1

“If you step out that door, Cassian, I won’t be waiting when you decide to come back. I’ll find another groom and marry him today. Dare me.”

Serena Vale stood motionless in the bridal suite of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the ivory silk of her custom gown cool against her skin. Four hundred guests were already seated in the nave below.

Cassian Blackwood adjusted the silk cuffs of his tuxedo in the mirror, an easy smile on his face.

“Serena, don’t be dramatic.” He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. “It’s Liora. Her father sits on the Voss Group board. You know how critical this partnership is for the merger. She just wants a brief word.”

Serena turned to face him. “She’s the daughter of your business prospect, Cassian, not your bride. Our press conference ended twenty minutes ago. The chapel is packed. And you want to run off to meet a woman who hasn’t stopped pursuing you since last month?”

Ever since the autumn gala four weeks ago, he had grown distant—late-night calls, sudden absences, emergency dinners he always labeled financial necessity. The man who had surprised her with this wedding on their anniversary now felt like a stranger.

“It’s forty minutes, Serena.” He checked his rose-gold watch. “I’m giving her closure so she stops harassing my team. Then I’m coming right back down that aisle to make you my wife. You aren’t going to replace me. You love me too much, and we both know no one else in this city can offer you what I can.”

He pressed a brief kiss to her cheek before she could pull away.

“Wait for me,” he said, heading for the door. “Forty minutes. I promise.”

The heavy oak door clicked shut.

Serena did not cry. She was the creative director and sole heiress of Vale Maison, built on structure and pride. She stood watching the clock on the wall.

Ten minutes.

Twenty.

Thirty-five.

At the forty-minute mark, the first notes of the wedding organ drifted through the doors. Serena picked up her phone and dialed Cassian’s private number.

It rang four times before connecting.

The sound of rustling sheets came through the speaker, followed by a low male groan that was unmistakably Cassian’s.

Then a woman’s breathy laugh. “Harder—”

Serena’s thumb hovered over the red button. She didn’t hang up. She listened until the sounds turned rhythmic, until Cassian’s voice—rough, urgent—said Liora’s name like a prayer. Only then did she end the call.

Her heels struck the marble hallway hard as she strode into the groomsmen’s suite. Four of Cassian’s closest friends looked up in surprise.

“Serena?” Julian, the best man, set down his scotch. “What’s wrong? Where’s Cassian?”

Serena signaled to his phone. “Call him. Put him on speaker.”

Julian quickly dialed. Cassian answered on the second ring, his voice tight and agitated. “Julian! I will be there in thirty minutes.”

“Cassian, what are you doing?” Julian demanded. “Serena is standing right here! The guests are seated.”

Serena stepped closer to the phone. “You have fifteen minutes, Cassian. Fifteen minutes to stand at this altar, or you will read about your replacement in the evening news.”

A harsh laugh came through the speaker. “Serena, stop this pathetic show. I’m dealing with a multi-billion-dollar situation with Liora. I’m not coming back in fifteen minutes. Sit down, wait until I’m finished, and we’ll reschedule the vows for this evening.”

“Is that your final answer?” Serena asked quietly.

“Yes,” Cassian said bluntly. “Stop throwing a tantrum. I’ll be there when I’m there.”

The line went dead.

Julian reached out cautiously. “Serena... let us go drag him out of that hotel—”

“No.” She adjusted her dress. “He made his choice, now I will make mine.”

She walked past the coordinators and stopped at the edge of the sanctuary's rear entrance. She pulled up her contacts, scrolled past the names of Manhattan’s elite, and dialed a number she had never expected to use.

The line rang twice.

“Serena?” The voice was low and deep—a stark contrast to Cassian’s polished tone.

“Asher,” Serena said cleanly. “Are you still in Manhattan?”

A quiet beat passed. “I am.”

“I’m standing at the altar of St. Patrick’s. Cassian isn't coming. He’s in bed with Liora Voss.”

A heavy silence settled over the line.

“You’re asking me to walk into a Blackwood wedding and replace my brother?”

“Yes.”

“You realize what that will start.”

“I know,” Serena replied without hesitation. “Are you brave enough to step into the fire with me, or am I asking the wrong Blackwood?”

A short pause followed. “Give me seven minutes. Don’t leave the altar.”

Serena tucked her phone into her clutch and turned to the head coordinator. “Open the doors.”

“Miss Vale? But Mr. Blackwood isn't—”

“Open the doors.”

The mahogany doors swung wide. The chatter of four hundred guests dissolved into a sudden hush as the wedding march echoed through the cathedral. Serena walked down the aisle alone, holding her head high and ignoring the whispers from the pews. She reached the altar, turned, and stood under the stained-glass windows.

Five minutes passed. The murmurs grew sharper. Cassian’s friends stood near the front pews, staring at the entrance in mounting panic.

Then the doors at the back of the church opened again.

A tall figure stepped into the doorway. Asher Blackwood wore a dark, tailored charcoal suit that emphasized his broad shoulders. He walked down the center aisle with deliberate grace, ignoring the shocked gasps from the crowd as people recognized the exiled firstborn son.

He climbed the marble steps, stopping directly in front of Serena. Up close, he radiated a quiet, imposing authority.

“Last chance to change your mind, Serena,” Asher murmured, his voice low.

Serena extended her hand to him. “Do it,” she whispered.

Asher took her hand, turning to face the priest. “We’re ready. Proceed.”

The priest, pale and visibly shaken, opened his book and began the ceremony.

The vows were brief. The signatures were even briefer. When Serena placed her name beneath Asher’s, the priest closed the registry.

“By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

In the front row, Julian’s phone buzzed. It was Cassian.

Julian answered, pressing the receiver to his ear. “Cassian! Where the hell are you!?”

“I’m five minutes away!” Cassian shouted over the line. “Tell Serena to stop whatever stupid prank she’s pulling!”

Julian looked at the altar. Asher Blackwood stood beside Serena, their hands still joined.

“Cassian…” Julian choked out.

“What?”

“You’re too late.”

“What are you talking about?”

Julian swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Your brother is standing where you were supposed to be—and Serena just married him.”