Everything off. I want you naked. You’ve got three minutes!

CAITLYN CLARKE’S POV

My husband stands in front of me, his shoulders square, not missing the stoic smile gracing his lips.

The bell tolls—loud, jarring, and cruel. Like it’s announcing the newest couple in hell. Its intrusion slices through the thick quiet that had momentarily wrapped around the cathedral.

I flinch but Vlad’s hand immediately snakes around my waist, yanking me flush to his body.

“Vlad,”

“Yes little rabbit,” he says looking down on me.

“Go fuck yourself in hell,” I hiss, just low enough for him alone to hear.

“Hell waits for me with open hands,” he chuckles—lethal, dark, like a man who finds delight in my misery.

My body tenses.

“It’s going to be fun,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, “dragging you there with me.”

Then, as if sealing a pact with the devil, he takes my hand and leads—or drags—me down the altar steps. His guards are lined up outside the cathedral’s doors, stiff as statues.

I bite my lower lip so hard I taste blood, fighting the sob trying to