Page 57 of Endgame

“That’s right. So for the love of God, shut up,” I hiss.

And then, right on cue, the “Wedding March” starts.

Aurora steps into view.

She’s in a lace bridal gown with a subtle overskirt. A sweetheart neckline. A corset. Delicate straps. The dress hugs the soft curves of her body like it was sewn onto her skin.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck,fuck.

She wasn’t supposed to pull it off like this, to be this mesmerizing. But she does. Even in the most understated gown my stylist could find.

Yes, I ordered her a designer dress. If I’d chosen something cheap, people would talk. They’d think I lost my fortune. These sharks can smell blood in the water from a mile away.

I didn’t want her to feel special though. The dress itself was supposed to be minimal. Unremarkable. At least that’s how it looked in the photos my stylist sent.

But now? Now it looks nothing close to understated.

Aurora stands out brighter than she ever has. The longer I watch her, the more I realize she could never fade into the background.

And her hair…soft, loose. Motherfucker, it’s perfect. She left it exactly how I styled it. Didn’t change a thing.

My teeth clench. Anger pulses through me.

I still don’t understand why I felt the urge to learn how to do her hair this morning.

Why I went through with it.

Why I softened during that call with her parents.

Ugh, fuck me. That’s a lie.

I do understand.

It wasn’t pity.

It was a need.

A need to touch her. Fuck with her.

Ruin her.

I’ve acted on these needs and gotten what I wanted. That sadness in her gaze is evident. Her slow steps tell me exactly how she feels about this wedding.

She’s wrecked, her dad too. He scowls and huffs all the way down the aisle.

“Last chance,” Stafford insists.

They approach us, and I’ve never wanted anything more than this. Than my revenge.

“Respectfully, Stafford, fuck you.”

When they’re six feet away, my eye catches something that has me seeing red. Winston holds Aurora’s arm too tight. He could be hurting her.

Aurora doesn’t flinch. Her face isn’t contorted in pain. It’s the marks on her skin that gives Winston away. Her arm is darker around where his fingers bruise her.

She’s going to be mine. I’m the only one allowed to do that. The only one who’s earned the right.