He Left Her for Her Best Friend, but He Never Expected Who Would Walk Her Down the Aisle Next 23 24

The penthouse suite on the forty-second floor smelled of polished cedar, expensive scotch, and ruthless ambition. When the private elevator chime sounded, two women dressed in immaculate black suits bowed their heads. Behind them, racks of haute couture evening gowns glided into the living room on rolling brass rails, accompanied by velvet cases overflowing with millions of dollars in heirloom diamonds.

Elena Reyes stood frozen in the center of the plush Persian rug. She felt like an imposter whose cover was about to be blown at any second. Her inexpensive polyester dress, frayed at the hem and damp with Chicago sleet, looked like trash against the breathtaking skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Dante Salvatore walked to a mahogany bar cart, uncorking a crystal decanter without breaking a sweat. He poured two fingers of amber liquid, swallowed it in one slow draw, and turned his steel-gray gaze back toward her.

""We have twenty-two minutes, Elena,"" Dante said, his deep, resonant baritone vibrating through the room. ""The reception line is forming downstairs. Marcus Aldridge and his bride are currently soaking in the applause of people who secretly despise them. If we walk in late, every eye in that ballroom must belong to you. Choose a dress.""

Elena swallowed the lump in her throat. ""Why are you doing this, Dante? You don't know me. You couldn't possibly care about a stranger's broken heart.""

Dante stepped closer, his imposing six-foot-three frame casting a broad shadow over her. Up close, the faint scent of smoky sandalwood and leather overwhelmed her senses. A silver ring bearing a crest carved into black onyx gleamed on his pinky finger.

""Let's just say Marcus's father and Vivien's family have spent the last three years taking liberties in territories they have no business touching,"" Dante murmured, his voice dropping into dangerous silk. ""They believe they are untouchable kings of Chicago real estate. Tonight, they will learn that they are merely tenants living on borrowed time. Giving you your rightful revenge happens to align perfectly with my appetite for retribution.""

He waved his hand at the stylists. ""The emerald velvet. And the emerald-cut diamond.""

Before Elena could protest, the two stylists moved with surgical speed. Elena was unzipped, stripped of her cheap black dress, and slipped into a custom emerald-green silk-velvet gown that hugged every curve of her body like liquid emeralds. The neckline plunged daringly while maintaining an aristocratic elegance, spilling into a backless drape that pooled in a graceful train behind her.

Her tangled hair was pinned up into an effortless, sophisticated crown with loose tendrils framing her high cheekbones. Her tear-stained makeup was wiped clean, replaced by flawless porcelain skin, smoky winged liner, and deep berry-red lips that gave her an air of untouchable royalty.

Finally, Dante stepped forward with a velvet box. Inside lay an eight-carat emerald-cut diamond ring flanked by rare trapezoid baguettes, flashing beneath the chandelier light.

Elena gasped. ""I can't wear this. It's too much.""

""It is barely enough,"" Dante replied softly. He took her left hand. His touch was warm, firm, and surprisingly gentle for a man built like a fortress. He slid the heavy band onto her ring finger. It fit as though it had been crafted specifically for her. ""From this second forward, Elena Reyes, you are not the abandoned ex-fiancée. You are my fiancée. When we walk into that ballroom, do not look down. Look at them as if they are ants beneath your glass slipper.""

Elena stared into the mirror. The weary, broken girl who had taken three public buses across the city was completely gone. In her place stood a queen carved out of fire and vengeance. Her spine straightened, her chin rose, and the sorrow that had suffocated her chest ignited into cold, brilliant fury.