Bound by Scandal

The Dress

The boutique was a temple of white silk and lace, the air thick with the scent of roses and the quiet hum of classical music. Ava stood in the center of the room, surrounded by racks of wedding dresses that seemed to mock her with their innocence. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong in any of this.

Elena, the wedding planner, hovered nearby, her tablet clutched in one hand, a measuring tape in the other. “What do you think of this one?” she asked, pulling out a gown with a sweeping train and delicate beading. “It’s very bridal.”

Ava’s fingers tightened around the fabric if her coat. “I told you. I’m not wearing white.”

Elena’s smile didn’t waver. “Of course. What do you want?”

Ava turned away, her gaze landing on a dress in the corner. It was ivory, not white, with a simple, elegant silhouette and a neckline that dipped just enough to be daring. The fabric looked soft, almost fluid, like water. Like freedom.

She crossed the room, her fingers brushing the gown. “This one.”

Elena’s eyebrows lifted. “It’s… different.”

Ava met her gaze. “So am I.”

The fitting room was a sanctuary of mirrors and soft light. Ava stood in the center, her reflection staring back at her as Elena helped her into the dress. The fabric slid over her skin like a whisper, the ivory color complementing her auburn hair, her freckles, her defiance.

Elena stepped back, her expression softening. “It’s perfect.”

Ava turned, taking in the way the dress hugged her curves, the way it made her feel like herself—only better. Stronger. She met her own gaze in the mirror, her green eyes bright with determination.

This wasn’t her surrender.

It was her armor.

Liam was waiting for her when she stepped out of the boutique.

He leaned against his car, his tailored suit hugging his frame, his gray eyes sharp and assessing. Ava’s pulse spiked, her fingers tightening around the garment bag that held her dress.

“You found one,” he said, his voice low.

Ava lifted her chin. “I did.”

He pushed off the car, closing the distance between them in three strides. His gaze dropped to the bag, then lifted to hers. “Show me.”

Ava hesitated. “No.”

Liam’s jaw tightened. “Excuse me?”

“I said no.” Ava met his gaze, unflinching. “You’ll see it tomorrow. Along with everyone else.”

Something flickered in his eyes—irritation? Amusement?—but it was gone before she could name it. “You’re enjoying this.”

Ava smiled, sweet and false. “Immensely.”

Liam’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. Not tight enough to hurt. Just tough enough to remind her who was in control. “Careful, Ava.”

She didn’t pull away. “Or what?”

His thumb traced slow circles on her skin, sending a jolt through her. “Or I’ll remind you.”

Ava’s breath hitched. But she didn’t back down. Couldn’t.

Because the truth was, she was enjoying this.

Enjoying the way his gaze darkened. The way his grip tightened. The way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world worth fighting for.

Even if it was a lie.

The car ride back to the penthouse was silent.

Ava stared out the window, the city blurring past. She could feel Liam’s gaze on her, heavy and unrelenting. But she didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

Because if she did, she might forget that this wasn’t real.

That he wasn’t real.

The car pulled up to the penthouse, the engine purring softly. Liam stepped out, then turned to offer her his hand. Ava ignored it, sliding out of the car on her own.

Liam’s jaw tightened. “You’re going to be a difficult wife, aren’t you?”

Ava met his gaze, her voice steady. “You have no idea.”

He smiled. Slow. Dangerous. “Good.”

Ava’s pulse spiked. But she didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

Because the truth was, she wanted this.

Wanted the fire. The fight. The feeling of being alive.

Even if it destroyed her.