3
1209 Words
Nia’s pov
By the time we reached the grand hall, it was already filled. Rows of guests, the scent of roses and candle wax, and the faint rustle of silk against marble. Music swelled softly in the background.
I positioned myself opposite Rowan because of course fate would have it that way. Ashera’s best woman. Darius’s best man.
Our gazes clashed the moment he turned his head.
For a heartbeat, I forgot where I was.
He stood there like a shadow carved in human form tall, broad, perfectly still. The black suit he wore fit like sin itself, every line sharp, precise, and deliberate. His tie was slightly undone, the smallest imperfection that made him impossibly human again.
He looked calm. Too calm. Like he hadn’t just torn through my thoughts minutes ago.
I tore my gaze away, fixing it on the altar. The priest was already speaking, his voice echoing softly against the high ceilings.
Ashera looked radiant. Ethereal. The kind of beautiful that made everyone forget to breathe. I should’ve been fully present, soaking in her joy, smiling for her like a good friend. But all I could feel was that magnetic pull from across the aisle.
Every time Rowan shifted, I felt it.
Every time he looked up, my body knew before my mind did.
He didn’t say a word, but his presence pressed against me like gravity itself. And the memories, the heat, the taste of his mouth, the way his hands had felt on my skin that night before everything fell apart, they all came flooding back, merciless and raw.
“Do you, Darius Thorn, take Ashera Quinn to be your lawfully wedded mate and wife?”
Darius’s deep voice echoed through the hall. “I do.”
Applause rippled softly through the crowd.
My vision blurred for a second. I blinked hard. Focus, Nia.
When it was Ashera’s turn to say her vows, her voice trembled slightly, the good kind of nerves. Love radiated from her like light. I smiled because she deserved this happiness, even if the air around me felt like it was suffocating.
And all the while, Rowan never looked away.
When the ceremony ended and the hall erupted in claps and cheers, I exhaled shakily, pretending to laugh, pretending my knees weren’t weak.
_ _ _
The next torture was the photographs.
We stood in a long, elegant line, groomsmen on one side, bridesmaids on the other, the perfect picture of harmony and celebration. The chandeliers above cast a soft golden light over everyone’s faces, and the photographer’s cheerful voice cut through the air like a whip: “Closer, please! Let’s see those smiles!”
I forced one. My cheeks ached from how long I’d been pretending.
Beside me, Ashera radiated pure happiness, the kind that softened everything around her. Her hand clutched her bouquet, her eyes glimmering as Darius leaned in, whispering something that made her laugh. She was glowing, truly glowing, and for that alone, I told myself to hold it together.
But holding it together was hard when Rowan Hale stood only a few feet away.
He looked unfairly good in black. The kind of good that made my stomach twist and my heartbeat scatter. The cut of his suit fit his body perfectly, broad shoulders, tapered waist, a quiet power in every line of him. He wasn’t smiling for the camera. Of course he wasn’t. Rowan never smiled unless he meant it. He just stood there, composed, unreadable, as though the chaos inside me didn’t exist.
I wanted to hate him for it.
Every time the photographer rearranged us, the gap between us shrank. “Just a little closer,” she chirped. “You two, yes, perfect symmetry!”
Perfect torture.
At one point, his arm brushed mine. The touch was fleeting, nothing more than a whisper of contact, but it was enough to send a shock through my body. I froze, a sharp breath catching in my throat.
He didn’t even look at me.
But I felt him, the quiet, steady tension that rolled off him like heat from a fire. It was in the way his jaw tightened, the way he shifted his weight but didn’t step back.
“Hold still,” the photographer said brightly, snapping shot after shot.
Click. Flash. Click.
I couldn’t. Not really.
Not when every nerve in my body was hyper-aware of the man beside me.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the slightest twitch of his fingers, as if he wanted to reach for me, and then stopped himself. My throat felt dry. The air around us thickened with all the words we hadn’t said, all the things we’d buried and pretended to forget.
Another flash. Another hollow smile.
When the group photos were finally done, the crowd broke into laughter, everyone stretching and moving as the photographer thanked us. Ashera turned to me, cheeks glowing pink with joy, and leaned close, her voice soft.
“You okay?”
I blinked, forcing myself to breathe again. “Of course,” I lied smoothly, curving my lips into a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
She studied me for a heartbeat too long, Ashera always could read me better than anyone, but before she could say anything, the next group was being called forward.
And that’s when I heard him.
“You shouldn’t have come back.”
His voice was low, just for me, deep enough to curl around the edges of my composure and unravel it.
I turned slightly, meeting his gaze. For a split second, I almost forgot how to breathe. Those eyes, cold and familiar all at once, pinned me in place.
“Trust me,” I whispered back, my tone sharp even though my pulse was racing, “I didn’t want to.”
A small sound escaped him, not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. His mouth curved into that same infuriating, devastating smirk I used to both crave and despise. The kind that promised danger and desire in the same breath.
“Liar,” he murmured.
It wasn’t loud, but it hit like a strike to the chest, soft, sure, and painfully true.
Before I could respond, before I could even process the heat that rose in my cheeks, the photographer’s voice cut through the tension.
“Ah, you both look good together!” the photographer exclaimed suddenly, gesturing excitedly toward Rowan and me. “Let’s get one of just you two! Yes, yes..come forward a little. That’s it.”
My stomach dropped.
“Oh, no…no, that’s not..” I started, chuckling nervously, my voice higher than usual. “We’re not…”
But she was already waving us closer, camera poised, eyes gleaming with artistic enthusiasm. “Come on, you two! The chemistry is perfect. Sir, can you put your hand behind her, please? Around the waist, yes, just like that!”
My protest died in my throat as Rowan moved.
His hand slid around me with unhurried certainty, the warmth of his palm spreading across the small of my back like fire. My breath caught violently. He didn’t just touch me, he pulled me closer, the faintest pressure urging me until my body fit against his side.
- Writer
