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“Is he?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Because from where I’m standing, I’m still being forced into something I didn’t choose. Still being told what’s best for me by a man who thinks he knows better.”

The room falls silent.

“But that’s not really it, is it?” Lydia’s question cuts through my defenses like a knife. “You’re scared because a part of you wants this. Wants him. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here today.”

Because she’s right. Under all my protests, all my resistance, there’s a part of me that remembers how it felt when Zeke held me that first time, how he made me feel cherished, how he made me feel things Ryan never did. How safe I felt. How seen.

And that terrifies me more than anything else.

Because wanting something—someone—means opening yourself up to loss. To pain. To the crushing disappointment of discovering you’re not enough. Again.

The gin burns in my empty stomach as tears threaten to ruin Samantha’s careful work. “I can’t …” My voice breaks. “I can’t go through that again. I won’t survive it.”

Lydia wraps her arms around me, and I lean into her embrace, careful not to smudge my makeup on her dress. The familiar scent of her perfume—vanilla and jasmine—brings back memories of late-night conversations and shared tears over bottles of wine.

“You’re stronger than you think,” she whispers. “And we’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”

Olivia joins our embrace, her slim arms encircling both of us. “She’s right. You’ve got us. And honestly?” She pulls back, fixing me with those knowing eyes. “I’ve seen how Zeke looks at you. That man would move mountains to keep you safe—to make you happy.”

I want to believe her. God, how I want to believe this time will be different. That Zeke won’t look at me with the same disappointment Ryan did when I couldn’t give him children. That he won’t slowly withdraw. That his honor won’t turn to resentment, then contempt.

“What if …” My voice catches. I take another sip of gin to steady it. “What if he changes his mind? What if he realizes I’m not worth all this trouble?”

“Eve.” Olivia’s voice is firm. “That man wants more from you than just to protect you. I believe that from the depths of my soul. Trust in that.”

I stare at myself, barely recognizing the woman staring back. She looks ethereal, otherworldly. Like someone who could stand beside Ezekiel King and not feel out of place. Someone who could be his queen.

But underneath all this careful artistry, I’m still just me. Still broken. Still scared.

And in less than an hour, I’ll be his wife.

The living roomturned ceremony room glows with soft light from crystal chandeliers, casting gentle shadows across cream-colored walls. It’s beautiful in its simplicity—white roses and silver accents, nothing overstated like I’d expected from a man of Zeke’s wealth. The intimate setting only makes this feel more surreal, more personal than I’m ready for.

I grip Lydia’s arm as we pause in the doorway, my head swimming from too many martinis. My friends managed to get me here, but staying upright is becoming its own challenge. The room spins slightly, and I dig my fingers deeper into Lydia’s flesh.

“Easy,” she whispers, steadying me.

There can’t be more than twenty people gathered. I recognize a few faces—Olivia sits near the front, next to Sebastian, Zeke’s brother. Leo bounces excitedly in his chair beside them, looking adorable in his little suit. My chest tightens at the sight of him, so innocent and happy, completely unaware of the circumstances that brought us here.

The rest must be Zeke’s people. His inner circle. The ones who know what really happens behind the sophisticated facade of Club Velvet Petal. My cop instincts kick in even through the gin haze, cataloging faces, noting positions, watching for threats.

My eyes find Zeke at the front of the room. He cuts an imposing figure in his black suit, every inch the powerful man he is. Our gazes lock, and something in his expression makes my breath catch. He looks … hungry. Possessive. Like he wants to devour me whole.

The look sends a wave of heat through my body and straight to my core. I want to simultaneously rush toward him and run in the opposite direction. He still has the same effect on me he had before, and that scares the shit out of me.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper, but Lydia’s grip on my arm is firm.

“Yes, you can,” she says softly. “One foot in front of the other. We’ve got you.”

The room spins as I take one step and then another toward the altar. Lydia’s grip on my arm tightens as the gin threatens to betray me—one false move and I just might face-plant on the floor.

Miraculously, I make it to the altar and the room sways even more. Or maybe I’m the one swaying. Everything feels fuzzy around the edges, like I’m watching it all happen through warped glass. Zeke’s face blurs in and out of focus before me.

A giggle bubbles up from my chest, completely inappropriate for the solemnity of the moment. I try to swallow it back, but it escapes anyway, echoing off the high ceilings. Several heads turn, and I catch Lydia’s worried eyes from where she stands as my maid of honor.

“Are you alright?” Zeke murmurs, his dark eyes studying my face.

Another laugh slips out. “Never better,” I say, too loudly. My words slur. “Just peachy. Getting married. Again. To a near stranger. Who might be a criminal. Totally normal Saturday.”