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The Morning After
تاريخ النشر:
2026-05-23 02:30:41CATARINA
I woke to sunlight streaming through the gauzy pink curtains and immediately wanted to set them on fire.
The bedroom was still too feminine, too soft, too not me. But that wasn't what made my stomach clench as I stared at the ceiling.
It was the memory of last night.
Of Jameson standing in my doorway, watching me destroy my wedding dress with a blade in my hand.
Of the way his eyes had tracked over my body
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Forged In Fire The Morning After
CATARINAI woke to sunlight streaming through the gauzy pink curtains and immediately wanted to set them on fire.The bedroom was still too feminine, too soft, too not me. But that wasn't what made my stomach clench as I stared at the ceiling.It was the memory of last night.Of Jameson standing in my doorway, watching me destroy my wedding dress with a blade in my hand.Of the way his eyes had tracked over my body, cataloging every weapon, every holster, every piece of evidence that I was not the spoiled princess he'd assumed I was.Fuck.I sat up, running my hands through my tangled hair. The remains of my wedding dress were still scattered across the floor—white silk and lace in shredded pieces, like the corpse of some elaborate lie.He'd seen the weapons. All of them. Or at least enough of them to know I was carrying serious hardware under that dress.
Forged In Fire The Wedding Night
CATARINAThe reception was a special kind of torture.Four hours of smiling for photographers, cutting a cake I had no intention of eating, and dancing with a man who held me like I was a business asset he'd just acquired. Which, technically, I was.The first dance had been particularly excruciating. Jameson's hand on my waist, his other hand holding mine, while hundreds of people watched us sway to some romantic ballad that meant absolutely nothing. He'd looked down at me with those intense green eyes, and I'd looked back with my perfect princess smile, and neither of us had said a single word.What was there to say?Thanks for that aggressive kiss at the altar that made me want to stab you?Lovely weather we're having for our sham marriage?No. Silence was better.The jealous women were everywhere. I'd felt their eyes on me all night—sharp, envious glares from every corner of the reception hall. Women in designer dresses who'd probably fantasized about being in my position, about we
Forged In Fire The Wedding
CATARINAThe dress was a fucking nightmare.I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my childhood bedroom, staring at the monstrosity of white silk and lace that had taken three people to wrestle me into. The bodice was so tight I could barely breathe, the skirt so voluminous I couldn't see my own feet, and the train—Christ, the train was at least six feet long and weighed what felt like twenty pounds.I looked like a wedding cake. An expensive, suffocating, ridiculous wedding cake."Oh, mia bella," my mother sobbed from somewhere behind me. "You look so beautiful. So perfect."I caught her reflection in the mirror—Rosa Vitale, matriarch of our family, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief while she gazed at me like I was some kind of masterpiece.She had no idea how much I wanted to take one of my blades to all this fabric."Mama," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "I can't move in this thing.""You don't need to move," she said, still crying. "You just need to walk d
Forged In Fire The Night Before
CATARINAThe dress hung in my room like a ghost.White silk and lace, layers upon layers of tulle that made it look less like a wedding gown and more like a monument to everything I wasn't. Everything I'd never wanted to be.My mother had chosen well. It was traditional, elegant, suffocating. The kind of dress that screamed Vitale princess to anyone who saw it. The kind of dress that would make me look exactly like what society expected—delicate, refined, ornamental.Useless.I stood in front of it, still wearing my training clothes—black leggings and a tank top, both damp with sweat from the two hours I'd just spent in the compound's gym. My knuckles were raw from the heavy bag, my muscles pleasantly sore, and I could still feel the adrenaline humming through my veins.And yet, looking at that dress made me feel more trapped than any opponent ever had."Fuck," I muttered, reaching out to touch the fabric. It was soft. Expensive. Beautiful, if you were into that sort of thing.I wasn'
Forged In Fire The Bridal Boutique
CATARINAIf there were a hell specifically designed for women like me, it would look exactly like Bella Sposa Bridal Boutique.All white silk and champagne flutes and mirrors that reflected back a version of myself I barely recognized. The air smelled like expensive perfume and desperation, and every surface gleamed with the kind of polish that screamed old money and tradition and know your place.I hated every inch of it."Catarina, tesoro, you must try this one." My mother, Rosa Vitale, held up what could only be described as a wedding cake masquerading as a dress. Layers upon layers of tulle and lace, with a train that probably required its own zip code. "It's Vera Wang. The designer herself recommended it for you.""It looks like I'd need a forklift to walk down the aisle," I said flatly."It's elegant." Rosa's voice had that edge to it—the one that said I was being difficult again, disappointing her again, failing to be the daughter she'd always wanted. "It's what a Vitale bride
Forged In Fire The First Meeting
JAMESONThe restaurant was neutral territory—a high-end Italian place in River North that catered to both families without favoring either. I'd been here a dozen times for business meetings, negotiations, the occasional sit-down when things got tense and needed smoothing over.Never thought I'd be here to discuss my own goddamn wedding.I arrived fifteen minutes early because I wasn't about to let Catarina Vitale think she had any kind of upper hand in this arrangement. The maître d' recognized me immediately, led me to a private room in the back without me having to say a word. Good. The last thing I needed was an audience for this farce.I ordered a whiskey—neat, because I wasn't a savage—and settled into the chair facing the door. Always face the door. Basic survival instinct in this life.The room was all dark wood and dim lighting, the kind of place designed for secrets and deals made in shadows. Appropriate, I supposed, given what we were here to discuss.I checked my watch. She
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