"In a few hours," I say, my voice rough as I unbuckle my belt, "everyone in that room is going to know you belong to me."
"They already know," she breathes, her fingers fisting tighter in my shirt.
"Not like they will." I shove my pants down, freeing myself. I’m hard. Aching. "Tonight, they’ll see you’re not just my wife. You’re my queen. And you’re carrying my heir."
My cock is in her before my next breath.
She cries out as she arches into the unforgiving press of the marble. It’s not gentle. It’s not romantic. It’s a fucking claiming. It’s the eve of battle, and I’m branding my territory.
I set a brutal, punishing rhythm, my hips slamming against hers. My hand tangles in her hair, pulling her head back so I can watch her face. Her eyes are blown wide, dark with a mix of lust and shock.
"You feel that?" I snarl, driving deeper. "That’s me, inside you, where no one else will ever be again."
"Gabriel," she sobs, her nails digging into my shoulders.
"Tonight," I pant, leaning in to bite the soft skin of her neck, "when Ryder looks at you, I want him to see this. I want him toknow that while he was trying to break you, I was putting you back together, piece by fucking piece."
She comes undone around me, her internal muscles clenching on my cock, squeezing me with a series of violent spasms. The raw, animal sound she makes pushes me over the edge.
With a final, guttural groan, I empty myself into her, pouring every ounce of my rage, my obsession, my victory into her body.
We stay like that, tangled together on the counter, chests heaving, until our heartbeats slow. I press my forehead to hers, breathing in the scent of her, of us.
And then I kiss her.
The restof the day is a blur of preparation.
Blair disappears upstairs to begin the long process of transforming herself into a goddess of vengeance. I retreat to my office again, going over what I want to say one last time.
The house is filled with a tense, charged anticipation.
It’s Christmas Eve.
In a few hours, the gala begins.
In a few hours, Ryder's world ends.
I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the knot of my black tie. The suit is custom and perfect, new for the occasion.
The man in the mirror is someone I recognize. He’s the man who clawed his way out of the gutter with his bare hands. The man who built an empire from nothing but sheer, bloody-minded will.
Tonight, he’s the man who will cut the dead weight from his legacy without a flicker of hesitation.
Because tonight, everyone in Emerald Hills will finally learn what it means to threaten what belongs to Gabriel Hollis.
I don’t even haveto hold my breath for the dress to fit perfectly.
If I inhale, the zipper doesn’t dig into my ribs this time. It fits like it was hand sewn to my body specifically for the purpose of ruining my ex-boyfriend’s life.
I stare at myself in the floor-length mirror of the master bedroom, and for a second, I actually look behind me to see who I’m staring at. Because it sure as hell isn’t the girl who used to count pennies in the grocery aisle or hide in bathroom stalls while rich girls made fun of her.
That girl is gone. Or at least, she’s buried deep enough under layers of white silk and a newfound confidence that she isn’t shaking right now.
The dress is my armor tonight. It has to be. Harper called it a wedding dress, but let’s be real—it’s so much more than that. The white silk plunges deep enough in the front to give the pearl-clutching matrons of the country club a stroke, and it’s split high enough on the thigh that there’s no question I’m not wearing anything underneath.
Well, not wearing other than Gabriel’s cum still sticky on my thighs.
"Okay," I whisper to the empty room. "Don't trip. Don't vomit. And definitely don't let them see you sweat."
