Elena's POV

I was woken by laughter. Not warm, homey laughter — light, high-pitched, and girlish. My mother's laughter.

It was the kind she reserved for being adored.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and glanced at the clock. Barely nine. Normally, I’d have buried myself under the covers, but curiosity got the better of me. Voices floated up from downstairs, mingling with the clink of china and the rustle of paper.

From the open balcony doors, I watched as two pristine white vans drew up in the driveway. Gold lettering along their sides read: Luxe Weddings by Clarisse.

Of course.

I dragged on jeans and a loose sweater, styling my hair into a messy bun. Not showing up to this circus would only prompt my mother to come find me.

The grand foyer was bedlam pretending to be elegance. Patches of silk hung from the marble banister. Florists in black aprons carried armloads of white peonies and pale roses, their scent thick in the air. Crystal vases glittered on every surface that would support them.

And there, at the middle of it all, my mother — in an ivory dressing gown, hair styled just so, her skin glowing — held court. Her eyes shone the way they did when she got a new necklace or a first-class ticket to Paris. Only now, the cause of that shine was standing beside her.

Dominic.

Tailored dark suit. Casual lean against the piano. A folder in his hand like he belonged here.

My heart missed a beat, and I froze on the last step.

He looked at me. Not for long, just long enough to let me know he saw me — all of me — before he turned back to my mother with a faint smile, as though nothing between us existed.

"Elena!" my mother's voice rang across the room. "Perfect timing. You're coming with us to the boutique."

"I—"

"No arguments," she said, gliding over to loop her arm through mine. "You're a bridesmaid. We have to get your dress organized. Dominic will be helping, won't you, darling?"

He turned toward me, his face bland, controlled. "It'll be… good to have everyone's input."

I smiled politely. "Of course."

The boutique was every shade of perfection my mother adored — white walls, gold trim, champagne in crystal glasses. The price tags were discreet, the kind that whispered if you have to ask…

As she disappeared into a dressing room with Sienna and two attendants hovering at her heels, I wandered over to a rack of dark emerald bridesmaid dresses. The satin was cool and impossibly smooth under my fingers.

“That color," a low voice said from behind me, "is too light for you. You would be better off in a darker shade. More. deadly."

My back stiffened. "I did not ask for your opinion."

"I know," he said, his voice dropped so that only I could hear, "but you still paused to consider it.".

I returned the dress to the rack and stepped aside, but he did so at the same time, coming close enough that his hand brushed against my arm. The air around us sizzled.

"Dominic you are marrying my mother, leave me alone." I hissed, anger almost getting the better of me.

And luckily he stepped aside seconds before mother and Sienna came back.

“Have you found the dress you want, Ellie?" Sienna asked, her eyes piercing into me with a ferocity that sent shivers down my spine.

"Ye-yes." I stuttered as Dominic took over, paid for the items we bought and we turned to leave the boutique.

⸻

By the time we stepped out, the city's gossip blogs had worked their magic. A crowd of paparazzi waited outside, cameras flashing in rapid succession.

My mother radiated like the morning glory , leaning into Dominic's side as if they'd been married for years.

Sienna looped her arm through mine, drawing me toward the car — until the crowd surged forward. Somebody's camera bag smashed into my hip, sending me stumbling sideways.

Strong hands caught me before I could fall.

"Careful," Dominic growled, his breath skimming my ear. His grip was tight, his hand flat on my waist for a second.

I was still for a beat too long before I stepped back.

"You okay?" Sienna's voice sliced between us.

"Fine," I said, dusting off my sweater.

Her eyes darted between Dominic and me, suspicion flashing before she glued on a camera-ready smile.

⸻

That evening, the mansion was deceptively quiet. I was on my bed with a book, trying to lose myself in fiction.

A knock on the door broke the silence.

Sienna entered, her smile practiced. "Mind if I keep you company? We can go over bachelorette plans."

I gestured to the armchair. "Sure."

We talked themes, guest lists, colors — until she tilted her head to the side and nonchalantly dropped it:

"So… you've met Dominic before, right?"

My stomach tightened. "No. Why?"

She shrugged, feigning indifference. "You just. seem uncomfortable around him. Like there's history."

"I'm not. And there isn't." My tone was more biting than I intended.

Sienna's mouth smiled, but her eyes were chilly. "Hmm. Maybe I'm seeing things."

"Maybe you are."

She didn't press, just stood and smoothed her dress. "Big day tomorrow. Night, sis."

The door shut with a click, but the weight of her suspicion lingered in the air like smoke.

⸻

Later, just as I was getting under the covers, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. New message.

No name. Just a video file.

I tapped it open — and my breath caught.

Grainy but clear enough. Dominic and me, side by side into the VVIP lounge of the bar that night. His hand on my back. My head leaning in towards him.

Underneath the video, a line of text:

"Saint John Cathedral. Tomorrow . 3 p.m. Don't be late.”

The precise date and time of their wedding.

My hand tightened around the phone.

Someone had seen us.