Bride of the Enemy

(Velia's POV) Khaki’s fingers dug into my shoulders through the thin silk of my wedding dress. “Stop shaking,” she whispered. “You’ve done this a hundred times. He’s just another target.” I stared at the double doors. Soft light leaked from underneath. Aldrich was already inside, waiting. My husband. “He’s not just another target,” I said. Her grip tightened. “Don’t start. Two months of playing the perfect fiancée doesn’t change anything. You kill him tonight. The League of Assassins gets the money. We both walk away.” Walk away. Like it was that simple. I swallowed. “He told me things, Khaki. About his brother. About waking up and still reaching for someone who isn’t there. He’s not what they said he was.” “And you’re not the cold killer they trained you to be.” Her voice dropped. “That’s why you finish it. Before those feelings get you killed.” She was right. I knew she was right. My hand still shook when I reached for the door. “Go,” she said. “Seduce him. Make it clean. I’ll be right outside.” I pushed the door open. The room was darker than I expected. City light spilled through the windows, enough to see him. Aldrich stood there, jacket gone, white shirt open at the collar. The light caught on the faint scar near the corner of his mouth—the one from the summer his brother died. I’d traced it once with my thumb when he was half-asleep and talking too much. He never brought it up again. When he turned, his eyes found me right away. “Mrs. Prendergast,” he said. “Took you long enough.” My pulse kicked hard in my throat. The smile came before I could stop it—pity or guilt, I couldn’t tell which one was worse. “I wanted to look perfect for my husband.” He crossed the room in three strides. One hand slid around my waist. The other cupped the back of my neck, thumb rubbing slow circles just under my ear like he was checking I was real. “You already do, Vee.” The kiss was slow. His mouth on mine, not rushed. Heat moved down my neck, and my breathing went wrong. The blade sat in the seam of my garter. One clean strike to the side of the neck and it would be over. I didn’t reach for it. He walked me backward toward the bed. His mouth moved to my throat, teeth grazing the skin under my ear. My fingers curled into his shirt instead of going for the weapon. Do it now. My body didn’t listen. When he slid the zipper down, I arched into him before I could stop myself. The silk pooled at my feet. His eyes moved over the white lace the League of Assassins had picked for this exact moment. One strike. That’s all it would take. The thought landed hard and ugly. My stomach twisted with something that felt too close to disgust—at myself, at how easy it was to forget why I was here. “f**k,” he muttered, almost to himself. He turned me so I faced the headboard. One hand pressed between my shoulder blades, bending me forward. The other pulled my hips back against him. I felt him hard through his trousers. His thumb started tracing slow circles on my lower back—the same way he used to when we were alone, and he thought I was falling asleep. This was the perfect angle. One twist. One precise movement. The blade would find the artery. I still didn’t move. Aldrich leaned over me, chest warm against my back, breath hot at my ear. His hand slid up my spine while the other stayed loosely around my throat, thumb still rubbing that same spot on my neck. “You’ve been quiet tonight, Velia.” I tried to focus on the blade against my thigh. His fingers kept moving—tracing the curve of my waist, the edge of the lace, the sensitive skin just below my ribs. Heat spread under my skin in a way that felt like shame. My stomach tightened. I leaned into the touch anyway. Then I heard it. A muffled thud. Something heavy shifting just beyond the doors. I tensed. “Did you hear that?” His hand stilled for half a second, then kept going. “Building settling,” he said against my ear. “Old estate. Ignore it.” Another sound—softer. Like fabric dragging. I turned my head. “Al—” “Forget it.” His voice dropped. “We’re not finished.” His grip on my throat tightened just enough to tilt my chin back. The circles on my lower back became firmer, more insistent. For a second I almost let myself sink into it. My fingers twitched toward the blade and then stopped, useless. My heartbeat didn’t get faster—it got louder. Each one felt like it was hitting the inside of my throat. He knew. “Al… please.” I twisted hard and drove my elbow back. His grip broke. I scrambled forward across the bed to the ground, heart slamming against my ribs, and spun to face him. The blade was already in my hand. He just watched me. Eyes dark. Breathing steady. No surprise at all. I edged toward the door, calculating distance, angle, time. Every path felt blocked. He moved with me, slow and controlled, never giving me a clean exit. “Velia,” he said quietly. Almost gently. “Don’t.” I kept the blade raised, back pressed toward the wall, searching for an opening that wasn’t there. Something wet touched my bare foot. I looked down. Dark liquid was spreading under the double doors, thin and steady. It reached my skin—warm at first, then quickly cold. Blood. The doors swung open. Khaki stood in the doorway. Her bridesmaid dress was torn at the shoulder and soaked dark. She held a man by the collar—one of Aldrich’s security, limp and barely conscious. Blood dripped from her fingers onto the floor. More bodies lay in the corridor behind her. Her eyes found mine first, then shifted to Aldrich. They were vicious and completely calm. Cold in a way that made the air feel thinner. “Vee! Run. He’s not alone.”