THE WEDDING THAT BURNED

LILIANA'S POV

I used to think weddings were supposed to feel like magic. Like every step down the aisle was a promise, every vow a fairytale.

But standing in the center of the ballroom, staring at the man who was supposed to be my happily-ever-after, all I felt was cold.

The chandeliers dripped gold. The violinists played some romantic shit that was supposed to make me cry. And my fiancé, Ethan Crawford, looked like he’d been carved out of perfection, tall, golden-haired, that sharp jawline that used to make me melt when I was younger and dumber.

Now all I could think was: Why does he look at me like I’m a fucking disappointment even on our wedding day?

His eyes flicked over me, critical as always, and I swear I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Not in admiration. In disapproval.

Your hair should’ve been styled differently, Lily.

Your makeup isn’t sharp enough. You’re too plain.

Why can’t you carry yourself like Elena?

My sister. His favorite comparison.

My grip on the bouquet tightened until thorns pricked my palm. The bastard didn’t even try to hide it. Half the time we were together, I wasn’t his girlfriend, I was his shadow project, a pathetic attempt to mold me into someone more like her.

And still… I stayed. Because when you grow up starved of love, even poison feels like water.

The priest’s voice echoed through the hall, low and steady. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."

I forced a smile, though my chest was a knot of nausea. My parents sat in the front row, stiff and smug. My mother hadn’t even hugged me when I walked in earlier. She just whispered, “Don’t embarrass us.”

My father didn’t look at me at all.

And then there was Elena. My perfect sister, seven months older, practically shining in her silk dress. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, sipping champagne, her lipstick a sinful red. She smiled at Ethan once, and I saw something flicker in his eyes. Something I’d been seeing for years.

I hated her for it. I hated him more. I hated myself most of all—for still being here, still hoping that maybe after this, maybe as his wife, I’d finally be enough.

The priest lifted the Bible higher. “If anyone here objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

My lungs froze.

Because that’s when the ballroom doors slammed open.

The sound ricocheted like a gunshot. Gasps tore through the crowd. And then the real gunshots followed.

Men in black stormed inside, guns drawn, masks hiding their faces. The music screeched to a halt. Someone screamed. Glass shattered.

“Down on the fucking ground!” a man roared.

Panic spread like fire. Guests dove under tables, skirts tearing, jewels scattering across the marble floor. People trampled each other trying to get out. The air filled with smoke and screams.

I stood frozen at the altar, my bouquet slipping from my numb fingers.

Ethan cursed, yanking me behind him. “What the fuck is this?”

But before anyone could answer, the man at the front ripped off his mask.

And the whole world tilted.

Because I knew his face. Everyone did.

Dante Moretti.

The Devil of New York. The man fathers threatened their kids with. The name plastered across every scandal, every headline soaked in blood.

He didn’t need an introduction. He was the introduction to chaos.

My stomach dropped. What the hell was he doing here?

Ethan’s grip on me tightened. I felt the tremor in his hand. He knew. He fucking knew what this was about.

“Well, well.” Dante’s voice carried through the chaos, smooth as whiskey, dark as sin. “If it isn’t Ethan fucking Crawford. Tying the knot without paying your debts?”

My blood went cold. Debts?

Ethan squared his shoulders, voice sharp. “This is a private event. Get the hell out.”

Dante laughed. A low, chilling sound that made my skin crawl. “Private? You think your little fairy-tale wedding matters to me? You owe me. And you know what happens to men who don’t pay their debts.”

“Fuck you,” Ethan spat.

The smile on Dante’s lips turned deadly. “You first.”

The gunshot cracked through the hall.

Chaos exploded. Bullets rained down. Guests shrieked, diving for cover. Tables overturned, glasses shattered, chandeliers trembled. Security tried to fight back, but they were outnumbered, outgunned.

“Run, Lily!” Ethan shoved me, his voice desperate.

I stumbled, my veil ripping from my hair. My heart hammered against my ribs. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

Then another shot rang out. Ethan’s scream cut through the air as he clutched his arm, blood soaking his sleeve.

“Ethan!” I cried, scrambling back to him.

But before I could reach him, two men grabbed me from behind. Rough, merciless hands dragged me back.

“Let me go! What the fuck, I said let me go!” I screamed, kicking, clawing.

My eyes darted to Dante.

He was watching me now. Up close, he was… terrifying. Towering, broad-shouldered, his suit stretched over muscle. Tattoos inked his skin, creeping up the side of his neck. His face was cruel beauty, a jaw made for violence, lips curved in a smirk that promised destruction.

His eyes pinned me in place. Dark, bottomless, unreadable.

“This her?” he asked one of his men, his gaze never leaving mine.

“The fiancée,” the man confirmed.

I thrashed harder. “Please....please don’t hurt him! Take me, just don’t kill him!”

The words spilled out before I could stop them, pathetic and desperate.

Dante tilted his head, amusement flashing in his gaze. “Take you?”

My heart slammed against my chest. “I’ll do anything—just let him go!”

“Anything,” he repeated, rolling the word on his tongue like it was a joke. Then he smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

“Boss,” one of his men urged. “Cops’ll be here soon.”

Dante’s eyes never left me. “Take her.”

“No!” My scream ripped through the air as they yanked me back. My dress tore, pearls scattering across the floor. I kicked, bit, scratched. “Ethan! Help me!”

But Ethan didn’t move. He was still clutching his bleeding arm, eyes wide but not with fear for me, but for himself.

The betrayal sliced deeper than any blade. He wasn’t going to save me. He never would.

My throat burned from screaming as they dragged me down the aisle. I fought until my body ached, my voice hoarse.

“Shut her the fuck up,” one of the men snapped.

A cloth clamped over my mouth. The sickly-sweet sting of chloroform filled my nose, burned down my throat.

I thrashed weakly, the world spinning. My vision blurred.

The last thing I saw was Dante’s smirk, cruel and knowing, his dark gaze burning into me like fire.

And then everything went black.