Chapter 3

His hand froze on the bathroom door handle.

A few seconds later, he turned around. That forced patience finally stripped completely away from his face.

"Elena, stop this."

He pressed his temples. "Marriage is a blood vow in our world. You don't just decide to get married because you're throwing a tantrum."

"October twenty-eighth." I added the date. "The venue is booked. The dress is picked."

He let out a cold, dismissive laugh.

"Did Lana get in your head again today? She rushed into a union, so now she thinks everyone should be as reckless as her?"

"Elena, wake up. Don't let her mess with you. After eight years together..."

"Dante," I cut him off, "the invitations start printing tomorrow."

A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"You think this little bluff is gonna work?"

His voice dropped, carrying that dangerous edge.

"This just makes you look childish. My father’s handing me half the city, and I’m dealing with a critical transition for the Family. This wedding isn’t my priority."

His words hit like stones.

Once, his cold authority would've made me panic, made me rush to explain and back down.

But now, all I felt was a hollow calm.

His attention had always been expensive. Had to split it between the Family's operations, his soldiers and so on.

His attention had always been expensive.

Had to stretched thin between the Family’s critical operations and his most trusted lieutenants.

Vivian had the privilege of staying by his side through late-night strategy sessions, every territorial meeting, and every high-stakes negotiation.

She had all his time.

While I sat at home, waiting for him to come back—if he came back at all.

I met his dark eyes, and nodded: "Yeah. All my friends are married. I want to get married too."