Your uncle is waiting. He’s very upset. I’m sure he is. So, if you’ll just step aside.
No. The word hung in the air like a blade. Both guards blinked. Sir, I said no.
Zach stepped forward and despite wearing nothing but a bathrobe, he radiated more authority than both armed guards combined.
You’re not taking her anywhere. But, sir, mister, a Desmond specifically ordered. I don’t care what my uncle ordered.
He moved to stand in front of Novi, a wall of muscle and cold fury between her and the men who wanted to drag her back to her nightmare.
Tell my uncle the wedding is off. Tell him his bride won’t be walking down any aisle today.
Sir, he’s going to want to know why. Because she’s mine. The words dropped like bombs.
No’s mouth fell open. The guards stared. Even the air seemed to freeze. She’s yours, sir.
Guard one looked like his brain was shortcircuiting. Did I stutter? Zach’s voice was ice.
This woman belongs to me. Has for years. Whatever arrangement my uncle made with her stepfather is null and void.
Now get out of my sight and deliver that message before I have security escort you out of this hotel.
The guards exchanged bewildered looks. Sir, now. They practically fell over each other, scrambling down the hallway.
The moment they disappeared, Zach slammed the door, locked it, and turned on Novi with murder in his eyes.
I just defied my uncle for you. You have 30 seconds to explain yourself, or I’ll throw you back to the wolves.
Novi nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat with difficulty. But wait, how did Novi end up bursting into a stranger’s hotel room in a wedding dress?
And why is she running from a marriage to one of Chicago’s wealthiest men? Before I tell you, hit that subscribe button and ring that notification bell.
This story has secrets, tension, and a slow burn romance that’s going to set your screen on fire.
Trust me, you want to be here for all of it. Now, let’s rewind to where this chaos began.
4 hours earlier, the bridal suite. The woman in the mirror was a beautiful stranger.
Novi Palmer stared at her reflection, trying to find herself beneath the layers of professional makeup and the elaborate updo studded with pearls and crystals.
The dress was stunning. Sweetheart neckline, handsewn S Swarovski crystals, a train that stretched 6 ft behind her like a bridal shadow.
She looked like she belonged on the cover of a wedding magazine. She felt like she was being buried alive.
4 hours, she thought numbly. In 4 hours, I’ll be Mrs. Desmond Brown, wife to a man old enough to be my father, a property of a stranger who paid for me like livestock at an auction.
Her hands trembled against the cold glass. Mama, I’m so sorry. You trusted the wrong man, and now I’m paying for it.
Miranda Palmer had been dead for 2 years, but Novi still heard her voice sometimes, soft and warm, full of hope that the world didn’t deserve.
Vernon will take care of you. Miranda had whispered from her hospital bed, her hand frail as paper in Novi’s grip.
Cancer had hollowed her out, turned her into a shadow of the vibrant woman she’d once been.
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