That Don's Long Awaited Bride

Scarlett froze for a second before a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. "Me? But he's your fiancé."

"It's fine. I don't mind. He probably doesn't either."

A taut silence descended on the room, thick with unspoken tension.

The gentle warmth in Julian's eyes had vanished, replaced by shame and then a flicker of warning—of impatience.

"Elara," he hissed, "I didn't bring you here to make a fool out of me."

A lump of ice formed in my throat, my heart constricting as if caught in a vise.

In the past, whenever I'd blundered at these gatherings, he would gently defuse the situation. Later, when I’d ask if I’d embarrassed him, he'd just smile, a fond look in his eyes, and tell me I never had to feel insecure with him around.

But that promise, it seemed, didn't apply when his one true love was in the room.

I said nothing.

Probably finding my silence boring, Scarlett started clamoring for a drinking game. When Julian lost a round, my hand moved instinctively to take his glass.

Scarlett's voice was a purr. "Julian, it's my first day back. Indulge me, won't you? Drink the rest of my glass."

She swirled the whiskey in her hand, a bold red lipstick print staining the rim.

Julian never touched cheap whiskey—said it gave him headaches. I always drank for him, feeling a pang of protectiveness.

I never expected him to press my hand down, his gaze cold. "I'll do it."

"But you..."

The next second, he tilted his head back and drained his own glass. Then he reached for Scarlett's, his throat working as he knocked it back, his lips deliberately pressing against her lipstick stain.

"If it's from Scarlett, I'd drink poison."

The emotion churning in his eyes was raw and overwhelming.

My fingernails dug into my palms. "So this is what he's like when he truly loves someone," I thought, a bitter laugh rising in my chest. He'd give up his life for her.

As the atmosphere grew rowdier, someone suddenly held up their phone with a gasp.

"Whoa, isn't that the elusive Don Moretti? Scarlett, when did you get so chummy with him?"

A candid photo glowed on the screen. On the steps of a private jet, she was blushing, sharing an intimate moment with a devastatingly handsome man who was smiling down at her.

I froze. The man in the picture was breathtaking, radiating power. Three years ago, he had leveled that same scrutinizing gaze at me. Back then, I had felt nothing but terror and had escaped right under his nose.

And tomorrow, I was going to walk right back to him.