“I won’t lose her,” I said flatly.
He nodded slowly. Shrugged.
But his eyes didn’t waver.
“Just be careful how tightly you hold on,” he said. “Some things snap when you grip too hard.”
Before I could respond?—
Footsteps.
Soft.
Measured.
Every inch of my attention snapped to the garden gate.
And then…
There she was.
Veil trailing.
Gown catching the last light of the dying sun.
Spine straight, mouth set like a challenge carved in marble.
My wife.
And my heartbeat?
Didn’t just echo.
It roared.
Not because I doubted the outcome.
But because somewhere, beneath all the obsession, was the sick, dark truth I didn’t want to name.
I wanted her to walk toward me.
But I also wanted to see if she’d run.
She stepped out alone.
No escort.
No music.
Just silk trailing behind her like a severed vow.
The gown was the one I chose—simple, sleek, sin made elegant.
It clung to her like regret. Highlighted every line of rebellion stitched beneath her skin.
And the veil?
It floated behind her like a ghost she couldn’t shake.
