“Especially on a wedding morning.”
Something passed through his eyes.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Recognition, perhaps, that I was not behaving as expected.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“I hope Mara is composed. Young women can become emotional before marriage.”
My fingers curled once, then relaxed.
“Some men mistake fear for emotion.”
Victor’s smile remained.
“How poetic.”
“How temporary.”
His gaze sharpened.
Before he could answer, the wedding planner rushed between us, whispering about timing, flowers, music, photographers.
The ceremony was to begin in fifteen minutes.
Perfect.
I left Victor standing by the altar and went to Mara.
She was in the bridal suite, surrounded by women who mistook terror for nerves.
My mother stood near the window, twisting a handkerchief.
Lila hovered beside Mara like a guard dog in blush satin.
Mara sat before the vanity in her wedding gown.
Her makeup was flawless.
Her eyes were empty.
When she saw me, she stood so quickly the stylist dropped a comb.
“Everyone out,” I said.
The room froze.
My mother blinked. “Selene—”
“Please.”
Something in my voice convinced them.
One by one, they left.
Only Mara and I remained.
The door clicked shut.
She crossed the room and collapsed against me.
I held her carefully, mindful of her back.
“It’s happening?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“It will.”
“What if Victor hurts Mom and Dad before anyone stops him?”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
I pulled back and looked at her.
“Yes, I do.”
She searched my face, desperate to believe me.
I reached into my bag and removed a thin folder.
Inside were copies of the emergency filings Nia had submitted before sunrise.
“The debt he claimed to control is frozen pending investigation,” I said. “He cannot call it in. He cannot enforce it. He cannot touch the company without exposing himself further.”
Mara stared at the pages.
Her lips parted.
“Mom and Dad?”
“Safe.”
Her shoulders shook.
For the first time since the boutique, she cried without trying to hide it.
I let her.
Then she whispered, “I still have to walk down the aisle?”
“No,” I said.
She looked up.
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“But you said we wouldn’t cancel it.”
“We won’t.”
I adjusted her veil gently.
“We are going to let him arrive at the ending he prepared for you.”
A strange calm settled over her.
Not peace.
Not yet.
But something stronger than fear.
Resolve.
The music began outside.
Soft strings.
A murmur moved through the cathedral.
Mara looked toward the door.
My father would be waiting on the other side, proud and unsuspecting, ready to walk his youngest daughter toward a man who had already harmed her.
The thought nearly broke something in me.
Mara saw it.
She took my hand.
“Don’t hate yourself for not knowing.”
I looked at her.
“I should have known.”
“I hid it.”
“I should have seen through that.”
“You’re not God, Selene.”
No.
But for one day, I was willing to play something close.
There was a knock.
“Five minutes,” the planner called.
I tucked the folder back into my bag.
Then I lifted Mara’s veil over her face.
She looked impossibly young beneath it.
“Listen to me,” I said. “When the doors open, walk slowly. Keep your head up. Do not look at Elian unless you want to. And when things happen, stay behind Dad.”
Her eyes widened.
“What things?”
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated.
One message from Rook.
In position.
I showed it to her.
She swallowed.
Then she nodded.
We stepped out.
My father stood in the hallway wearing a charcoal suit and an expression so tender it nearly undid me.
“There’s my girl,” he said, voice thick.
