Chapter eight: “The Devil Takes His Bride Home”

The nurse unhooked my IV with trembling hands, like she was afraid to touch me now.

I didn’t blame her. I didn’t blame her at all.

After what happened earlier in the hospital room, the entire staff had started treating me like I was radioactive. Or like I was an egg.

And that was fine with me. Rather be treated like an egg than a filthy rag.

I am not leaving as the disgraced ex-wife anymore.

I am leaving as Dominic Blackwood’s bride.

He waited by the door in his custom black coat, eyes cold and unreadable. No one dared speak to him as we walked through the polished white halls of the hospital—guards in black trailing behind us.

And when the glass doors slid open and the flash of a hundred cameras exploded in my face?

I didn’t flinch.

He pulled me closer with one hand at the small of my back.

Reporters surged forward, microphones aimed like weapons.

“Scarlett, is it true you were pushed—”

“Are you pregnant with Blake Reynolds’ child?”

“Is it true you’ve been taken in by Dominic Blackwood?”

Dominic didn’t look at them. He kept his eyes straight ahead.

Until one reporter yelled, “Mr. Blackwood! What’s your relationship with Mrs. Reynolds?”

That made him pause.

He turned, eyes glinting, voice like ice wrapped in thunder.

“Scarlett Reynolds is no longer Blake’s anything. From this moment on, she’s mine.”

The crowd gasped.

“The Reynolds lost their treasure,” he added. “I found it. And I’m not giving it back.”

Gasps turned to shrieks. Phones lifted. Headlines were already writing themselves.

Dominic guided me into a sleek, black car without another word, shutting the door beside me like he was locking a vault.

And the car moved.

The ride to his estate was quiet. Not uncomfortable. Just… heavy.

I had a lot to think about in my situation.

If Dominic ever turned against me, he would chew me raw and grind my bones to dust.

I could never let it come to that. I had to learn to defend myself without a man. My own name had to have power as well. I just wondered how.

I watched the city fade from the tinted windows, replaced by winding roads and tall iron gates.

And then we arrived.

Blackwood Estate wasn’t just a house.

It was a kingdom.

A gothic-modern mansion perched on a cliffside, built from glass, obsidian, and silver. Moonlight bounced off the towering arches and glinted on the wrought-iron balconies. A fountain in the shape of a phoenix spewed black water into the stone basin below.

I stared up at it as the car doors opened.

“This is home?” I asked.

“For now,” Dominic replied.

Wow.

The staff were lined up at the steps—sharp suits, pristine uniforms, not a hair out of place. A woman in black leather and boots stood slightly apart from them, arms folded.

Dominic gestured toward her. “Your bodyguard. You’ll meet her properly in a moment.”

I barely nodded, still overwhelmed. The air here felt different—cooler, cleaner, charged.

The moment I stepped through the front doors, I knew.

Nothing about my old life would follow me here.

The grand foyer was twice the size of Blake’s mansion. Marble floors. Chandelier shaped like shattered crystal. A staircase that split in two directions like the pages of an open book.

I’d never seen anything so cold… and so beautiful.

Dominic introduced the heads of staff with military efficiency.

Chef. Butler. Maid supervisor. Chauffeur. IT security.

Then he turned to the woman in leather.

“Scarlett, this is Jules. She’s your full-time protection.”

She stepped forward and offered her hand.

“I also answer to ‘woman who’ll break a man’s spine if he looks at you wrong,’” she said with a wink.

I cracked a smile. “Ouu, dangerous woman, I like. I dare anyone to touch me now.”

Jules nodded. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. They won’t touch you. Not unless they want to meet hell in a chokehold.”

I laughed. Wow, I like her already.

Dominic handed her a tablet. “Full schedule. Media alerts. Escort protocol.”

He turned to me. “You’re free to go wherever you want in the house. But no one comes in or out without my permission. Ever.”

“Understood,” I said.

“Your room’s on the west wing,” Jules said. “Follow me.”

I started after her, but Dominic’s voice stopped me.

“One more thing.”

I turned.

He lifted a black velvet bag and handed it to me.

“What’s this?”

“Your options.” His voice was cool. Calm. “Try them on tonight. Pick one.”

I opened the bag.

Inside were three wedding gowns.

One sleek and silk. One dripping in lace and crystals. One fierce and minimalist, cut like armor.

My breath caught.

“You want me to pick—”

“You’re becoming Mrs. Blackwood tomorrow,” he said simply. “And I won’t have my bride looking anything less than lethal.”

I stared at the dresses.

Then at the man who’d dragged me from hell and handed me a crown.

It wasn’t love.

Not yet.

But it was power.

And it was mine.