I didn't sleep.
Not really.
I drifted in and out of dreams that felt like memories I hadn't lived yet — Dominic's hand on my waist, cameras flashing, lips brushing mine under a veil. And then silence. Always silence.
The kind that comes after you do something you can't undo.
I was marrying him tomorrow.
Dominic Blackwell.
My enemy, my captor, my obsession.
The man I couldn't stop thinking about… and couldn't fully trust.
The staff brought breakfast to the suite around ten. Champagne. Papaya slices shaped like roses. Freshly baked croissants.
I ignored it all.
Instead, I walked barefoot onto the penthouse balcony, wrapping a silk robe around my body as the wind lifted my hair off my neck. Below, the city buzzed — people going about their lives, clueless that high above them, a storm was brewing behind tinted glass.
My phone buzzed on the table beside me.
DOMINIC:
You're quiet today.
DOMINIC:
Thinking about tomorrow?
DOMINIC:
Or about last night?
I didn't respond.
I needed space. And I knew better than to ask him for it — men like Dominic didn't give things. They took them. Or claimed them.
I was supposed to be getting ready — manicures, final fittings, a pre-wedding dinner later tonight. But instead, I curled up on the lounger and let myself feel everything I hadn't had time to.
Fear.
Excitement.
Lust.
Regret.
Power.
A knock came at the suite door just after noon. I assumed it was Colette with another pair of diamond earrings or lingerie that could barely be called clothing.
I was wrong.
It was him.
Dominic Blackwell stood in the doorway in all black — button-down shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled, jaw tense.
"You weren't answering," he said coolly.
"So you came up," I said, folding my arms.
He stepped inside without permission, like always. Like this was his space, and I was just something on display in it.
But I wasn't some mannequin.
Not anymore.
He walked past the breakfast table and stopped beside the mirrored console. "Tomorrow's the big day," he said, fingers brushing a crystal vase.
"Thanks for the reminder."
"I know you're nervous," he said, turning to face me. "But you don't have to be."
"You think I'm scared of a wedding?" I said, lifting my chin.
He stepped closer.
"I think you're scared of what it means."
I didn't move. "And what does it mean to you?"
He stared at me — that deep, unreadable gaze that made my skin prickle.
"It means I get to call you mine," he said. "Publicly. Permanently."
His words sent a dangerous thrill through me. My breath hitched before I could stop it.
"And what do I get?" I asked, voice soft but steady.
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he walked toward me — slow, controlled — until he stood inches from where I sat. His hand came down beside me on the lounger, trapping me between the sky and his scent.
"You get everything," he said. "Security. Power. My name. My empire."
I held his gaze. "And your heart?"
A pause.
The air between us charged.
"That," he said, "has always been the hardest part of me to give."
And yet… something in his voice cracked.
Something that sounded almost like truth.
Later, after he left, I stared at the closed door for a long time.
He hadn't kissed me.
He hadn't touched me.
But somehow… he'd undressed me anyway. Pulled layers back with his words and left me exposed in ways no hands ever could.
And I hated that I was wondering what it would feel like to take that part of him he guarded so closely. The one no one else had ever been able to keep.
The wedding was tomorrow.
And I had a secret stitched into silk waiting to shock every soul in that room.
Let them gasp. Let them whisper.
Because when I walked down that aisle…
I wouldn't be the girl Dominic Blackwell bought.
I'd be the woman who made him kneel.