No’s blood ran cold. Us? I told his guards you were mine. Now I have to explain what that means.
He moved toward the closet and pulled out a garment bag. I suggest you make yourself presentable.
We’re about to walk into a lion’s den. The wedding hall. The grand ballroom was stunning.
A cathedral of luxury with crystal chandeliers, towering flower arrangements, and enough white silk to drown in.
But the chairs were empty now. The guests had been sent away. The flowers were starting to wilt under the harsh overhead lights.
And standing at the altar like a king awaiting tribute was Desmond Brown. Novi’s first thought, against her will, was that he was handsome for his age.
Silver hair swept back from a distinguished face. Gray eyes the color of storm clouds, tall and well-built, dressed in an impeccable charcoal suit.
He was 58, but he wore his age like armor, powerful, commanding, the kind of man who had never heard the word no.
According to street gossip, his first wife, Elizabeth, had died three years ago. Cancer. Like Novi’s mother, it had been a childless marriage.
He’d spent a year mourning her, then decided he needed a new wife, young enough to give him children to continue the Brown family legacy.
And that was how Novi became his target. Standing beside Desmond, practically vibrating with fury, was Vernon Cross.
Her stepfather looked exactly as she remembered, small, weasel-faced, with calculating eyes and thinning hair sllicked back with too much gel.
His smile was the smile of a man who saw people as commodities, like so.
Desmond’s voice was smooth as aged bourbon. You had the guts to turn my wedding into a circus.
Zach stood stiff as a soldier beside Novi, his hands clasped behind his back. He’d changed into a tailored black suit that fit him like a second skin, and with his dreads brushed back from his face, his sharp features were on full display.
He looked like a CEO about to deliver a hostile takeover. Novi lingered a step behind him, acutely aware that she was still in her ruined wedding dress, though she’d managed to fix her hair and wipe most of the mascara from her cheeks.
“She’s lying,” Vernon sputtered, his face purple. “Whatever she told you, it’s lies. She’s a manipulative little quiet.
Desmond didn’t raise his voice, but Vernon’s mouth snapped shut instantly. I want to hear from my nephew.
His gray eyes fixed on Zach. Zachary, my men tell me you claimed this woman is yours.
What exactly did you mean by that? The question hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
Zach’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Novi and I have history, he said, his voice flat.
We knew each other years ago before you made your arrangement with Mr. Cross. Vernon nearly exploded.
Impossible. I’ve never seen this man in my I didn’t tell you everything about my life, Vernon.
Novi stepped forward, her voice steady despite her pounding heart. You never cared enough to ask.
Vernon sputtered, but Desmond held up a hand for silence. History, he repeated slowly. He studied his nephew’s face with sharp assessing eyes.
What kind of history? We were close. Zach’s voice was mechanical, rehearsed. We lost touch when I moved away for business.
When I saw her today, when I realized she was the woman you were marrying, I couldn’t allow it.
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