Daniel Garrett: They Took Her From Me

Chapter 5: Daniel

I didn’t actually listen to anything during the ceremony, nor did I really see anything either. Everything I could see, hear, feel, smell—heck, even taste—was her. She was right in front of me, looking so goddamn gorgeous I could hardly believe it. It was like she had stepped out of one of my fantasies, except no fantasy could have ever done her justice.

Sometimes, you convince yourself that you’re exaggerating, that your mind is playing tricks on you. That a person can’t possibly live up to the image you’ve built of them in your head. But there she was. And somehow, she was even more stunning than I remembered. She had always been beautiful, but now? Now she was radiant. Otherworldly. A vision of perfection standing just a few feet away, yet somehow still feeling impossibly out of reach.

As if my body had a mind of its own, my c**k immediately stirred to life, aching with a need I’d suppressed for too damn long. f**k me. I took a deep breath, forcing my lungs to expand, trying to will my body into submission. Now was not the time to be thinking about bending her over the nearest surface, no matter how tempting the thought was.

She was the only bridesmaid. Lydia clearly knew her—they had to have some kind of bond. I knew she had nothing to do with Joshua; he wasn’t exactly the type to have close female friends. And she couldn’t be some long-lost cousin or relative of his, not when she looked like that, not when she carried herself the way she did. No, she had to be connected to Lydia. That was the only explanation.

Suddenly, the sound of applause snapped me out of my haze. I blinked, realizing people were standing, clapping, cheering. s**t. I hadn’t even noticed the vows, hadn’t registered a single word of what had been said. Only then did my eyes focus on the front of the room, where Joshua was practically mauling Lydia in a messy, overeager kiss that sent a shiver of distaste down my spine.

I clenched my jaw, my hands forming fists at my sides. She deserved better. She deserved someone who would worship the ground she walked on, who would move heaven and earth for her, who would make sure she never wanted for anything. And something told me Joshua wasn’t that man.

The newlyweds started making their way down the aisle, Lydia positively glowing, Joshua grinning like he had just won the lottery. But I wasn’t looking at them. My gaze was locked on her—the bridesmaid, my queen—who walked beside Benjamin Kempball with a practiced grace that made it seem like she belonged in a place like this.

I knew she had seen me. I knew she had locked those breathtaking blue eyes onto mine the moment she walked in. And yet, not once did she acknowledge me. She didn’t even spare me a glance. Her chin remained lifted, her gaze fixed forward, her entire demeanor unreadable.

I smirked. That’s fine. Keep pretending. Keep acting like I don’t exist. I’ll catch you, don’t worry.

I had to get to her. I had to find her before she disappeared again. She needed to know that I hadn’t stopped thinking about her for a single second since the last time we met. She needed to understand that whatever self-imposed rule she had about not doing this again was absolute bullshit. I would convince her to forget all about that. I would make her surrender to me completely, and I would ensure she never regretted it for a single moment.

But first, I had to reach her.

As people finally started shifting, moving out of the way, I stepped forward, determined to weave through the crowd and track her down. But before I could take another step, a sudden movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention.

A woman.

Petite, delicate, and walking unsteadily like she might topple over at any second.

She was stunning—no doubt about that. Her lavender dress hugged her curves perfectly, complementing her features, but it was obvious she wasn’t used to heels. She took small, hesitant steps, her balance precarious at best.

Before I could stop myself, I reached out and offered her my arm.

"Here," I muttered, watching as she looked up at me, her caramel-colored eyes filled with a mix of hesitation and gratitude.

"Thank you," she murmured, slipping her arm through mine. The moment she did, I felt her weight shift, felt her lean on me slightly. Not that I minded. She was light as a feather compared to the weights I was used to handling.

"I’m not great in heels," she admitted with a soft, breathy chuckle. A blush dusted her cheeks, and I could tell she was trying to make conversation, probably out of nervousness.

I glanced down the aisle, noting the ridiculous bottleneck of people standing around, chatting, blocking the exit. Typical. Weddings were supposed to be about efficiency—get in, get married, get out—but instead, they turned into social hour.

Turning back to the woman at my side, I decided to indulge her attempt at conversation. "They’re nothing but death traps," I replied honestly, shifting my weight slightly to make sure she had proper support. "I wouldn’t be able to walk in them either."

A tiny sound—something between a laugh and a scoff—escaped her lips, so quiet I barely caught it.

"Maybe that’s because you’re twelve feet tall," she whispered, almost like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

I bit back a grin. That was new. Most women fawned over my height. They talked about how big I was, how they’d never been with someone so tall, how intimidating I looked. But this one? She just called me a damn giant to my face.

I liked that.

She realized what she had said a second too late, her lips parting like she wanted to backtrack, but I let it slide.

"I haven’t seen you at any of these events before," I said, steering the conversation in another direction before she could panic over her own words. "Are you one of the lucky few who managed to sneak in, or are you actually here with someone?"

I had every intention of tracking down my queen, but I figured there was no harm in keeping myself entertained while I waited for the crowd to clear.

"I’m here with Benjamin Kempball," she answered, her voice steady, almost challenging.

I raised a brow. That was… interesting. Not because I cared who she was with, but because it meant Benjamin was occupied, which meant he wouldn’t have time to make a move on my queen. That was a relief.

Benjamin had been getting serious with some woman—Violet, if I remembered correctly. Something about her having a stalker ex-boyfriend, or some other drama I didn’t care enough to keep up with. That worked in my favor. It meant I had one less obstacle standing in my way.

"Of course. You must be Violet," I said, letting her know I already knew her name. The moment the words left my mouth, I watched as confusion flickered across her delicate features.

"You know my name?" she asked, her caramel-colored eyes searching my face, trying to place me, trying to figure out who the hell I was and why I had this knowledge.

"I’m Daniel Garrett," I introduced myself smoothly. "The panic button you received is one of mine," I added, offering her a solid explanation. I didn’t want her thinking I was some random creep who knew everything about everyone. She needed to understand that I had a reason for knowing who she was, that my awareness of her wasn’t some strange coincidence.

"Oh," she breathed, her voice carrying a hint of surprise. For a moment, she just stared at me like she was trying to process the information. Then, finally, she nodded slightly. "Well… thank you for that," she said, though there was something hesitant about the way she said it, like she wasn’t quite sure how to react.

And then, suddenly, she just started talking.

"It’s… a very big red button," she blurted, her fingers fidgeting slightly against the fabric of her dress. "Very easy to figure out," she added, letting out a small, nervous chuckle that immediately made me c**k an eyebrow at her.

I couldn’t help it. There was something about her nervous energy, the way she felt the need to fill every moment of silence like it might suffocate her if she didn’t, that made me… lighter. Like for the first time in a long time, the crushing weight I’d been carrying—the agony of the past year, the unbearable monotony of everything—was momentarily lifted.

She furrowed her brows, looking up at me as if she couldn’t quite read me, as if she thought I was mocking her somehow. That only made it worse. I had to tease her.

"You know, Violet," I said, my voice laced with amusement, "you don’t have to talk just because you can." I let the corner of my mouth twitch up slightly, just enough to make sure she knew I wasn’t being cruel.

Her reaction was immediate. Her brows shot up, and she pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes at me like I was a misbehaving child.

"And you don’t have to be a jerk just because you can," she shot back, her voice dripping with defiance.

I blinked, caught off guard. That hadn’t been my intention. I hadn’t meant to insult her or make her feel like I was laughing at her expense. I had just wanted to mess with her a little, to see how she’d react.

"I’m sorry," I said honestly, my voice softer this time as I looked down at her. "I didn’t mean to insult you."

"It’s fine," she said dismissively, though I caught the slight tightening of her jaw. Her gaze flickered toward the doors, still frustratingly far away, and she sighed. "Some people are just jackasses without even trying."

I nearly choked on my own breath. A cough escaped my throat as I tried—unsuccessfully—not to laugh. Was she serious? I was literally helping her walk, letting her lean on me, and she had the nerve to call me a jackass?

Unbelievable.

Never in my life had I met a woman with this much gall—except for my queen, of course.

"See?" Violet mused, her tone teasing. "My point exactly. Who chokes on a smile, Daniel? It’s not normal."

I shook my head, exhaling through my nose as I tried to suppress my amusement. "You just took me by surprise, that’s all," I admitted, still not quite able to believe the audacity of this woman.

"You should try smiling a couple of times a day," she went on, flashing me a grin that was both mischievous and sincere. "Might do you some good. I find smiling makes me happier and less of an asshole."

This time, I couldn’t stop the smile from breaking free. It wasn’t much—just a small curve of my lips—but it was genuine. There was something about Violet that was just… refreshing. She was so different from the people I usually dealt with, so unfiltered and unapologetic in a way that made her stand out.

Looking at her, at the way her eyes shone with sheer happiness, I suddenly understood why Benjamin was willing to do anything to protect her. And for some reason, I felt the same instinctual pull. The need to make sure nothing bad ever happened to her, to keep her safe from anything that might dull the light in her eyes.

"You’re a whole other species, aren’t you, Violet?" I mused, studying her expression.

She just shrugged. "I don’t know, Daniel," she said, her tone playful. "Maybe it’s just you."

"Looking at life more positively, huh?" I asked, my mind suddenly shifting to her—to my queen. Would she prefer that? Would she want a man who saw the world through rose-colored glasses instead of the man I had become? Would she have been drawn to me if I had been different, if I had been lighter, happier?

"Exactly," Violet said, nodding. "Smiling a little every day, taking chances, working toward your own happiness—that’s what normal people do."

"Taking chances," I echoed, my eyes drifting toward the exit. Toward the only woman I had wanted for longer than I cared to admit.

I should take a chance. I should go after her.

I should find her, look her in the eyes, and tell her the truth—that I hadn’t been able to think about anyone else but her since the last time. And if she didn’t feel the same way? Then fine. At least I would know. At least I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life wondering what if?

"Thank you for your arm, Daniel," Violet said, pulling me back to reality.

"You’re welcome, Violet," I replied, but my focus had already shifted.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them—Lydia and Joshua standing near the door, greeting guests. But my attention wasn’t on them. It was on her. My queen.

And she wasn’t alone.

She stood there, talking with Christian Howard and Mathéo Boucher, her golden hair shining under the warm lights, her laughter floating through the air like music.

Then, I saw it.

Christian leaned down, whispering something in her ear. Something meant only for her.

My jaw tightened. That didn’t have to mean anything. Any man would try to flirt with her—it was inevitable. But her reaction? That was what shattered me.

She threw her head back, laughing like he was the funniest damn man in the world. And then, as if to twist the knife deeper, she reached for his arm, her fingers curling around him as she leaned into him.

That was when it hit me.

She had already moved on.