"I've faced boardrooms and blood feuds, but nothing terrifies me like this altar."
—Dylan Reed
Dylan's Point of View
It had been three days now. Every morning I woke with the same suffocating fear, that I was locking myself into something I couldn't handle, yet still, I went along with the plans like a machine stuck on factory settings.
At least things had been quiet. No sign of Devina since the stunt she pulled with Ava. Still, my jaw clenched whenever I thought of her words: "I'm Dylan's mother." She wasn't, she could never be. The very thought burned me alive.
The last three days blurred into fittings, endless planning, and visits to Ava's mother. That part, checking on her, felt… right. On the second day, I'd sat by her bedside, speaking words I hadn't rehearsed.
"I'd love to make Ava my wife, Mrs. Carter."
Her eyes had widened, searching for a confirmation that she heard right.
"Why?" she asked, her voice steady but her gaze piercing.
I hadn't expected the question. My throat went dry. She continued, her tone thick with sincerity.
"Don't misunderstand me, I'm not saying Ava isn't good enough for you. I'm asking because my daughter has suffered enough. I won't hand her over to someone who wants her for convenience. She deserves love, real love."
Her words were a knife to my chest. The truth was bitter: the reasons I wanted Ava weren't noble. If her mother knew the truth, she might hate me.
Still, the silence stretched too long, so I forced words out, unplanned.
"I want her because she's the only one for me, Mrs. Carter. I can't imagine doing life with anyone else."
The words dropped heavy in the air. My stomach knotted, sour and tight. Did I mean that? Or was it a slip of the heart?
Her eyes shone with tears, gratitude trembling in her voice. "Thank you. Thank you." She clasped my hand, and guilt gnawed through me. This wasn't real. And yet it felt too real. I had left her bedside with a storm inside me.
I stood and headed for a bath, locked myself under a cold shower, as if the icy water could cleanse away feelings I wasn't supposed to have. But nothing eased the weight pressing down on me. Tomorrow. The word itself felt like chains.
My mind betrayed me, flashing back to five years ago. To the night I couldn't sleep because I was going to propose to Asher. My chest had been alive with nervous joy, my mind racing with plans of forever. Would things have been different if it had been Asher walking down the aisle tomorrow instead of Ava? Did I still long for her? The thoughts rattled me, bitter and confusing.
Hours later, I picked up Ava for our fittings. Mine was easy, shirt, trousers, coat, cufflinks. Hers took forever. I sat scrolling on my tablet, pretending to work, until an attendant called for me.
I raised my head, ready to make some cutting remark about her lateness, but the words froze in my throat.
She walked in like time itself had paused.
And for one insane moment, I forgot how to breathe. The dress was made for her, molding her into something untouchable. She tilted her head, hesitant.
"Does it look that bad?" she asked, her voice a whisper wrapped in nerves.
I coughed, fighting for composure. "No. It doesn't look bad at all." My voice dropped lower. "You look… beautiful."
Her cheeks flushed faintly, and I hated how it undid me. The photoshoot after the fitting should have been another staged moment, but it was torture disguised as duty, every time I pulled her closer, the world quieted. Her warmth pressed against me, her eyes flicking up to meet mine, and, for a fleeting moment, I almost forgot this was a contract. Almost.
By nightfall, I collapsed in my room. Cold shower. Tossing. Turning. The weight of tomorrow pressing on me until my chest burned.
And then it was here.
The Day.
It felt like I hadn't slept at all. Ian drove me to the venue, filling the silence with light teasing.
"It still feels like a dream. Never thought I'd live to see Dylan Reed get married."
I offered no reply. Andre had left earlier to pick Elena.
In the grooms' dressing room, I tried to steady myself, but the world tilted when my phone lit up. A message. A video.
My stomach twisted into knots as I played it.
And in that instant, my heart dropped. My hands shook. My chest locked.
Suddenly, I wasn't sure I could go through with this wedding. Not with what I just saw. Not with what it meant.
I bolted, ignoring Ian's desperate calls behind me, his voice muffled by the storm in my chest.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?