Chapter 1 - The Armor of LaceThe glass doors of the grand ballroom clicked shut behind Sal Costa, leaving the heavy scent of bourbon, cedar, and expensive perfume hanging in the private study.
Dominic Ramos did not sit. He poured a finger of amber liquor into a crystal tumbler, his dark eyes fixed on the balcony doors where the November gale lashed against the double-paned glass.
Avery stood by the cold marble fireplace, the train of her high-necked, pearl-buttoned wedding dress pooling at her feet like frozen foam. She had not removed her veil. The antique lace still cast a spiderweb shadow across her forehead, hiding the sharp, exhausted calculation in her eyes.
“You haven’t touched a single glass of champagne since we arrived,” Dominic said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated in the silent room. “And you haven't eaten. Guests are supposed to celebrate their own execution feasts, Mrs. Ramos.”
Avery turned slowly, the heavy silk whispering against the floor.
“I wasn't aware executions came with a dress code,” she replied, her tone as smooth and cold as the marble behind her.
Dominic stepped closer, his boots making no sound on the imported Persian rug. He stopped three feet away, towering over her. He reached out a large, calloused hand—the same hand that had signed the destruction of her father’s shipping terminals—and caught the edge of her antique veil.
With agonizing slowness, he pulled the lace back.
Avery did not flinch. She did not look down. Her dark green eyes met his with a terrifying, hollow composure that made Dominic’s chest tighten with an unfamiliar prickle of unease.
“Your brother wept when he signed the transfer papers,” Dominic murmured, his fingers brushing a stray lock of dark hair from her cheek. “He cried like a child. He begged me to ensure you were treated with respect. But he didn't care enough to protect you from me. Why aren't you crying, Avery?”
“Because tears are currency, Dominic,” she answered, her voice dropping to a quiet hiss. “And I refuse to spend mine on a man who bought a ghost.”
Dominic’s jaw hardened. He dropped the veil, grabbed her left wrist, and pulled her toward him.
The moment his fingers clamped around her radius, Avery’s breath hitched. A sharp, involuntary shiver wracked her frame, and the color drained completely from her face.
Dominic felt the sudden, rigid tension in her bones. He lowered his gaze to her wrist, where the long silk sleeve of her wedding gown met the heavy platinum diamond ring. Beneath the sheer fabric, the outline of thick, raised keloid scarring wrapped around her arm like a twisted metal band.
“What is that?” Dominic demanded, his voice sharpening.
“Release my arm,” Avery whispered, her teeth clenched.
Instead of letting go, Dominic’s other hand moved instinctively to the buttons at the back of her neck—the pearl fasteners that ran in a rigid, unbroken line down to her lower spine.
“No,” Avery gasped, panic finally fracturing her iron composure as she tried to pull away. “Don't touch them!”
Dominic was stronger. With a sharp tug, the first two pearl buttons tore from their silk loops.
As the high collar parted, the light from the study chandelier fell upon the back of her neck and shoulders.
May you like
Dominic froze. The glass tumbler slipped from his fingers, shattering against the Persian rug, splashing amber alcohol across the floor.
The skin beneath the wedding dress was not human skin anymore. It was a chaotic landscape of jagged, discolored burn tissue, surgical graft lines, and deep, puckered keloids that stretched from her left shoulder blade all the way down her spine.
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