I told the driver I was going to get lunch.
I lied.
There were two days until the wedding, and the weight of it all had finally settled on my chest like a stone I couldn't shake off. I couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. I was marrying a man who made my heart beat too loud and my thoughts go too quiet. And worst of all?
I was starting to want him more than I feared him.
But that wasn't the problem.
The problem was… I didn't want to walk down the aisle in his dress. The one he picked. The one everyone would expect me to wear — flawless, controlled, elegant.
The real me? She wasn't soft and curated. She had edges. Fire. Hunger.
So I went back.
To the bridal suite on the 20th floor. Alone. Unannounced.
Colette looked surprised when I walked in, no security, no Dominic.
"Miss Harper," she said, eyebrows lifting. "Is everything all right?"
"I need to change my dress," I said, closing the door behind me. "And I don't want Dominic to know."
Her lips twitched. "Ah. A bride with secrets. I like you already."
She led me to a back room — a space reserved for gowns too daring for traditional brides.
And that's where I saw her.
Not a dress.
A weapon.
She was bold ivory, nearly nude beneath illusion mesh. Embroidered roses crawled over the sheer fabric like something forbidden — clinging to my hips, framing my chest, dancing down the slit that cut dangerously high on the left thigh. The neckline plunged deep, held only by two pearl-dotted straps, and the back?
Completely open. Exposed. Defiant.
"This one was custom," Colette murmured, watching me stare. "Designed for a runway show in Milan. Never worn in a real wedding."
"Until now," I said, already reaching for it.
The moment I slipped into the dress, I knew.
This wasn't just for Dominic.
It was for me.
I looked in the mirror and saw someone powerful. Someone untouchable. Someone who could bring a man like Dominic Blackwell to his knees — not because he owned her, but because she made him want to be ruined.
I stepped out of the fitting room, and Colette blinked slowly like she'd forgotten how to breathe.
"Mon Dieu," she whispered. "He will not survive you."
"Good," I said, and smiled.
An hour later, I had it all arranged.
The new dress would be kept hidden, delivered privately to the bridal suite the morning of the wedding. The old dress — the one Dominic's people had already approved — would stay out in the open as a decoy.
He wouldn't know.
Not until I walked down that aisle.
Not until every Blackwell and billionaire in that cathedral turned to see the girl he plucked from nothing become the woman who could destroy him with a single look.
I stepped into the elevator, heart thudding.
And that's when my phone buzzed.
DOMINIC:
Where are you?
ME:
Out. Clearing my head.
DOMINIC:
Don't go too far.
I'd hate to start the rest of my life without my bride.
That was the problem. He sounded like he meant it.
I stared at the message, thumbs hovering over the keys, but I didn't reply.
Let him wait.
Let him wonder.
Because when he saw me in that dress…
He wouldn't just want to marry me.
He'd want to worship me.