cologne that always seemed to announce his presence before his touch ever could. Just then, his strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me back against the solid warmth of his body. I could feel his nose buried in my hair, his breath a gentle breeze against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
“You look absolutely breathtaking, my love,” Roman murmured, his voice a low rumble as he spun me around to face him.
A rush of conflicting emotions surged through me, and my fists clenched at my sides. Memories of everything he had done this morning flooded back-his threats to get me ready, the fervent insistence that this wedding would happen, the countless betrayals that had left me reeling. Yet, here he stood, gazing into my eyes as if I were the most exquisite creation to ever grace the earth.
It was maddening. I felt an overwhelming urge to scream, to stab him with the very stiletto I wore, or perhaps both.
So, I opted for the next best thing. I lifted my silver stiletto and brought it down hard on his foot, the satisfying thud echoing in the tension-filled room.
I anticipated a curse, a wince, or at least a sign of discomfort. But instead, a deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
“You’re one vindictive woman, Sav.”
“And you’re an asshole!” I hissed, shoving against his chest with all the force I could muster, but he remained unyielding, a rock against my frustration.
“That’s fair,” he replied, a grin spreading across his face, completely unfazed by my outburst.
Turning my back to him, I returned my gaze to the mirror, determined not to give him the satisfaction of my attention. “I’m really mad at you, Roman.”
“I know.” His voice softened, wrapping around me like silk, dangerously gentle as he pressed closer, molding his body to mine. It became impossible to ignore the undeniable heat radiating from him, pressing insistently against me.
“You’re distracting me,” I protested, my voice faltering into a breathy whimper rather than a firm complaint. Because, dear God, I could feel him-every ridge, every line, branding me with his presence. My body was betraying my fury; it craved him.
“That’s the plan,” he whispered, his teeth grazing my earlobe with a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of fire coursing through my core.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.