Elena’s pov
The scent of sandalwood, Oliver’s usual cologne, slowly seeped into my frantic senses. It was a balm, a tiny island of calm in the hurricane swirling inside me. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a frantic drum against the silence of the room.
“Easy, Elena, easy,” Oliver murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear. He held me close, his strong arms a reassuring weight, pulling me back from the edge of panic. “It’s just a dress. It can be fixed. We’ll figure it out.”
Fixed? A wave of fresh despair washed over me. The intricate lacework, ripped and shredded. The delicate silk, stained and torn. It wasn't just a dress; it was a symbol of my hope, my future with Oliver. And someone, someone deliberately cruel, had destroyed it. This was more than a warning of what
