RED INK VOWS
The groom is the man who stole everything from her.
The scent of gardenias was choking her, thick and sweet in the air-conditioned cathedral. Isabella stood at the altar, her white dress a cage of silk and lace, her father's arm a lead weight around hers. She kept her eyes fixed on the massive doors at the back of the church, waiting for the man who would become her husband. The man who had stolen her company, her fortune, and now, her name. His name was Julian Thorne, and he was a ghost wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo. Three years ago, he'd been her most trusted executive, the architect of her family's beverage empire's expansion. Then came the hostile takeover, the boardroom coup engineered with clinical precision, leaving her family penniless and her father broken. And now, this. The final, humiliating act in his conquest.
The organ swelled, and the doors swung open. Julian strode down the aisle, a predator in human form, his smile a masterpiece of charm that never reached his cold, gray eyes. He was even more handsome than she remembered, which made the betrayal all the more venomous. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his jaw sharp, his shoulders broad beneath the black jacket. He looked like a king returning to claim his throne. As he reached the altar, he turned to her, extending his hand. For a fleeting second, she saw nothing but the man she thought she loved, the man who had held her hand through late-night strategy sessions. Then the mask slipped, just for an instant, and she saw the triumphant conqueror looking at his prize.
Her father released her arm, his own trembling as he placed her hand into Julian's. The contact was electric, a jolt of pure hatred that shot through her veins. Julian's fingers closed around hers, his grip firm, proprietary. He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as the priest began the ceremony. "You look beautiful, Bella," he murmured, the sound a silken caress that made her skin crawl. "Like a proper queen for her kingdom." The words were meant to be romantic, but they were a threat, a reminder of everything he had taken. Every word of the service was a knife twisting in her gut. "In the presence of God and these witnesses, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the priest asked, his voice echoing through the silent church. All eyes were on Julian, waiting for his vow. He looked at her, his expression unreadable, and for a terrifying moment, she thought he might refuse, might leave her standing there in humiliation. But then, a slow, cruel smile spread across his face.