The guests clap politely, smiling at the romantic performance.
But Noah’s eyes stay pinned to mine, unblinking, cold steel under soft light.
“Scarlett and I…” He lets the sentence linger long enough for dread to crawl up my ribs. “…will be finalising our engagement.”
A sharp ringing fills my ears.
The world tilts.
My wine glass rattles on the table.
“And,” he adds, smiling wider, “at the end of this week, she will stand on this very beach and marry me.”
The applause is thunderous.
It feels like a burial.
Noah leans close, voice low, meant only for me and the demons in my chest.
“You heard me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss against my temple like a brand. “By Sunday, you’ll be my wife.”
My lungs clench.
His hand slides down to grip my waist — not lovingly, not protectively.
Possessively.
“And you’ll forget every thought you ever had about your bastard brother.”
The words land like a blow.
My throat closes.
My fingers shake.
Kai’s name detonates behind my ribs.
Noah feels the shudder as if he’s attuned to my pulse.
His lips graze my ear. “Say yes.”
I can’t.
I can’t speak.
My mouth moves but no sound comes out.
He squeezes my waist until pain shoots up my side.
“Scarlett.”
The threat in my name is unmistakable.
I force out a whisper.
“Yes.”
He smiles.
