The fire alarm screamed like a banshee, drowning out Melanie's sobs. Red emergency lights pulsed, casting Oliver's sharp cheekbones in hellish shadows as he grabbed my wrist.
"Move." He shoved me toward the supply closet.
I dug my heels in. "Are you *kidnapping* me now?"
His grip tightened. "Would you rather explain to the fire department why the bride looks like she's about to commit murder?"
A crash came from the suite—Melanie had thrown a champagne flute at Ethan's head.
*Point taken.*
I let Oliver yank me into the closet just as stampeding footsteps filled the hallway. The door clicked shut, plunging us into darkness so thick I could taste it—along with the bergamot and spite radiating off the man pressed against me.
"You're *breathing* too loud," he muttered.
"You're *existing* too loud," I shot back.
A beat of silence. Then, from the hallway:
"—check the closets!" The blonde's shrill voice. *Ethan's mistress.*
Oliver's breath hitched. Without thinking, I clapped a hand over his mouth. His lips were warm. Firm. *Infuriatingly familiar.*
*Three years ago*
*Him, whispering against my skin: "Tell me to stop."*
*Me, idiotically: "Never."*
I jerked my hand away like I'd been burned.
The doorknob rattled.
Oliver moved fast—one arm snaking around my waist, spinning us until my back hit the shelves. A box of napkins tumbled onto my head.
"Really?" I hissed.
"Dramatic enough for you, *planner*?" His knee slotted between my thighs, pinning me in place.
Every nerve in my body short-circuited.
The door flew open.
Light from the hallway framed the blonde's silhouette. I held my breath—until Oliver's head dipped, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear.
"Make a sound," he whispered, "and I'll remind you how good I am at keeping you quiet."
*Oh.*
*Oh no.*
My traitorous body shuddered. The blonde took a step inside.
Then—
"Ma'am!" A security guard's voice. "Evacuation protocol! *Now!*"
The door slammed shut.
Silence.
Oliver didn't move. I could feel his heartbeat where his chest pressed against mine—fast, uneven. *Just like mine.*
"You," I said shakily, "are the worst human being I've ever met."
His laugh was dark. "Liar."
Then his phone lit up between us, illuminating a text from Ethan:
>> **DON'T LET MEL FIND THE PRE-NUP. SHE'LL BURN IT.**
Oliver stiffened.
I snatched the phone. "What the hell is this?"
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "None of your business."
"It *is* when my best friend's future—"
The door burst open again.
Melanie stood there, veil askew, holding a fire extinguisher like a weapon. Her gaze dropped to Oliver's knee between my legs.
"Unbelievable." Her voice trembled. "The venue's on *actual fire*, and you two are—what? Reenacting your *tragic* dating history?"
Oliver stepped back smoothly. "We were looking for a first aid kit. Lila's…" His eyes raked over me. "...overheated."
Melanie threw the extinguisher at his feet. "Fix. Your. Brother."
Then she was gone.
Oliver exhaled. "That could've gone worse."
I kicked the extinguisher toward him. "Tell me about the prenup. *Now.*"
He studied me for a long moment—then smirked. "Make me."
**TO BE CONTINUED...**