Three days later, Jazmin stood on the steps of the New York City Hall. She was wearing a simple white button-down shirt, a pair of faded jeans, and holding a cup of black coffee. She looked less like a bride and more like someone waiting for a bus.
A black sedan screeched to a halt at the curb. Adrian Garrett burst out of the car, his face a blotchy, furious red, his eyes webbed with broken blood vessels.
He'd obviously heard the news.
"Jazmin!" he roared, storming up the marble steps. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin. "Are you insane? Marrying him? My biggest rival? Is this some sick game to humiliate me?" His mind wasn't working rationally; it was pure, primal rage. The woman who was once his possession was now aligning with his enemy. It was a public castration of his ego, and violence was the only response he could conjure.
Jazmin tried to pull her arm away, but his grip was desperate, fueled by a wounded ego. He raised his other hand, ready to strike her right there in front of God and everyone.
He never got the chance.
In one fluid motion, Jazmin swept his legs out from under him. Adrian yelped as his knees slammed into the hard stone steps. Before he could recover, she brought her foot down hard on the back of his hand, pinning it to the ground.
A strangled cry of pain escaped his lips.
Passersby and other couples waiting to get married stopped to stare, their phones instantly emerging to capture the drama.
Across the street, parked in a discreet town car, Iain Mendez watched the scene unfold through the tinted window.
"Sir, should I intervene?" Alex asked from the driver's seat.
Iain raised a hand, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. "No. Let her work."
Adrian was sweating now, his face pale with pain and utter humiliation. Melody scrambled out of the car, saw the scene, and let out a theatrical shriek, but didn't dare come any closer.
Jazmin leaned down, her face inches from his. "Don't. Ever. Touch me again."
She removed her foot. Then, for good measure, she emptied the rest of her coffee onto the front of his expensive suit.
He collapsed back onto the steps, a pathetic, stained heap of a man.
Jazmin turned and walked toward the grand entrance of City Hall, her posture as relaxed as if she'd just taken out the trash.
"Alright," Iain said, his eyes following her every move. "Push me out."
Iain's wheelchair appeared at the top of the steps just as Jazmin turned to face him.
Seeing Iain, Adrian's eyes went wide with disbelief. He struggled to his feet. "Mendez! You bastard! This is a declaration of war!"
Iain didn't even grant him a glance. He simply extended his hand to Jazmin.
She took it. She turned the wheelchair around and began pushing him toward the marriage bureau, their two figures framed by the massive columns of the entrance.
Adrian tried to lunge after them, but a large, immovable object in the form of Finn, Iain's head of security, stepped in his path, shoving him roughly back down the steps.
Inside, the process was quick and clinical. They signed the certificate, their movements crisp and efficient. As Iain signed his name, his fingers deliberately brushed the back of Jazmin's hand.
The familiar, futile probe of his mind-reading ability. The impenetrable wall of white noise.
A spark of obsession, dark and possessive, flared in his eyes.
"Welcome to hell, Mrs. Mendez," he murmured, his voice a low caress.
Jazmin met his gaze without flinching. "Hell is warmer than heaven."
When they emerged back into the sunlight, a storm of flashbulbs erupted from a pack of paparazzi that had magically appeared.
In the corner of her vision, Jazmin saw a quiet notification.
`[STRENGTH PARAMETER: +5%]`
The chaos was making her stronger.
