Isaac's voice. Low. Familiar.
I opened the door. He stepped inside, hands in his pockets, looking every bit the polished lawyer in his charcoal suit. But his eyes were tired.
"Your mom already left in the convoy," he said. "Figured you wouldn't want to ride with her today."
I exhaled. "Thank God. I'll meet her at church."
He closed the distance, voice soft. "I'm sorry about last night, baby. I panicked. I should've come in after you. I shouldn't have left with Avery."
I looked at him-really looked. The slump in his shoulders, the way he kept swallowing like the words hurt. Guilt twisted in my stomach.
"I overreacted," I said quietly.
"No. You didn't." He took my hands, thumbs brushing my knuckles. "I deserved every word. I just... I don't want to lose you."
"We're not breaking up," I told him, forcing a smile. "You're still the only man I've ever loved. You're going to be my husband."
He searched my face. "Then why postpone the wedding?"
The question landed like a stone in still water. I shifted my weight. "I need to think. Straight. Without all the noise."
"Why?"
The picture flashed behind my eyes again-the blonde, the angle, the way it had been tucked into that stupid cake like a poison pill.
I pulled my hands free. "Because I saw something. At the club. Inside the birthday cake you supposedly sent me."
His brow furrowed. "What picture?"
"You and some blonde. It wasn't clear, but it looked... intimate."
Isaac's face went slack. "That's a lie."
He reached for me again, gentle. "Baby, someone's trying to mess with us. I would never. You know me. I'd rather die than hurt you like that."
I studied his eyes. They were steady. Honest. The same eyes that had looked at me across the lunch table in tenth grade and promised forever.
"But it looked real," I whispered.
"You know what they say-don't believe everything you see." He cupped my face, thumbs wiping at the tears I hadn't realized were falling. "It was photoshopped. I don't know who or why, but I'll find out."
I sniffed. "You forgot my birthday."
The words came out small and cracked.
Isaac's shoulders dropped. "It slipped my mind. I had that big case, the one with the hedge-fund guy-"
"Work," I cut in, voice rising. "It's always work. That's all it's going to be when we're married, isn't it? You at the office until midnight, me waiting up like some sad little wife."
He pulled me into his chest. His cologne-something expensive and woody-filled my nose. I used to love it. Today it made me want to gag.
"I'm sorry, angel," he murmured into my hair. "Let me make it up to you. Dinner tonight. Just us. Somewhere nice. We'll talk. Really talk."
A date. Actual time. The idea felt foreign after months of canceled plans and quick kisses on the forehead.
I nodded against his shirt. "Okay. Yeah. That sounds good."
He kissed my forehead-soft, familiar, safe-then stepped back. "I'll make the reservation. I love you, Cilia. Always have."
"I love you too," I said, but the words felt heavy on my tongue.
He left, and I stood there a moment, staring at the closed door, the teddy bear on the bed watching me like it knew every secret I was trying to bury.
My driver was waiting downstairs. The ride to church was quiet, just the low hum of the engine and the city sliding past the tinted windows. When I stepped out, my Jimmy Choos clicked against the stone steps like tiny accusations.
Inside, the choir was already singing, voices rising sweet and steady. I slid into the pew beside Kaila. She'd saved me the spot, same as always.
The music wrapped around me, warm and familiar. For a few minutes I let it carry me. I closed my eyes and tried to feel clean. New. The way I was supposed to feel in this place.
Then the scent hit me-dark, expensive, a little dangerous chocolate and something sharper, like smoke and rain.
My head turned before I could stop it.
Three rows over, settling into a seat like he belonged there was none other than the handsome devil himself-the one who had lodged himself in my thoughts since last night. The very man I believed worship and the sermon had cleansed from my mind... and from my skin.
Ivanov Rodriguez.
Black suit. Crisp white shirt. The scar on his face catching the light from the stained-glass windows. Those sharp eyes scanned the sanctuary once, then locked on mine.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought the whole congregation could hear it.
What the hell is he doing here?
He didn't smile. He didn't wink. He just looked at me, steady and unblinking, like he already knew every filthy thought I'd had about him since last night.
And God help me, I couldn't look away.
