The photographer seemed increasingly pleased with what he was seeing.
Every time he checked the photographs on his camera, his expression brightened, and before long the quiet curiosity from the hotel guests had turned into genuine interest.
People passing through the lobby slowed down to watch, while a few gathered discreetly near the edge of the staircase, careful not to interrupt the shoot.
I could hear their whispers between the photographer’s instructions.
“They look perfect together.”
“Look at that dress.”
“She looks like royalty.”
“Is that Wilder Reed?”
“I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.”
At first I tried not to pay attention.
I kept my eyes on the camera and followed the directions, still conscious of the unfamiliar attention surrounding me.
But the more compliments I heard, the more the tension gradually left my shoulders.
I looked down at the gown.
The silk caught the light beautifully, every movement creating a soft shimmer that made the intricate details stand out.
The fitted design emphasized the elegance of the dress without feeling restrictive, while the long train spread across the marble steps behind me like something taken from a royal portrait.
I had spent most of the day worrying about how convincing I looked.
Now, for the first time, I stopped worrying about it altogether.
I simply felt beautiful.
When the photographer asked me to turn slightly toward Wilder, I did so with far more confidence than before.
My chin lifted naturally, and the smile I gave the camera no longer felt forced.
I could understand why people were staring.
The dress really did make me look like a queen.
And perhaps that was why an old memory suddenly surfaced.
Years ago I had seen a photograph of a dress almost identical to this one in a small business magazine.
I had spent far too long staring at that page, imagining myself wearing it on my wedding day.
In that daydream, Magnus had been waiting for me at the altar.
I had pictured walking toward him beneath soft lights, holding his hand while everyone we knew watched from their seats.
Back then I had believed that was where all my sacrifices were leading.
I had supported Magnus when he had almost nothing.
I had stayed beside him when things were difficult.
I had given him money, time, patience, and pieces of myself I could never get back.
I had believed that one day all of it would become a life we shared together.
The irony almost made me smile.
I was finally wearing the dress.
But Magnus was nowhere near me.
Instead, Wilder stood behind me with one arm around my waist.
I glanced at him.
His attention was fixed entirely on me, his expression so convincing that anyone watching would have believed he was looking at the woman he had loved for years.
There was something almost possessive in the way he held me, yet his gaze carried a warmth that made the scene look disturbingly genuine.
The man I had once imagined standing beside me at an altar had become someone I barely recognized.
And the man currently holding me was the person I had once considered my greatest enemy the man who had frozen my accounts, taken control of parts of my life, and prepared documents that could threaten everything I had built.
The contradiction left me with a strange mixture of satisfaction and confusion.
I didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it or be unsettled by how comfortable I had begun to feel in his presence.
It wasn’t trust.
But there was something else now.
Something I didn’t quite know how to name.
For this brief moment, surrounded by strangers who knew nothing about the war hidden beneath our smiles, I allowed myself to enjoy the attention.
The admiration.
The beautiful dress.
The lights.
And even the strange security of Wilder’s arm around my waist.
Perhaps that was the most dangerous part.
I was beginning to understand why pretending to be his wife was becoming harder than I had expected.
“Beautiful,” the photographer called.
“That’s exactly what I want.
Hold it.”
I turned slightly toward Wilder.
He lowered his gaze to me, and for a moment neither of us moved.
The photographer studied the composition through his camera before lowering it again.
“Let’s make the final shot more intimate.”
My confidence faltered slightly.
“What do you mean?”
“Bring her closer.”
Wilder didn’t need to be told twice.
His arm tightened around my waist, drawing me toward him until there was barely any space left between us.
My breath caught.
“Yes.
That’s it,” the photographer said, raising his camera again.
“Now turn toward each other.”
I obeyed.
Wilder lowered his head.
I lifted my face.
“Closer.”
He moved nearer.
Our faces were now only inches apart.
I could feel his breath against my skin.
“Perfect,” the photographer murmured.
“Now give me the look of two people who are about to kiss.”
My heart stumbled.
I slowly tilted my face toward him.
Wilder followed.
Our noses almost touched.
The room seemed to grow quieter around us.
“Hold it,” the photographer whispered.
“Don’t move.”
My fingers instinctively curled into the lapel of his tuxedo.
Then a loud voice shattered the atmosphere.
“NYXIA!”
I recognized that voice immediately.
Another shout followed, accompanied by the hurried footsteps of hotel staff trying to stop someone from pushing farther into the lobby.
“Get out of my way!”
I turned my eyes toward the entrance.
Magnus and Nova had somehow made it past the hotel security.
Magnus’s face was red with anger, his breathing heavy.
Nova stood beside him, her eyes moving wildly through the crowd until they found me.
The fury on her face was unmistakable.
They had not come because they were worried about me.
They had come because the transfer had failed.
Because my money was no longer available to them.
And because neither of them had accepted the possibility that I could finally refuse.
My body reacted before my mind caught up.
I tried to step away from Wilder.
His arm immediately locked around my waist like iron.
“Wilder…..”
His voice dropped beside my ear, low and satisfied.
“Stay.
Your audience has arrived.”
I looked up at him.
His eyes were no longer on the photographer.
They were fixed on Magnus.
A faint, almost pleased smile touched his mouth.
Before I could say anything else, Wilder lifted a hand to my face.
His fingers caught my jaw firmly, guiding my attention back to him.
“Look at me.”
I did.
Then he leaned in and kissed me.
It was not gentle.
The kiss was hard, demanding, and utterly possessive, timed perfectly under the bright lights and the watching eyes of everyone in the lobby.
The camera flashed repeatedly.
My fingers tightened around the lapel of his tuxedo as I struggled to keep my balance, the sudden intensity stealing the breath from my lungs.
Across the marble floor, Magnus and Nova stood frozen.
Whatever anger they had brought through the doors vanished beneath the shock on their faces.
They had come prepared to demand money.
They had expected me to explain myself, apologize, or give in when they pressed hard enough.
Instead, they had walked into a wedding photoshoot.
And there I stood, beautiful, confident, wearing the dress I had once dreamed of wearing for Magnus while another man claimed me in front of everyone.
Wilder broke the kiss only when he was ready.
He pulled back just far enough to look at me.
My breathing was uneven, my lips still parted.
For a brief second his gaze held mine, unreadable and intense.
Then he turned his head and looked directly at Magnus.
The amusement was gone.
What remained was a cold, lethal calm the silent warning of a man who had set a trap and watched his prey walk straight into it.
His arm never left my waist.