IRYNA
The door clicked shut behind him—soft, deliberate, final. For several long heartbeats, I didn't move.
I stayed exactly as he'd left me: spine rigid against the couch cushions, hands folded too tightly in my lap, eyes fixed on the front door like it might betray me and swing open again. Like that smug, infuriating demon might stroll back inside, smirking, claiming the space as though the entire house had always belonged to him.
The living room filled with silence thick enough to choke on. Then I turned my head, very slowly.bMy mother was still staring at the same spot he'd disappeared from. When her gaze finally shifted to me, the shine in her eyes made my stomach lurch.
"Oh my goodness," she breathed, the words almost reverent.
I already knew that tone. It was the one that preceded disaster wrapped in lace and enthusiasm.
"Mom."
"The way that man looks at you…" She pressed both hands to her cheeks as though trying to contain the glow spreading across her face. "Like you're the only thing in the universe worth seeing."
"Mom."
"And the way he kept drawing you closer." Her voice dropped to a delighted whisper. "Like someone might snatch you away if he didn't hold on tight enough."
I pressed my lips into a thin line.
"And that kiss—" She clutched her chest theatrically. "Right here. In front of your own mother!"
My palms flew up to cover my burning face.
"Oh my God."
She laughed—bright, musical, completely unbothered by my mortification.
"You two are adorable."
My head jerked up so fast I felt something pop in my neck.
"Adorable?!"
"Yes!" She beamed, utterly unrepentant.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, studying me like I was a fascinating new species.
"You've been keeping this from me."
"I wasn't keeping anything—"
"Oh, please." She flicked her wrist. "That man walked in here and basically announced your wedding date like he was telling me the weather forecast."
My cheeks felt hot enough to ignite paper.
Three days. Three miserable, impossible days. The sheer nerve of him still hadn't finished sinking into my bones.
"And you just… let him," she added, eyes sparkling. "You agreed."
"I didn't—"
The denial died halfway out.
Because, technically… I had. Or I hadn't fought hard enough. One sharp word from me and Dark would probably have escalated to something apocalyptic—like casually mentioning he wasn't human just to shut down the argument.
I exhaled through my nose, long and defeated.
My mother clapped once, sharply, as though signaling the start of a parade.
"Well!" she declared, practically vibrating. "That means we have work to do."
I blinked.
"Work?"
"Wedding preparations, of course!"
She was serious. Completely, terrifyingly serious.
"We have three days," she went on, already ticking items off invisible fingers. "We need to start right now."
My brain short-circuited. A fake wedding. To a demon. In seventy-two hours. This was my life now.
"Iryna?"
I blinked back to reality. She was waiting, eyebrows raised expectantly.
I forced the corners of my mouth upward.
"Right…"
Her face lit up like sunrise.
"Oh good!"
A weak laugh scraped out of my throat.
"Yeah sure."
Inside I was already mapping escape routes to the airport. She sprang to her feet, energy crackling around her.
"I'll call Ciara first thing tomorrow," she announced, already halfway to the kitchen in her mind. "She'll be over the moon to help you choose a dress. She's off work tomorrow anyway."
I nearly inhaled my own tongue.
"Ciara?"
"Yes!" She waved over her shoulder. "She adores weddings."
A headache bloomed behind my left eye.
"I'm actually planning to go to work tomorrow," I said, very calmly.
Another dismissive flick of her hand.
"We'll see."
I rubbed my temple.
"I'm going to bed."
"So early?"
"It's been… a day."
The understatement of several lifetimes. She softened instantly, smile turning tender.
"Alright, sweetheart. But tomorrow we plan properly."
"Sure," I mumbled.
I fled down the hallway before she could reel me back in.
The moment my bedroom door closed, I leaned against it, heart still hammering unevenly. My fingertips drifted up, ghosting over my lips. The memory of his mouth on mine flared bright and uninvited—warm, possessive, edged with that maddening amusement he always carried.
"Stupid demon," I hissed.
Stupid wedding. Stupid kiss. I groaned, loud and dramatic, then threw myself face-first into the pillow. Three days. Three days until I married a demon. What could possibly go wrong?
───
The next morning sunlight stabbed straight through the curtains and landed on my eyelids like a personal attack.
I groaned, burrowed deeper, tried to bargain with reality.
For one sweet, delusional second I almost convinced myself yesterday had been a fever dream: demon fiancé, surprise wedding deadline, mother already planning centerpieces.
Then his voice purred through my memory.
'Baby.'
My eyes snapped open.
"Fantastic," I muttered to the ceiling.
I dragged myself upright, dressed in record time, and grabbed my bag. Work. Glorious, boring, demon-free work. Spreadsheets didn't propose in front of your mother. Emails didn't kiss you senseless in your mother's house. Coworkers didn't smell faintly of smoke and starlight.
Perfect.
I stepped into the kitchen. My mother was already at the table. Waiting. Smiling. Far too calmly.
"Good morning, bride."
I froze mid-stride.
"No."
She tilted her head.
"No?"
"I'm not doing this again."
She folded her arms.
"You're not going to work today."
"Yes. I am."
"No. You're not."
"Yes. I. Am."
She leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
"Iryna. You're getting married in three days."
I snatched an apple from the counter like it was a weapon.
"You said you'd handle planning."
"I did."
"So handle it."
"But you need to try on dresses!"
"Mom."
I pointed at the front door.
"I'm going to work."
I made it three steps.
"Ciara is coming."
I stopped dead.
"No. She... she didn't say so."
"Yes."
"No!"
The front door flew open.
"BRIDE!"
Ciara exploded into the house like a glitter bomb in human form.
I stared at her.
"Ciara. It's barely eight."
"Weddings wait for no one." She seized my arm in a grip that could bend steel. "Come on!"
"Where?!"
"Dress shopping!"
"No."
"Yes."
"Ciara—I have a job!"
She waved my protest away like smoke.
"I only work until tomorrow. Today I'm yours."
"That doesn't fix my life!"
She began towing me toward the door.
"You're not escaping this time."
________
In the back of the cab I called my boss, voice tight.
"Sir… I have… news."
"Go on."
"I'm… getting married."
Silence.
Then, warmly: "Congratulations! Is this an invitation?"
I blinked.
"…Thank you. I'm, I'll send an official invitation sir."
"Great. Looking forward to it. Take all the leave you need," he continued. "Come back after the honeymoon."
My eyelid twitched.
"Honeymoon?"
"Of course."
"Right."
"Enjoy the big day!"
Click. I stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed me. Ciara squealed beside me.
"See? The universe is on board!"
I dropped my head against the window.
"I still haven't told anyone at work about my heart."
Her excitement gentled.
"You don't have to. Not until you're ready."
"I know." A long breath. "If it matters later… I'll say something."
She squeezed my arm.
"Good. Now—" Her grin turned wicked. "Let's find you the most devastating wedding dress in existence."
The boutique smelled like fresh lilies and new money. Racks of white shimmered under soft lighting—lace, silk, crystal beads, layers upon layers of dreams I had never asked for. I wanted to bolt. Ciara marched to the desk like a general claiming territory.
"We need a wedding dress!"
A sleek woman glided over, all professional warmth.
"Welcome. I'm the designer. What style are you envisioning?"
Before I could form a sentence, Ciara answered for me.
"Something breathtaking."
I shot her a look.
"It's not a real wedding."
She shrugged one shoulder.
"Doesn't matter." Then quieter, near my ear: "Choose the dress you'd wear if you were marrying the person you couldn't live without."
My throat tightened. I sighed.
"Fine."
Gown after gown appeared. Elegant. Extravagant. Gorgeous. None of them felt like mine.
"They're nice," I said finally. "I'll just take one."
Ciara gasped like I'd suggested arson.
"Did Dark say he couldn't pay?"
"No."
"He's a demon, Ryna. He lives in a mansion."
"So?"
"So you think he's broke?"
"I don't want his money."
She gripped my shoulders.
"This is still your wedding. Even if it's… complicated."
I looked away.
"Don't you want to feel beautiful?"
Silence stretched.
"Besides," she added softly, "it's the perfect way to shove it in Jayden's face."
The name hit like cold water. My ex.
Walking into his apartment. The tangle of sheets. His startled face. The other woman's smirk. The way my chest had caved in.bBefore Jayden there'd been the first boyfriend who vanished with my savings. But Jayden had taken something quieter. Something I hadn't realized I could still lose.
I exhaled slowly.
"Fine."
Ciara's smile was victorious.
"But I'm paying for it myself."
She groaned dramatically.
"You're broke, Ryna."
I flicked her arm.
"I can afford beautiful without being rich."
"Fine," she muttered.
I turned to the designer.
"Something elegant. Simple. Maybe lace sleeves, clean lines—"
"That silhouette with the detailing you like would be more expensive," the designer noted gently.
I nodded.
"Then we can simplify—"
A new voice cut through the air—low, smooth, edged with danger.
"Get it done by tomorrow."
We spun. Dark stood framed in the doorway. Black shirt. Dark jeans. Lethal calm. He looked like he'd walked off the page of a gothic romance and decided the world should kneel. Ciara's eyes went cartoon-wide. She leaned toward me and stage-whispered,
"Jesus… is this how he always looks?"
I groaned.
"Not the point right now."
She kept staring.
"He's… obscene."
Dark crossed the room with slow, predatory grace. Before I could brace— His arm curled around my waist. He tugged me flush against him.And kissed me. Deep. Unhurried. Right there in the middle of a bridal shop surrounded by tulle and mirrors.
When he finally drew back, his lips grazed the shell of my ear.
"Did you wait too long…" he murmured, voice velvet-wrapped sin.
"Baby?"