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Every second? A countdown.

The music starts. Something soft, classical, elegant.

Something orchestral and slow and probably chosen by Lucy’s mother.

I have no fucking idea what it is.

And honestly, I barely hear it.

Because all I can think is—she’s coming.

Connor nudges me, smirking like an asshole in his tailored tux.

“You’re in for it now,” he whispers under his breath.

I don’t look at him. I can’t.

My eyes are locked on the top of the aisle.

“Yeah,” I murmur, chest pounding like it’s about to shatter. “I know.”

And I do.

I know exactly what I’m in for.

Because I’m already gone for her.

Head over heels. Soul-deep.

Completely, irrevocably hers.

The woman the world sees as an heiress, an influencer, a flawless diamond forged by wealth and legacy—she’s so much more than that.

She’s the girl who eats ice cream for dinner.

Who sings operas when she thinks no one’s listening—I heard her when she showered alone before leaving with her father the other day, and goddamn, I was floored.

Who called me when she was scared—me, not her father, not the cops.

And now she’s walking toward me.

Decked out in pure white.

Backlit by sunlight streaming through the stained glass.

Her hair catching the light.

Those blue eyes like fire and ice and everything I’ve ever wanted.

My hands clench at my sides, trying to stay steady.

Because I know what she thinks.

She thinks this wedding is a show.

A reaction.

A duty I stepped into like a contract.