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S he’s in my house.

In my kitchen.

Still in her wedding dress, standing there like something out of a fever dream—and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve her, but I’m not questioning it.

Not tonight.

I’ve got her now.

And maybe I said too much.

Maybe I let her see too far behind the curtain.

How crazy she makes me.

How deep this obsession runs.

How much I need to own every piece of her.

But I don’t care.

Because she’s here.

Because she said I do .

Because she’s mine now, in name, in law— and by the end of the night, she’ll be mine in every other way that matters.

Lucy Volkov— no, it’s Cruz, now.

My bride.

My goddamn heartbeat.

The rest of the world’s been worshipping her from afar. Drooling over pictures, writing songs, clicking likes like that means something.

They’ve got nothing on what I feel.

They don’t know how she bites her lip when she’s nervous, how her voice gets raspy when she’s tired, how she hums under her breath when she’s thinking— like her thoughts are made of music.

She doesn’t realize it yet. But she will.

I’m in this for good.

This isn’t a game or a fling or some PR disaster control. This is real.

She makes parts of me feel alive that I didn’t even know were dead. Places I’d long buried under scars and silence and code.

And tonight?

Tonight I’m claiming her.

I’m stripping her down—and I am starting with her wedding dress.

“Turn around,” I rumble, eager to do this right.

“O-okay,” she whispers, eyes blazing like blue fire.

She obeys.

And my soul sings.

I reach for the zipper, and I pull. Slowly.

The sound is loud, echoing through the kitchen. But so is our combined breathing.

She wants this. I know she does.

Her entire body trembles as I free her from the lovely white lace and tulle confection.

“Fucking beautiful,” I murmur, tracing one finger down her spine, adoring every inch of her smooth, porcelain skin.

She shivers—not from cold, but from awareness. From me .

The gown slides off her like silk from marble, revealing inch after inch of smooth, flawless skin that practically glows in the golden light filtering through the windows.

There’s nothing beneath it. No lace. No silk. Just her.

Just my wife.

My throat tightens.

My pulse pounds like a war drum in my chest.

I’ve seen pictures of her, dreamed of her more times than I’ll ever admit, and even had her in my bed not even a week ago—but nothing prepared me for this moment. For the goddamn profundity of touching her with intent knowing she’s mine.

Lucy turns her head, and her expression? It wrecks me.

Raw. Vulnerable. Mine.

Desire coils hot and fast in my gut.

My cock is already hard, painfully so, but it’s more than physical now.

This isn’t just want—it’s necessity.

The kind that cuts deep.

The kind that marks you forever.

My cock starts dripping precum inside my boxers.

I growl, in a hurry now to get her naked for me.

Not just nude.

I want her bare right down to her soul.

I want every sigh, every truth, every shadow she’s afraid to show the world.

I’ll take it all.

Because she’s not just my wife.

She’s my purpose. My salvation.

I drop to my knees, the world narrowing to just her—my hands, her body, the electric space between us.

I slide my hands down her curves, taking my time, memorizing every inch as I push the fabric all the way to her bare feet.

“Step out,” I murmur, voice rough.

She obeys without a word, and something in my chest twists hard.

Then she turns.

And if jaws really could hit the ground, mine would be buried six feet deep.

She is radiant.

Divine.

Every part of her bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the windows behind her.

The tide crashes against the sand just beyond the villa, the ocean whispering its own song.

A coquí chirps nearby, a quiet hymn in the island dark.

And still, it’s her that makes the world stop.

My wife. Looking at me like I hung the stars. Like maybe— just maybe —I deserve to be loved.

I can’t speak.

I can barely breathe.

“Tell me what you want, Angel,” I manage, voice thick with reverence. “I’ll give you anything. Anything you want.”

She takes one step forward, eyes shimmering with something too big to name.

“I just want you, Balor.”

And I swear— everything inside me shatters .

Because she could’ve asked for the world.

Instead, she asked for me.