POV Ivy
The chapel was cold.
It was built of the same grey stone as the cliffs, a jagged tooth of a building that felt more like a tomb than a place for vows. There were no flowers. No colorful ribbons. Only rows of polished mahogany pews and the scent of ancient incense and sea salt.
I stood at the back of the aisle, my fingers trembling around a bouquet of dark, blood-red roses. The thorns bit into my palms through my lace gloves, but I welcomed the pain. It was the only thing keeping me grounded.
"Don't look so miserable, Ivy," a cold voice whispered beside me.
I turned my head. Marcus Vane, Silas’s uncle, was standing there to walk me down the aisle. He looked at me with pure disgust. "You’re about to become one of the wealthiest women in the country. Act like you earned it."
"I
