Covet Bridal 소설 & 이야기

"Viv‌ian... i‌t‌ started as a pla​n. Bu⁠t I‌..." "He’s a C⁠aldarian, Vivia‌n," the wom​an inter‌r​upted. "W‌e don't‌ do thin‍gs for love. We d​o t​hem for the Debt." ‌Sh​e leaned in close, her br​ea‌th cold on my ear.‌ "Now‍ that we have th‍e deeds and t‌he ledger, we don't need a b⁠ride anymore. We need a sacrifice. The city thinks Maurice is the vill‌ain.‍ It would be​ s⁠o t​ragic if hi​s 'v⁠i​cti‍m​' died of a⁠ broke‌n heart... or a‌ tr‌agic accide‌nt at the station."

“It’s after lunch today, right? I didn’t forget.” “Can’t wait to see you soon, my love.” He smacked his lips. And I cut the call almost immediately, a horrified taste in my mouth. No offense, but with his age and our past relationship, I really did feel like French-kissing my father. After some meetings with some fundraisers, founders and entrepreneurs, I finally found myself standing in front of The Circle Bridal, the best place for wedding gowns and tuxedoes. And they’ve got everything: from chic, effortless to designer couture.

The bride. Cloaked in a diamond-threaded veil, wearing an ivory gown stitched by the house of Gabbiano in Milan. The train swept five feet behind her like a royal procession. Emeralds danced across her neckline, borrowed, of course, from one of her “silent investors.” She walked slowly, deliberately, with that knowing curve in her lips, the look of a woman who believed she owned the room. Gasps rippled across the aisle. But not for her. No. All eyes had already turned to the groom.

The image showed an exquisite bridal crown— diamonds and sapphires set in a constellation pattern. I recognized it instantly. Those stones had been purchased at Christie’s, a record-breaking private auction Alexander attended himself. He’d told me they were for my anniversary gift. I kept scrolling. When I broke down last night, he crossed half the city to be with me. Brought my favorite vanilla chocolates. Held me until morning. He said as long as he’s here, I’ll never suffer again. The photo made my vision blur. Alexander asleep. Brows faintly furrowed.

"He knows what size you wear and he knows what colors look good on you and that means he's been gathering information about you specifically." "So he's already interested," I replied while pulling the dress out of the box. "That's good because it means the plan is already working before I even get to the party." The dress was black and fitted and it had a neckline that was low enough to be suggestive without being obvious and I knew immediately that Marco had chosen it carefully to see how I would respond. If I wore it then I was agreeing to play his game and if I refused then I was insulting him and that could have consequences.

"When the time comes, you can go to this bridal boutique to buy a wedding dress. Then, you can just call me when everything is ready." Caroline glanced at the name of the bridal boutique and secretly clicked her tongue. Merry Color was a domestic bridal boutique with little popularity. It wasn't because it was unpopular, but because their wedding dresses were very expensive, costing thousands of dollars. Only people from the upper class could afford it. Therefore, this brand was only well known among the upper class. Other people didn't know it at all. Everyone who hired Cook as a photographer was rich and powerful. Caroline guessed that he forgot about Kirk's net worth in a moment of carele

Lucian and Zara didn't walk into the room; they completely conquered it. Zara wore a custom, blood red velvet gown that clung flawlessly to every single curve of her body, the deep color an absolutely devastating, calculated mockery of the coat Vivienne had worn to the bridal boutique. The plunging neckline and dramatic, sweeping train projected a sheer, unadulterated dominance. The pale, undeniably powerful crest of the Sovereign rested exposed on her left shoulder, and the massive, ten carat emerald cut diamond flashed violently on her hand.

“You're the bride. Today, the world is watching you.” Eva only nodded. If only they knew they were watching the wrong girl. Eva’s veil was long enough to drag shadows behind her. Her gown a custom Elie Collen piece meant for her sister felt like a costume on her skin. Every step toward the altar felt like betrayal. The cameras flashed mercilessly, her face hidden beneath lace and layers, as influencers narrated the moment live to their millions of followers. Inside the cathedral, Jeremi Moretti, the groom, stood tall, emotionless. A billionaire by thirty-two, heir to a legacy steeped in politics and pharmaceuticals, he was the type of man whose presence alone could silence a room.

“Oh dо уоu like іt? It makes mе ѕmіlе еvеrу tіmе I see іt, аnd now I finally gеt tо uѕе іt. So fіrѕt thing—colour. Dо уоu wаnt tо gо mоrе pastel, оr mоrе jеwеl toned fоr the bridesmaid?” “I’m nоt a pastel kind оf girl.” I grіmасеd, thаt wаѕ my kіnd оf hеll. “Hоw аbоut a rісh purple for thе groom, bеѕt mаn аnd bridesmaid?”

She experienced the meticulous attention of stylists who perfected her impeccable makeup and adorned her beautiful dark hair with elegant bridal accessories. Her petite body was wrapped in an exquisite wedding dress designed by the best talents in Russia, with a price equivalent to several thousand dollars. The reason for such extravagance for a contractual wedding? Because Athena Volkova, the spoiled daughter of an extraordinarily wealthy family, demanded that her union, although based on a contract, be worthy of her status and comply with the highest standards of etiquette. "Done, the bride is ready for the wedding," one of the stylists informed her.