Emilie’s POV:
The morning sun filtered through the penthouse windows, casting long shadows across the marble floor. I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric of the deep emerald gown Milo had chosen for me. It hugged my frame tightly, the neckline plunging just enough to make me feel exposed, yet the elegance of it was undeniable. Tonight, I wasn’t just Emilie, the girl who’d traded her freedom for her father’s life. Tonight, I was Milo Petrov’s wife, and he intended for the world to know it.
“Stop fidgeting,” Irina snapped, her voice sharp as she adjusted the diamond necklace around my throat. The stones glittered coldly, matching her gaze in the reflection.
“You’ll ruin the look.”
“I’m not fidgeting,” I replied, though my fingers betrayed me, twisting the hem of the dress
