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My breathing speeds up instantly, just like it always does.

Except now, my blood isn’t merely burning through my veins.

It’s boiling.

That kind of beauty that steals the air from my lungs, that one person capable of turning every emotion inside me upside down within seconds, that force that can bring me to my knees with a single glance or drag me to the edge of pure ecstasy… all of it is standing right in front of me now.

Wrapped in an unimaginably beautiful wedding dress.

No.

Not a dress.

A fucking weapon.

White lace clings to her body as though it was molded directly onto her skin, delicate sheer fabric covered in oversized flowers that look soft enough to crush beneath my fingertips. The high neckline should make the entire thing look elegant, almost untouchable, but on her, it only makes everything worse.

More dangerous.

More impossible to look away from.

The hem stops high on her thighs, exposing soft bare legs that insistently drag every filthy thought inside my head to the surface. White heels wrap around her ankles, satin ties disappearing behind her legs, and right above the zipper at the back of each shoe sits half of a flower matching the ones scattered across her body, as if someone designed every tiny detail with the sole purpose of ruining me.

But it’s her hair that nearly finishes me off.

That long hair falls freely down her back in smooth, straight waves, longer than the damn dress itself, moving with the ocean breeze like silk poured over her skin. Only the front sections are pinned back loosely, twisted away from her face almost like a crown fashioned from her own hair, leaving her ears exposed.

The light catches the stones in her earrings every time she moves, drawing my attention to the elegant line of her neck, to the pulse beating under her skin, to the woman slowly walking in my direction, looking both like a bride and every single temptation I was never meant to survive.

She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing to me.

Or maybe she does.

Because when her eyes lock onto mine, her steps falter almost imperceptibly.

It’s barely anything. A fraction of a second. A tiny hesitation that no one else would notice.

I do.

And that small reaction alone sends a jolt of fire through my chest.

For a moment, she simply stares at me.

Her eyes widen, her lips parting slightly as if whatever she expected to see when that door opened has vanished, replaced by the reality standing in front of her. The color rises slowly into her cheeks, and I watch her swallow, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her bouquet before she seems to remember how to breathe.

The sight hits me harder than it should.

She’s looking at me like I’m the one who has left her speechless.

I stay exactly where I am without saying a word, letting her take in every detail, waiting for her to cross those final steps between us.

To fit into this suit, I had the cast removed. My entire arm and shoulder are tightly secured in black compression wraps, the elastic material keeping everything firmly supported as I do my best to move it as little as possible.

The doctors were far from thrilled with my idea.

But they didn’t really have a choice.

Neither did I.