I walked into the reception.

He didn’t even notice I was gone.

Of course not.

My husband—on our wedding night—was too busy giggling with his female friends. And right in the middle of them?

Bethany.

The ever-loyal best friend. The one who hadn’t spent a single moment with me all day, but somehow managed to be glued to my husband's side like she was the bride.

I watched them, laughing like they had no secrets between them. Like betrayal wasn’t clinging to their skin like the perfume I bought her last Christmas.

So I thought to myself: Since he’s having so much fun without me… I might as well enjoy myself too.

And that’s when I saw him.

Dominic.

Christian’s best friend.

Handsome wasn’t the word—Dominic was sculpted. Built like a Greek god in a perfectly tailored midnight suit, all broad shoulders and effortless elegance. His jawline looked like it had been carved by a luxury brand.

Funny—I had never noticed him before. Never once looked his way.

But tonight?

Tonight I couldn’t unsee him.

How had I wasted years loving that smug, basic betrayal artist, I wondered, when this man was standing just two steps away the whole time?

I walked across the room, climbed the short staircase toward the terrace, where he stood sipping champagne, half-hidden by soft golden lights.

“Dominic,” I said smoothly.

He turned, surprised—then smiled like sin wrapped in silk.

“Well, hello… beautiful one.”

I smirked. “Thank you.”

He raised a brow. “You need something?”

I looked down at the dance floor, then back up at him.

“Want to dance?”

His smile deepened. “You want me to dance with you… at your own wedding reception?”

“Is that not allowed?” I asked, tilting my head.

He leaned in, eyes glinting. “Oh, it’s definitely allowed. But only if you’re ready to set this room on fire.”

I laughed softly. “Then let’s burn it down.”

And just like that, I took his hand.

Dominic took my hand and led me to the dance floor.

His hand was warm—surprisingly warm. I couldn’t remember ever touching it before. Not like this. Not holding it.

It felt strange... touching another man that wasn’t Christian. Strange, but not wrong.

His hand was big, and mine fit perfectly in his palm like it belonged there. He smiled down at me, then slowly intertwined our fingers. I felt my heart stutter.

When his other hand slid gently to my waist, I nearly gasped.

A spark. A slow, dangerous burn.

Fire.

I hadn’t felt this before—not even with Christian. Not this heat. Not this sudden, magnetic pull like the universe had twisted something into place.

As the music shifted into a slow, elegant waltz, Dominic pulled me in closer.

“You know,” I said with a soft laugh, trying to steady my breath, “I don’t actually know how to dance.”

He looked down at me, amused. “That’s cute,” he murmured. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you.”

And slowly, we began to move.

Gliding across the floor, his steps sure, mine hesitant. But he held me like I was light in his arms—like we’d done this a thousand times before.

At one point, my breasts brushed against his chest, and I sucked in a sharp breath. My lungs betrayed me, breathing in short, uneven gaps.

I turned my gaze away, suddenly shy. Embarrassed he might see just how flustered I was.

He leaned down, voice low and velvet-smooth. “Are you shy, little one?”

I swallowed. “Not really. It’s just… I haven’t been this close to someone in a long time. Apart from Christian, I mean. I know that probably sounds weird.”

He shook his head gently, gaze soft. “Not at all,” he said. “You’re a loyal woman. Anyone with eyes can see that. And I respect it.”

His words made my chest tighten—not from shame, but from something deeper. Something that felt like comfort and danger at the same time.

I smiled.

But inside?

Inside I wondered what it would feel like to stop being so loyal.

I saw the way Dominic looked at me.

And I saw the way he looked at me—Christian, standing across the room, gripping his champagne glass like it might crack beneath his fingers.

The closer Dominic held me, the more furious my husband became.

Was he annoyed?

Was it jealousy tightening his jaw?

Was he—the man who just betrayed me with my best friend—now upset seeing me in another man’s arms?

The audacity.

The sheer hypocrisy.

I almost laughed.

Dominic leaned in, his voice low, warm against my ear.

“Mary,” he said softly, “is there something you’re not telling me?”

Mary.

I hated that name.

So… good. So sweet. So safe.

That girl—the one who answered to “Mary”—was kind.

Too kind.

Soft. Naïve. Forgiving.

She was gone.

Because the world didn’t let girls like her survive. It chewed them up and spat them out like they were nothing.

And if I was going to survive this world—this war—then cruelty would have to live inside me now. Even if it hurt. Even if it burned.

I looked up at Dominic, calm but unflinching.

Then I asked him a question I wasn’t even sure I wanted answered.

“In a world where all your allies are enemies… what do you do?”

His gaze deepened. Serious now. Still gentle—but with something sharper behind his eyes.

“You look for the one enemy,” he said quietly, “who’s also the enemy of your enemy… and you make him your ally.”

God.

That was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to me.

Maybe… just maybe… Dominic was worth trusting.

Or at the very least—worth keeping close.

But before I could even savor that thought—

She arrived.

Bethany.

In her ivory satin gown and glass smile, walking toward me like she hadn’t gutted me with her lies.

“Darling,” she said, syrupy sweet, “Can I steal the bride for just a second?”