**Chapter 7: The Wedding**

The corset bites.

Tight. Unforgiving. A velvet leash around my ribs.

I stand in front of the gilded mirror, fingers trembling as I smooth the lace at my throat. My dress is a masterpiece of white silk and pearl buttons. A fairy tale. A cage.

My chest rises. Falls.

My pulse hammers against my collarbone like a trapped bird.

It’s supposed to feel like happiness.

It doesn’t.

It feels like surrender.

Like I’m walking willingly into a life that doesn’t have him in it.

Declan.

The name tastes like smoke and salt on my tongue. I swallow it down. I always do.

My maid of honor knocks twice. “Five minutes, Riley. Breathe.”

I force a smile. “I am breathing.”

I’m not. Not really.

Every inhale is a battle. Every exhale is a prayer I don’t believe in anymore.

The past three months have been a blur of cake tastings, linen napkin swatches, and polite smiles. A blur of my fiancé’s steady hands and predictable warmth. A man who loves me. A man who will never look at me like he’s ready to burn the world down just to keep me warm.

A man who will never wake me at 3 a.m. with his mouth on my neck, his calloused hands gripping my hips, his voice rough as gravel as he begs me to take every inch of him.

Declan.

My brother’s best friend.

My oldest sin.

My only truth.

I close my eyes. The memory hits like a physical blow. The guest house. The rain. His sweat-slicked chest. The way he pinned me against the doorframe, one hand in my hair, the other gripping my thigh, lifting me until I wrapped around him. The way I shattered. The way he called my name like a vow.

I open my eyes. My reflection stares back. Pale. Wide-eyed. Drowning in white.

I turn away.

Footsteps echo down the hallway.

Heavy. Measured. Familiar.

My breath stops.

The door handle turns.

I don’t have time to scream. I don’t have time to think.

The door swings open.

And there he is.

Declan.

Dressed in a tailored black suit that costs more than my first car. White shirt unbuttoned at the throat. Tie loose. Jaw shadowed with rough stubble. His dark hair slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it for hours.

His eyes lock onto mine.

And the air leaves the room.

He doesn’t look surprised. He looks hungry.

He looks like he walked straight through fire to get here.

“Riley.”

My name falls from his lips like a curse. Like a confession. Like a promise.

I can’t speak. My throat closes. My hands shake so violently I have to grip the vanity to stay upright.

He closes the door behind him. The click of the latch is deafening.

He crosses the room in three long strides. The space between us vanishes. His presence is a wall. A storm. A gravity well I’ve been orbiting since I was nineteen and he first told me I was his.

He reaches out. His knuckles brush my cheek. The roughness of his skin sends a jolt straight down my spine.

“You’re wearing white,” he murmurs. His voice is low. Rough. Shaped by smoke and suppressed rage. “I’m going to ruin it.”

“Declan, stop,” I whisper. But I lean into his touch. I always do.

He grips my chin. Forces me to look at him. His eyes are dark pools. Swirling with something dangerous. Something raw.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I do.

“Tell me to leave. Tell me you want him. Tell me this is what you want.”

I should say it. I should push him away. I should run to the altar and marry the safe man and pretend my heart doesn’t scream his name every time I close my eyes.

But I can’t.

My chest heaves. My lips tremble.

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” I admit. The words taste like truth. Like blood.

Declan’s jaw clenches. A muscle feathers along his cheekbone. His hand slides from my chin to my neck. His thumb presses against my frantic pulse.

“You know,” he says. His voice drops. Dangerous. Possessive. “You’ve always known. Since the first night. Since I put my mouth on you in the rain. Since you came apart for me like you were made to.”

I shiver. The memory floods me. The wet grass. His bare chest. His hands everywhere. The way he made me beg. The way he owned me.

His gaze drops to my mouth. Then lower. To the lace at my throat. To the swell of my breasts pressing against the silk.

His breath hitches. Just once.

“I’ve been hard since I walked in here,” he rasps. “All day. All night. Every time I imagined you standing under those lights. Wearing that dress. Letting him touch you. Letting him call you his.”

His hand slides down. Over my collarbone. Rests on my breast. Squeezes through the fabric.

I gasp. My back hits the vanity. The glass rattles.

“Declan, someone will come,” I choke out.

He doesn’t care.

He leans in. His mouth brushes my ear. His voice is a dark whisper.

“Let them.”

He kisses me.

It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s a collision. A claiming. His lips crash against mine, hard and desperate, tasting like mint and violence. His hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back. The other slides around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

I melt. I break. I surrender.

My hands fly to his chest. Feel the hard planes beneath his dress shirt. The heat of him. The tension. The sheer, unapologetic weight of him.

He groans against my mouth. Deep. Animal. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding, taking, owning. I kiss him back like I’m drowning. Like he’s the only air I’ve ever breathed.

His hand slides down. Over my ribs. My hips. Rests on my thigh.

He lifts me.

I wrap my legs around him instinctively. The corset groans. The pearls click together. I don’t care. I never care.

He carries me backward. Away from the mirror. Away from the wedding. Toward the heavy oak door in the corner of the bridal suite. The one that leads to the old side chapel. The one that’s been locked for years.

He finds the key on the maid’s tray. Tries it.

It turns.

He pushes the door open. Pulls me inside.

Shuts it.

Darkness. Dust. Stained glass casting fractured light across the floor. A small altar. Two wooden chairs. The smell of old wax and forgotten prayers.

He doesn’t let me breathe.

He pins me against the nearest wall. His mouth devouring mine. His hands tearing at my dress.

Buttons pop. Lace tears. Silk pools at my waist.

I’m half-naked. Exposed. Trembling.

He stares at me like I’m a religion.

“Fuck,” he curses. His voice raw. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

His hands roam. Under the bodice. Over my bare skin. His thumbs brush my nipples. They harden instantly. He notices. He smiles. Dark. Satisfied.

He kneels.

Before I can stop him. Before I can speak.

His mouth is on my stomach. Hot. Wet. Devouring. He hikes my dress up. Past my hips. Past my thighs.

My cunt is already wet. Soaked. Aching. He knows it. He’s always known it.

He looks up at me. Eyes black with need.

“Let me,” he whispers.

I nod. I can’t speak.

His tongue drags up my center. Slow. Deliberate. I arch. A broken sound escapes me.

He sucks. Deep. Hard. My fingers claw at his shoulders. His stubble scrapes my skin. It burns. It feels like heaven.

“Declan, please,” I beg. “I can’t—”

He hums. The vibration shatters me.

He thrusts his tongue up my cunt. Fast. Rhythmic. His hand slides between my legs. Two fingers. Three. Stretches me. Coats them in my slick.

I’m dripping. Soaking his suit pants. I don’t care. I never care.

He pulls back just enough to watch me.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Dripping for me. In your wedding dress. Ready to break for me.”

He thrusts his fingers deeper. Curling them. Hitting that spot. I cry out. My back hits the wall. My thighs shake.

He sucks my clit. Hard. Rough. His tongue swirls. My hips buck. I’m grinding against his hand.

“Cum for me,” he commands. “Right now. Let me feel you break.”

I do.

It’s instant. Violent. My body locks. My toes curl. I scream his name into his shoulder. I shake. I tremble. I drip. I fall apart.

He doesn’t stop. He rides me through it. Licks me clean. Swallows every drop.

When I finally come down, I’m gasping. Shaking. Ruined.

He stands. Wipes his mouth. His eyes are blazing.

He lifts me again. Sets me on the altar.

I wrap my legs around his waist. He pushes my dress up. Kicks off his shoes. Unzips his pants.

His cock is thick. Heavy. Veined. Already leaking.

He lines himself up. The head of his dick presses against my wet slit. I sob. I always sob when he enters me. It’s too much. It’s never enough.

He thrusts in.

All the way.

I cry out. My nails dig into his back. He’s so deep. Stretched. Filling me completely. Claiming me completely.

He stops. Lets me adjust. Lets me feel every inch.

“Tell me to stop,” he grits out. His forehead rests against mine. His breath hot. ragged. “Tell me and I walk out that door. I’ll leave you to him. I’ll never speak of this again.”

I open my eyes. Look at him.

The man who saved me. The man who broke me. The man who knows my soul better than I do.

I shake my head.

“Don’t you dare,” I whisper.

He groans. A broken sound. Like I just handed him the world.

He starts to move.

Slow at first. Deep. Deliberate. Stretching me. Filling me. Owning me.

Then he picks up the pace.

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

The altar shakes. My dress bunches around my waist. My hands slide into his hair. He pulls. Hard. My head falls back. I’m exposed. Vulnerable. His.

He grips my hips. Leaves bruises. I love it. I crave it.

His pace is relentless. Perfect. Each thrust hits the same spot. Drives me closer. Closer.

The stained glass light catches the sweat on his chest. The scar on his shoulder. The way his jaw clenches. The way his eyes never leave mine.

He’s fighting. I can feel it. The restraint. The control. The war between his duty and his desire.

He wins.

Every time.

He grips my thigh. Lifts it higher. Opens me up completely.

Drives in deeper. Harder. Faster.

I’m sobbing. Clenching around him. My pussy milks him. My body screams for more.

“I’m close,” I gasp. “Declan, I’m—”

“Cum,” he orders. “Now. Take it.”

He slams into me. One. Two. Three.

I shatter.

My orgasm rips through me. Violent. Blinding. My walls clamp down on his cock. I scream. He groans. His control snaps.

He thrusts deep. Holds me down. And empties himself.

Hot. Thick. Relentless.

He fills me. Marks me. Claims me.

I feel every pulse. Every drop. My body convulses. I’m drowning in him. In us. In the truth I’ve been running from.

He collapses against me. His weight heavy. His breath ragged. His face buried in my neck.

We stay like that. Heartbeats syncing. Sweat mixing. Breath mingling.

Silence.

Except for the distant sound of music.

The wedding march.

It’s starting.

My stomach drops. The reality crashes over me like ice water.

I’m supposed to be walking down that aisle. Right now.

Declan feels me tense. He lifts his head. His eyes search mine. Dark. Serious.

“We have to go,” I whisper.

He doesn’t move.

“Riley.” His voice is quiet. Final.

“I have to choose,” I say. My voice shakes.

He finally lets go. Steps back. Adjusts his suit. His hands are steady. But his eyes are shattered.

He reaches out. Brushes a tear from my cheek.

“Then choose,” he says. “Walk out that door. Leave him. Choose me.”

Footsteps echo in the hallway.

Heads. Voices. The maid of honor. The priest.

They’re coming.

Declan doesn’t flinch. He just looks at me. Waiting.

I pull my dress down. My hands tremble as I button it. My body aches. My skin still burns where he touched me. Where he broke me open.

I look at the door. At the hallway. At the life I’ve built.

Then I look at him.

At the man who loves me like a vow.

At the man who owns me like a truth.

I take a step toward him.

Then another.

The doorknob turns.

The door swings open.

And I make my choice.