She turns to face me fully then. The skirt of her gown settles around her like liquid moonlight, her chin lifting just a fraction. Defiant. Controlled. She doesn’t deny it. She doesn’t confirm it either.
She just stands there—composed, lethal.
I move closer, close enough that she has to tilt her head back to look at me, crowding her space without touching her. It takes effort not to. She doesn’t step away.
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” I ask, my breath tight, restrained. “You think I can’t feel it?”
Her eyes stay locked on mine.
“You came back sharper,” I continue. “Colder. Smiling and kissing me like everything is normal. You didn’t walk into this marriage blindly.”
A faint curve touches her lips. Almost a smile. Almost mocking. “You give yourself too much credit.”
Something snaps inside me.
“Then tell me,” I demand. “Why are you here?”
Silence.
She holds it like a weapon, and it hits harder than any answer could have. Because I already know. I’ve known since the chapel. Since the kiss. Since the way she looked at me like she wasn’t afraid of what stood between us.
It’s revenge.
Cold. Calculated. Served by the woman I once thought I’d forgotten—and never actually did.
Her eyes roam my face, then she shakes her head.
“You walked away,” she says softly. “You made your choice years ago.”
I laugh once, bitter, dark. “You think this is about the past?”
“It was your past,” she says, steady. “Not mine.”
I step closer. Our breaths mingle. “You’re lying.”
“Believe what you want.”
I grab her wrist—not painfully, but firm enough to spin her toward me. My hand is fire on her skin.
“Tell me,” I demand, voice low and rough, “are you here to punish me?”
She stares up at me, expression carved from marble. “If I wanted to punish you,” she whispers, “you’d already know.”
The words strike me. Sharp. A warning. A promise. A dare.
Rage and desire collide inside me like a storm.
I pull her closer. She doesn’t resist. She doesn’t yield. She simply stares at me with that infuriating, unshakable calm.
Something inside me shatters.
I crash my mouth against hers. It isn’t gentle. It isn’t careful. It isn’t meant to be sweet. It is years of buried tension detonating in a single collision of anger, hunger, and jagged longing. She tastes of memory, vengeance, and unadulterated fire.
To my shock, she doesn’t pull away. She kisses me back.
There’s no caution in her movements, only equal force. She matches my aggression, challenging me, consuming me. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me deeper with a desperation she no longer bothers to hide. The heavy silk of her wedding gown rustles as I hoist her onto the edge of the dresser.Her legs part instinctively, locking around my hips to pull me flush against her.
Our breaths become a single, tangled wreck. I drag my lips down the column of her throat, reacquainting myself with every pulse point where she once trembled for me. Her nails dig through the fabric of my shoulders, anchoring her to the chaos.
