Chapter 290
And then, the second speed bump arrived.
It came in the form of a perfectly manicured hand gripping a sleek white garment bag, draped effortlessly over a delicate arm.
Layla Anderson.
The moment Isla saw her standing in the doorway, her heart stumbled in her chest. The room, which had been buzzing with energy, seemed to still as an
unspoken tension settled in the air.
Layla looked exactly as Isla remembered–tall, impossibly elegant, with the kind of effortless beauty that made her look like she had just stepped off a
magazine cover. Her honey–blonde hair was styled in soft waves, her makeup was impeccable, and her lips–painted in the perfect shade of muted rose-
curved into a knowing smile.
But it wasn’t just her presence that made Isla’s stomach tighten.
It was the dress she was holding..
Graham had told her not to worry about it. That he would handle everything. At the time, Isla had felt a flicker of disappointment–what bride wouldn’t
want to pick out her own gown? But she had let it go, soothed by the idea that maybe, just maybe, there was something romantic about him choosing the
dress she would wear to marry him..
But now, standing in front of her, holding the very dress Graham had selected, was the one woman Isla never wanted to see today.
Layla Anderson wasn’t just some fashion designer.
She was Graham’s ex.
And not just any ex–the longest relationship Isla had ever known Graham to have. Two years together. Two very public years. She could still remember the
media frenzy surrounding them–the glamorous galas, the luxurious vacations, the articles speculating whether Graham would finally settle down. There had
even been rumors that he had come close to proposing.
Now, Isla’s wedding dress–the most important gown of her life–had been chosen by her fiancé and delivered by the woman he had almost married.
Her throat tightened.
Layla, of course, looked utterly at ease, as if this moment was nothing more than a business transaction. “Good morning,” she said smoothly, her voice rich
and honeyed, her sharp green eyes flicking over Isla’s robe–clad frame. “I suppose it’s time for the big reveal.”
Isla felt Maggie stiffen beside her. The room was still, the tension stretching between them like a thread pulled too tight.
Isla swallowed, forcing herself to smile. “You’re the designer?”
Layla’s lips curled, a hint of amusement flickering in her gaze. “I am. Graham insisted on only the best.” She stepped forward, lifting the dress bag slightly
as if presenting a masterpiece, “And, well, who knows him better than me?”
The words were a dagger, sharpened to perfection.
The Betrayal in a Wedding Dress
1/2
8:29 am P P P
Chapter 290
The moment Layla had unzipped that garment bag, Isla had felt something inside her snap.
0:71
Anger, raw and unfiltered, surged through her like a storm, chasing away any remnants of the excitement she had woken up with that morning. Without thinking, without caring about Maggie’s frantic protests behind her, she stormed down the hallway, the plush carpet muffling the sharp click of her hurried
steps.
“Isla, stop!” Maggie hissed, grabbing at her wrist, her voice laced with desperation. “You can’t see the groom before the wedding–it’s bad luck!”
Isla barely spared her a glance. “I already feel like I have the worst luck in the world,” she muttered, wrenching free and pressing forward.
She wasn’t sure if it was the shock, the humiliation, or the deep–seated pain curling in her chest that pushed her forward, but she knew one thing–she
needed answers.
Reaching Graham’s door, she didn’t hesitate. She raised her fist and knocked–hard.
The door swung open faster than she expected, and there he was.
Graham.
Dressed in nothing but black slacks, his shirt unbuttoned, his broad chest exposed. His dark hair was still damp from a shower, droplets of water trailing down his collarbone. But the warmth, the softness she had foolishly expected in his gaze?
Nowhere to be found.
Instead, his jaw was tight, his mouth pressed into a firm line as his stormy eyes locked onto hers. His entire posture radiated something dangerous- something warning.
And yet, Isla didn’t care.
She stepped inside, hands balled into fists at her sides. “Why did you invite Layla?” she demanded, her voice sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
