It makes my throat tighten.
This is the opposite of everything I ever imagined.
I always wanted a statement wedding. Music. Laughter. Light spilling through open windows. My father standing beside me, steady and proud, holding my arm as he walked me down the aisle toward a man who was smiling—who loved me. A man whose eyes held warmth and love, not calculation.
Instead, my father is missing.
And the man waiting at the altar is a demon wearing human skin.
A man who despised my father long before he ever looked at me. A man who won’t be waiting with vows and devotion, but with a cage disguised as protection. With resentment sharpened into possession.
My chest tightens until it hurts.
I want to scream. I want to run.
I spin toward the window and shove at it. It doesn’t budge. Not an inch. I try again, harder, panic lending strength to my arms—but the glass might as well be part of the wall.
“No,” I whisper.
I rush to the door and yank it open. More likeattempt, because it doesn’t budge as well. It’s locked from the outside.
Something inside me fractures.
I scream—raw and furious—and stomp my foot against the floor like a child having a tantrum, like rage might crack marble and steel if I push hard enough.
Nothing happens.
Of course, nothing happens.
The mansion swallows my voice whole.
This isn’t real.
It can’t be.
But the dress is still there. Waiting.
And no matter how hard I fight it, this nightmare isn’t ending.
I hear the soft click of the door unlocking, and I freeze, heart slamming violently against my ribs. For one wild, irrational second, I hope it’s not him.
Ever since he told me we’re getting married this evening, I haven’t seen Konstantin. And I’m painfully, desperately grateful for that. If I never see him again for the rest of my life, it’ll still be too soon.
The door swings open.
Two Rusnak guards step inside, broad shoulders filling the doorway. My breath catches—until I see who they’re ushering in between them.
Honey-blonde hair.
Brown eyes already glassy with tears.
That familiar soft, loving expression I’ve known for years.
“Ellie.”
The word breaks out of me like a sob.
She says my name at the same time, and then we’re moving—colliding—clutching each other so tightly it almost hurts. I bury my face in her shoulder and cry like I haven’t cried since I was a child, my body shaking as if it finally understands how close I came to vanishing completely.