Page 16

I ’m sitting in my childhood bedroom at my parents’ place on the Long Island Sound.

The waves are breaking against the rocky shoreline just a few dozen yards from my window, but I’m not really seeing them.

My palms are pressed together in my lap, the bouquet long since forgotten on the vanity. My reflection in the mirror looks like someone else.

Like a bride in a dream.

I’m wearing white.

Brilliant white at Balor’s insistence.

He wouldn’t hear of anything else, and I have to admit I’m glad.

White looks good on me.

The gown hugs my curves in all the right places, fitted at the waist, with delicate off-shoulder sleeves and tiny pearl buttons down the back.

My hair is twisted in soft waves, crowned with fresh flowers. The makeup artist said I looked “timeless.” I just feel... unreal.

“Are you ready, darling?”

I turn toward the voice.

My mother walks into the room, radiant as always in her signature pale blue.

She’s graceful, calm— like the sky before dawn —and somehow more breathtaking today than I’ve ever seen her.

She crosses the room without hesitation, her hands lifting gently to adjust the flowers pinned into my hair.

“Mom?” My voice cracks around the single word.

Because I’m dazed.

And terrified.

And kind of in awe of everything that’s happened.

I never imagined my wedding day would look like this.

Ever since Daddy barged into Balor’s bedroom three days ago, finding me tangled up in the sheets with the man himself, my entire world has spun off its axis.

There was yelling. Threats. Ultimatums.

Then— out of nowhere —wedding plans.

And I didn’t stop it.

Because Balor didn’t hesitate.

While my father stomped around making demands and hurling insults, Balor just stood there.

Still naked, still calm, still unapologetically claiming me like I was something he sought.

Something he wanted.

Like I wasn’t a mistake.

In three days, I’ve gained a ring, a fortress-level security detail, and a prenup thicker than a Russian novel.

Balor gave my father access to everything— his finances, his assets, his history, his contacts. All of it.

It should have pissed me off.

It should have felt like business.

But it didn’t.

Because he’s doing this. Really doing it.

And now I’m standing on the edge of forever, wondering if it’s real for him— or just a duty he’s accepted because of me.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I whisper. “I don’t even know if he’s marrying me because he wants to or because he feels obligated.”

My mother meets my gaze in the mirror. Her eyes are soft, but wise. Lined with years of watching people fall in and out of love.

“Oh, sweetheart.” She brushes a loose strand of hair back from my cheek. “You don’t let a man like Balor Cruz into your life if you aren’t prepared for the storm he brings with him.”

My throat tightens.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. That man would burn the world down if it meant keeping you safe.”

“But what if it’s not enough?” I ask, voice breaking. “What if it’s just lust? What if he’s just another fan? I’ve had them before, you know. Men who want the Instagram reel, not the woman I am. What if he’s someone who’ll walk away once the danger moves on?”

She crouches a little, bringing our eyes level.

“If he’s not worth taking a chance on, then that’s your answer, sweetheart. Because love? Real love? It’s always a risk, Lucy. And it’s always worth it. You don’t back down from it because you’re afraid of getting hurt. You lean in. You love harder. And you pray he does too.”

She kisses my forehead, her hands framing my face like she’s memorizing me.

“I trust you to know the difference. And I trust him to recognize what he has before he loses it.”

The door bursts open a moment later, a squeal piercing the quiet calm.

“brIDE ALERT!”

Cora.

Followed by Jade and Leanna, their dresses clutched in their arms, makeup half done and grins already breaking across their faces.

“Oh my God, you look like a bridal supermodel!” Cora screams, flinging herself onto the bed beside me.

“She’s not real,” Jade gasps, fanning herself dramatically. “We need a security team for us now. That dress is dangerous.”

Leanna smirks. “Dangerous? Please. She’s the diamond of the season and she damn well knows it.”

They crowd around me, hugging, shrieking, adjusting straps and fluffing the skirt of my gown like it’s sacred.

I can’t help but laugh, the nerves melting into the warmth of the people who know me best.

And really, the gown is fabulous.

It’s all impossibly soft French lace and glittery tulle with a sweetheart neckline that emphasizes my cleavage and makes my waist look smaller than it really is.

My cousins are amazing. Loud, overprotective, emotionally feral— yes —but amazing.

They’ve kept me upright through all of this.

Held my hand. Painted my nails. Sassed the press.

Threatened my father with high heels and champagne flutes when he got too overbearing.

Whatever I needed, they delivered. No questions. No judgments.

They know.

They know how hard this has been for me.

How deep this thing with the stalker goes.

How it’s not just about this time, or this break-in, or this new wave of media attention from a damn music video.

It’s about what happened before.

When I was fifteen, barely out of braces, someone decided I was worth obsessing over.

A man I’d never met.

Never smiled at. Never spoken to.

But he watched me. Followed me.

Left me notes and gifts and little scraps of his delusions like breadcrumbs in my locker and under the windshield wipers of the car my driver used to pick me up from school.

One day, he got close enough to grab me. I don’t remember much. Just the sound of my own scream and the flash of his camera before security tackled him.

My father shut down everything after that.

He pulled me out of school, whisked me away to Europe for six months, and kept me out of sight until the court case was over and the buzz died down.

It sounds like a fantasy, right?

Europe with an unlimited budget and private jets?

It wasn’t. It was a gilded cage.

I was scared. Isolated. Missing my friends, my life, the feeling of normalcy I never truly had but always wanted.

And even though I understood his reasons— my dad loved me —I swore to myself I’d never run again.

Never let someone steal my life from me like that.

But tonight, that old fear is back.

And I can’t help wondering if I’ve broken my promise.

Isn’t that what I’m doing now?

A nasty voice inside me whispers that truth like poison.

That instead of fleeing across an ocean, I’ve run into the arms of a man powerful enough to shield me.

That marrying Balor Cruz— brilliant, brooding, bulletproof Balor —is just another escape.

A prettier cage. A safer fortress.

Maybe he’ll get bored eventually, the voice taunts.

Maybe this will all blow over, and he’ll remember he doesn’t belong with someone like you.

But I shut that voice down. Hard.

Because it isn’t true.

I didn’t marry Balor out of fear.

I didn’t run to him to hide.

I ran to him because I trust him.

Because when I was scared— really scared —I didn’t think of my father or my bodyguards or some underground panic room in the Hamptons.

I thought of him.

I called him.

And he came.

Not just with muscle and menace— but with fire in his eyes and gentleness in his hands.

With a promise.

With protection.

With this deep, unshakable sense of being seen.

Because he doesn’t just want the fantasy of Lucy Volkov.

He wants me.

And God help me, I want him back.

I rest my hand over the glittering diamond on my finger. It’s solid. Real. A weight I can feel every time I move.

I have feelings for him.

For Balor.

My husband.

And maybe this isn’t the kind of fairytale I used to dream about. Maybe it’s not neat or clean or even safe. But it’s mine.

And I’m not running anymore.

“Guys— oh my God, guys —I’m getting married.”

I say it aloud for the first time, and the room erupts again.

And for the first time in three days, I actually start to believe it.

Because maybe he’s not just doing this because of my father.

Or the press.

Or guilt.

Maybe Balor Cruz— the man with mismatched eyes and a hacker’s hands and a haunted soul —really is mine.

And maybe this—maybe we are worth risking everything for.

There’s only one way to find out.