GINA’S POV
My fingers trembled as I smoothed the front of my dress, the delicate fabric slipping under my touch like water. My heart pounded so violently I swore it would crack my ribs, each beat a thunderous echo in my ears. I forced one foot in front of the other, even as the ground beneath me swayed, as if the earth itself had turned to sand.
Klaus had followed me. He had stood there, in that narrow kitchen hallway, his broad shoulders blocking the light, his eyes—God, his eyes—burning with something raw and desperate. "Don’t do this," he had said, voice rough, like the words had been dragged out of him.
As if he had any right. As if he hadn’t shattered me with his silence. As if he hadn’t chosen her.
"Stay out of it," I had snapped, my voice colder than I thought possible. And then
