#6.
965 Words
The memory of their last encounter still burned against Ava’s lips, a phantom pressure that refused to fade. It wasn’t just the audacity of the kiss itself, it was the way Dominic had claimed it, as if it were a debt she hadn’t known she owed. She had walked away then, her heels clicking in an angry rhythm against the floor, her heart hammering a frantic protest. To actually admit he had taken her first kiss would be to hand him a victory she wasn’t prepared to concede. So, she bottled the shame and the fury, letting it ferment into a cold resolve.
Today, however, the anger had been replaced by a shimmering, restless tension.
Ava stood before the floor to ceiling mirror, her reflection staring back with a defiance. Her fingers traced the delicate lace of her bodice, her pulse visible at the hollow of her throat.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ava. For the last time, you look breathtaking," Claire said, stepping into the frame. She reached out, adjusting a loose strand of hair with a flick of her wrist.
Ava took a breath so deep it made the structured bones of her gown creak. "I know. I just... I feel a little bit nervous, Claire. It’s a foreign sensation. I don't particularly care for it."
Claire paused, her eyes softening as she raked them up and down Ava’s silhouette. The admiration in her gaze was tempered by a lingering sense of disbelief. "Everything is going to be fine. Or, at the very least, it will be memorable." She hesitated, her hand hovering over the dark fabric. "Though I really cannot say what possessed you with the choice of your dress. It’s going to cause a scandal. The gossip alone will last until the next century."
A slow smirk pulled at the corners of Ava’s mouth. The nervousness didn't vanish, but it found a purpose. "Exactly what I need, Claire. Drama. You know my life revolves around it. Why should my wedding day be any less of a spectacle? I want them to look. I want them to talk."
"You certainly aren't going to be disappointed," Claire replied, a reluctant smile tugging at her own lips. "Let’s get you into the car. The world is waiting, and you have a groom to shock."
Ava chuckled, the sound bright and clear, masking the tremor in her hands. "Let's."
———
At the altar, the air felt heavy with the scent of lilies and the oppressive weight of expectation. Dominic checked his watch, the movement impatient. Every second that ticked by was a slight against his dignity, a public fraying of his control.
"Where is she?" he gritted out, the words barely more than a low snarl.
His brother, Silas, stood a half step behind him. He reached out, tapping Dominic’s shoulder in a gesture that was far more patronizing than comforting. "Patience, brother. She’ll be here. A woman like Ava knows how to make an entrance."
Dominic shifted his weight, his shoulders tightening. "Get your hands off me," he snapped, shrugging away the touch.
Silas didn't seem offended, instead, his smirk deepened, his eyes fixed on the entrance of the chapel.
Then, the doors groaned open.
The white limousine had arrived moments before, and as the bride stepped out into the light, a collective intake of breath swept through the pews like a gust of wind.
Dominic’s jaw tightened so hard it ached. His mouth nearly dropped, his composure fracturing in real time. "What in the bloody hell is she wearing?" he hissed under his breath.
Ava didn't walk, she strolled. She moved down the aisle with the grace of a queen presiding over a court of her own making. The gown was black. The guests gasped, some leaning forward in shock, others recoiling as if her very presence were an omen.
Ava saw it all. She saw the judgmental stares of the guest and the bewildered blinking of the men, but her focus was narrowed entirely on the man waiting at the end of the carpet. The look on Dominic’s fac, the pure, unadulterated shock—gave her a surge of satisfaction so deep it felt like a victory.
When she finally reached him, the silence in the room was clear.
Dominic reached out, taking her hand. His touch was light, but his grip was firm, a silent command for her to remain still. He glanced briefly at the crowd, before he leaned in toward her. His eyes were burning, two dark coals of suppressed rage.
"What the f@ck are you putting on?" he demanded, his voice a coming out angrily. "Where is the white dress?"
Ava met his gaze with a sweet, poisoned smile. She leaned closer, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "Oh, dear husband... the white dress felt so terribly unsuitable for a union such as ours. I decided the black was far more honest."
The muscles in Dominic’s jaw surged. The anger coming off him was undeniable, a heat that seemed to singe the air between them. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous vibration that only she could hear.
"You so desperately want to embarrass me, Ava," he said through gritted teeth. "You think this little stunt gives you the upper hand. But it won't work. You are incapable of truly humiliating me."
Ava’s smirk remained, a shield of defiance held high. She felt invincible in her darkness.
But then, Dominic leaned even closer. His breath brushed against her ear, and the scent of him, expensive cologne and cold steel clouded her senses.
"Tonight," he whispered, his voice turning low and huskily intimate, "I’m going to show you who is truly in charge."
The smirk died on her lips quickly.
- Writer
