The first time I stood at the altar, I wore white and smiled like the world was mine.
I thought I was walking toward love.
Instead, I was walking straight into a cage.
Now, I stood again.
No white dress.
No bouquet.
No illusion.
This time, I wore black.
Not for mourning—
for war.
The air in the courtyard was thick with tension, each gust of wind heavy with memory and consequence. We were tucked away in the heart of Montenegro, in the courtyard of a ruined vineyard-turned-outpost. The ivy-covered arch above us had once stood for romance.
Now it stood for rebellion.
Beside me, Liam adjusted his tie—dark gray, like storm clouds just before the lightning hits. His collar was open, revealing the edge of the healing scar carved into his neck. His skin was still too pale, but there wa
