Page 192

“Seriously, you have the kind of body women dream about.”

“Yeah, you’re incredibly beautiful, Selene.”

I’ve never been ashamed of my body. My appearance has never bothered me, and I know how to dress in a way that flatters my figure.

But I’m not a model. I could never be one.

Still, there’s something unexpectedly emotional about standing in front of these women and having them look at me with genuine admiration, complimenting me without a hint of hesitation. Their words settle into my soul, warming a part of me I didn’t realize needed reassurance.

“Thank you, girls,” I reply, suddenly a little emotional. My voice threatens to betray me, so I clear my throat and offer them a small smile. “But let’s stop before my makeup gets ruined.”

Their laughter fills the room.

With gentle, practiced movements, they unzip the dress and help me step into it, carefully guiding the layers of fabric around my body. The material brushes over my skin, soft and delicate, and for a moment, I’m too aware of every little detail—the weight of the gown, the fitted bodice settling into place, the way the skirt gently embraces my thighs.

Then they step back.

“Okay,” one of them murmurs.

I turn to the mirror.

And everything inside me goes quiet.

I can only stare at the woman looking back at me.

But it isn’t the way I look that steals my breath.

It’s what I feel.

My throat tightens.

I lift one hand, fingertips brushing the delicate fabric at my waist as though touching it might make the moment more real. A strange ache blooms in my chest, soft and tender, carrying every hope I’ve ever had about what that day might look like.

And it is far more overwhelming than the dress itself.

I wonder if I could keep it afterward.

Just in case…

SIXTY-FIVE

Zayn

I’m alone on a massive pier, surrounded by wedding arrangements.

The waves crash softly under the wooden platform, and the salty breeze carries the scent of the sea mingled with the fragrance of white flowers scattered everywhere around me. Transparent arches covered in roses and orchids stand on both sides of the pier, loose petals swaying lazily in the wind. Farther out, the warm afternoon light glimmers softly on the water, and the cliff surrounding the bay makes the entire place look like something torn straight from an absurdly perfect fairytale.

And I’m dressed like I’m about to get married.

The ivory suit fits me perfectly, the jacket hanging open over a slightly unbuttoned shirt, the tailored pants falling flawlessly along my legs, the brown dress shoes completing the outfit with understated elegance.

I’m dressed like a husband-to-be.

One of the bodyguards signals for me to pay attention, and from the right, I see the door Selene disappeared behind almost two hours ago slowly open.

She sent me three texts asking if I was okay, asking if we were really sure we had to go through with this madness. I answered as briefly as I could.

First, a few photographers and cameramen step out, followed by the woman organizing the event, and then finally… her.