I stared at the woman in the mirror, but I didn't recognize her.
The dress was a masterpiece of architectural lace and hand-stitched silk, a custom $150,000 piece from a designer Kieran had flown in specifically from Milan. The bodice was encrusted with thousands of micro-diamonds that caught the morning light, shimmering like a layer of fresh snow over my skin. It was heavy—not just from the weight of the fabric, but from the weight of the name I was about to officially take.
D'Angelo.
My hair had been swept up into an intentionally messy bun, soft curls framing my face to soften the intensity of my makeup. The artist had gone for a "Sultry Donna" look—deep, smoky eyes that made my gaze look piercing, paired with a nude lip and a glow that highlighted the slight, secret fullness of my cheeks from the pregnancy.
"You look like a goddess, Aurielle," Gianna whispered, adjusted the twenty-foot cathedral veil that trailed behind me like a silken river. "Stop fidgeting. It's just the hormones. Every bride feels like the world is ending five minutes before the march."
"It's not just nerves, Gia," I whispered, my hand instinctively dropping to the slight curve of my stomach. "Something is off. The air feels... thin. Like the pressure before a hurricane.
"It's the pregnancy," she insisted with a dismissive wave. "Between the morning sickness and the mood swings, your brain is just looking for a reason to panic. Kieran has three rings of security around this hotel. A fly couldn't get in without an invite."
I wanted to believe her. I tried to swallow the lump of dread in my throat, turning away from the mirror to stand by the floor-to-ceiling window of the penthouse suite.
She gave my shoulder a quick, supportive squeeze. "I'm going to go check on the flower girls and make sure the bouquet is ready. Breathe, okay? Just breathe.
She slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
The silence that followed was deafening. I turned back to the window, staring out at the garden. Then, I heard it.
Thump.
It wasn't a loud sound. It was a dull, heavy vibration against the glass, like something—or someone —had leaned against it from the balcony side.
I gasped, my heart leaping into my throat. I turned around, my eyes wide, expecting to see a bird or a stray branch. Instead, I saw a hand.
A hand in a black tactical glove gripped the edge of the balcony railing. I froze, my scream dying in my throat as a figure vaulted over the stone ledge with the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly where the security cameras' blind spots were.
He didn't climb the building. He had come from the suite next door—a suite that was supposed to be empty and guarded.
My breath hitched as he stepped into the light. He wasn't wearing a suit. He was dressed in a dark service uniform, the kind the hotel staff wore, but he had ripped the name tag off.
When he looked up, the blood drained from my face so fast the room tilted.
"Dante," I breathed, my voice a broken thread of horror.
He raised a finger to his lips, a silent command for me to stay quiet, before his hand moved to the handle of the sliding glass door.
"One sound, Aurielle, and the guards outside will find out exactly how fast I can decorate these white walls with their brains," Dante whispered.
He didn't yell. He didn't even sound angry. He sounded tender, and that was the most terrifying thing I had ever heard.
I tried to scramble toward the door, but the heavy dress anchored me to the spot.
His hand snapped out to catch my wrist. He didn't just hold me; he pulled me into his chest, his other arm wrapping around my waist in a crushing grip, forcing the expensive lace of my bodice against his rough, grime-streaked service uniform.
"Let go of me!" I hissed.
"Shh," he murmured. "Is that any way to greet an old friend? I've risked everything to be here, Aurielle. To see you in all this... white. A D'Angelo bride is supposed to be pure, isn't she? Even though everyone in this city knows you aren't."
He leaned back just enough to look me in the eye, his gaze dancing with a manic, flickering light. "I heard the news, by the way. A baby. A little D'Angelo growing inside you." His hand dropped to my stomach, his touch feather-light and sickening. "Does Kieran know his heir is being carried by my favorite toy?"
His free hand reached into his pocket, and for a second, I prayed for a knife. A quick end would be better than this slow, psychological flaying.
Instead, he pulled out a scrap of black lace.
My breath hitched. My own panties—the ones he had kept like a trophy.
"I've slept with these every night since I took them from you," he whispered. "I breathed you in until I went mad. But I couldn't have you walking down the aisle with a piece of me still in my pocket, could I? It wouldn't be fair to my dear cousin."
With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached for the inner hem of my dress. I tried to twist away, but he pinned me against his chest, his strength making my struggle useless.
"Stay still, little bird," he growled. felt the cold metal of the safety pin against my thigh as he pinned the black lace to the interior of my dress, hidden where only I would feel it.
"There," he touched my cheek, his thumb trailing a line of dirt across my flawless makeup. "Tell Kieran to take good care of my little toy. I'm not done playing yet."
He turned and vanished onto the balcony as if he were nothing more than a bad dream, leaving me standing in the center of the room.
I scrambled at my skirts, my fingers shaking so violently I couldn't even find the safety pin he had buried in my hem. I wanted to rip the dress off. I wanted to scream until my lungs gave out.
The door opened, and Gianna swept back in. She didn't see the terror in my eyes; she only saw the smudge on my cheek. "Oh no, Aurielle, you're ruining your makeup!" She clapped her hands sharply, and the makeup artist from earlier hurried back in, hovering over me with brushes and sponges to fix the damage Dante had left behind.
"It's time," Gianna said, as the final touches were finished. "It's time to go. Deep breath, Aurielle. You're going to be the Donna. You're being crowned as the Donna of the great D'Angelo empire. Do you know what that means? Officially, everyone in the underworld will know you as Kieran's Donna. You're a powerful person now. There's a crown for the Donnas, and you're going to be wearing it."
I heard her words, but they felt like they were coming from underwater. My mind was stuck on the balcony. How did he get in? Kieran's security was the best in the world. To get past three rings of guards in a service uniform... someone on the inside had to be helping him. Someone very close to us.
The walk to the ceremony was a blur. Since I didn't have a father to walk me down the aisle, Gianna took my side, offering her arm. The other maids and bridesmaids followed behind, their hands busy managing the massive, heavy weight of my train as we moved toward the hall.
The cathedral was packed. Thousands of faces turned as I entered—the elite of the city, the powerful, and dangerous people on earth.
I saw the looks. The disgust. The pity. I was the "sex worker," the "single mother," the "lowly orphan" who had bewitched their king.
But then, my eyes found a small figure sitting near the front. Adrien.
My son was sitting there, dressed in a tiny suit, waving at me with a grin that could light up the darkest room. Seeing his face eased the suffocating pressure in my chest. I offered him a small, genuine smile, and for a second, the dread faded.
Then I looked at the altar. Kieran stood there in his midnight navy velvet suit, his hair slicked back perfectly. He looked so handsome, so oddly innocent with that grin on his face. But as I got closer and he saw the sadness lingering in my eyes, his smile faltered into a small frown of concern. I quickly forced another smile for him, reaching the front as the bridesmaids finally let go of my dress.
It was just us now. Kieran, the priest, and me.
In the very front row, I saw Elias, Kieran's father, whose face was a mask of pure hatred and disgust. He clearly didn't want to be here, but D'Angelo tradition was strict—the father had to witness the heir's wedding. He looked at me like I was a stain on his family name. I shifted my gaze, spotting Marlies Delacroix. She was looking at me with a strange, intense adoration that I couldn't understand. Kendella was nowhere to be seen, and I tried to tell myself I didn't care.
The priest cleared his throat, his voice echoing through the silent hall. The vows began.
Kieran's voice was steady and full of heat when he said, "I do."
Then, it was my turn. The priest looked at me. "Do you, Aurielle, this day take Mr. D'Angelo to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Kieran leaned in slightly, whispering so only I could hear, "Are you okay?"
He could tell I was uneasy. I didn't want to ruin this. I didn't want to tell him about Dante and the lace hidden against my skin. I just nodded and took a breath, my lips parting to say the words that would change my life.
"I—Do."
"No!!"
The scream shattered the silence. Every head in the cathedral turned.
Kendella stood at the entrance with photographers behind hee. She was dressed in a white lace gown that looked like a twisted version of my own. The crowd gasped, and I saw Marlies go pale with shock.
"This wedding is forbidden!" Kendella cried out, her voice echoing off the high ceilings as she marched toward us. "This is a taboo."
People began to murmur.
"Kendella, what is this?" Kieran growled.
She didn't stop until she was close enough to see the sweat on my brow. She looked at the crowd, then back at us, her voice dripping with a terrifying kind of triumph.
"How can a brother and a sister get married?"
The world stopped.
She hissed. "You're marrying your own blood."