Chapter 293
She was angry.
She didn’t like the dress. She hated the person who made it even more.
A spitfire of a jealous little thing.
And God, how he loved it.
There was something intoxicating about the way she burned, the way she let her emotions simmer beneath the surface, never fully hiding them, never pretending to be anything but exactly what she felt. She was possessive over him, even if she didn’t want to admit it. She hated that Layla had been involved, that his ex had touched any part of this wedding.
It was adorable.
And so very Isla.
Graham sighed again, this time softer, almost indulgent.
She might be furious with him now.
She might hate the dress, the wedding, the way he had dismissed her feelings earlier.
But it wouldn’t last.
Soon–soon–this celebration, this ridiculous, extravagant performance would be over.
And he would finally be alone with his bride.
A slow, knowing smile curved his lips.
He would make it up to her.
He would take her far, far away, to a place so secluded, so untouched by the outside world, that there would be nothing to interrupt them.
An empty island, where there would be no staff, no family, no guests–just them.
Where the only thing between them and the sky would be warm, golden sand.
Where he would press her into the earth beneath a canopy of stars, the sound of waves crashing around them as he reminded her–ever and over again—why she belonged to him.
Where he would worship every inch of her, drown her in so much attention, so much of him, that this day, this light, this dress–would all fade into nothing.
Yes.
She might be furious now.
But it wouldn’t last.
1.3
8:50 am P
M
Chapter 293
Not when he was done with her.
A slow grin spread across his face, satisfaction curling in his chest like a lazy flame.
This was only the beginning.
The murmur of the guests faded into the background as the priest began reciting the vows, his voice steady and solemn. The weight of the moment settl over them, thick as the summer air, yet Graham felt nothing but a slow, burning anticipation coursing through his veins.
Then he reached for her hand.
The moment his fingers wrapped around hers, he felt it–that familiar spark. A shiver of electric heat slithered down his spine, potent, undeniable, as if t universe itself recognized the connection between them. It had always been like this. Always. A single touch from her, and his entire body responded. But today, it was more intense. So much more intense.
Because in just another moment, she would be his.
He could feel the tension in her hand, the stiffness in her fingers as she let him hold her. She was still angry, still wrapped in that silent fury, but she wasn’t pulling away. She was standing here, next to him, binding herself to him with these vows, this ritual, this moment.
The priest’s voice carried through the air, weaving ancient words of union and devotion, but Graham barely heard them. His focus was solely on her–the defiant set of her jaw, the way her lashes swept downward, as if refusing to look at him, the slight tremble in her grip that she tried so desperately to
suppress.
But he felt it.
He felt everything.
Then came the final words.
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Graham’s lips curled into the faintest smirk.
It was done.
She was his.
The priest nodded toward him. “You may now kiss the bride.”
His hold on her hand tightened ever so slightly as he stepped closer.
There was no hesitation. No uncertainty.
He tilted her chin up gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. For the briefest moment, he saw the conflict flicker in her eyes–anger still smoldering beneath the surface, but beneath that, something else. Something she would never admit aloud.
His thumb brushed over her jaw, and then, with a deliberate slowness, he leaned in.
The kiss was soft, restrained, but possessive. A mere press of lips, sealing the words spoken, the vows excitanged But even in that beef is, he made
sure she felt it.
8:51 am P
M
The End Of a Marriage
