“Whoa, temper tantrum much?” he laughed. “Relax. Pearl’s not worth it, bro. We’ve got Lavenia now. Our Lavenia. Ours alone. The one we can share every night. How about let’s go run in Switzerland, bro? Give Lavenia her birthday bucket list.”

I didn’t answer. I just booked the jet and made it happen. By noon we were there. Rich air. Fancy hotel. Views for days. But I kept checking the clock. Every half hour. My foot tapping. My chest tightening. Evening turned into night, and night bled into midnight. Still nothing. Still no damn Pearl.

I sat on the edge of the hotel bed, staring at my phone like it owed me something. My pride was rotting under my skin, but I refused to say the words out loud.

“She’ll text,” I muttered under my breath. “She always does. She’s just trying to teach me a lesson.”

That’s when Lavenia came over, draped in nothing but a white silk nightgown, her hair tumbling around her shoulders like temptation incarnate. She touched my shoulder. “She’s not coming, Jacob.”

I didn’t answer.

“She left you,” she whispered, kissing the edge of my jaw. “But I’m here. I’ll never leave you.”

I turned, kissed her hard. Angry. Needy. Her lips tasted like salvation and revenge. We ended up tangled in bed—limbs everywhere, sheets on the floor, her name in my throat.

But when I opened my eyes… All I could see was Pearl. The look in her eyes the last time she saw me. That damn message: You’re cordially invited to my wedding.

I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. Lavenia lay curled against me, fingers brushing my chest, whispering nonsense about fate and us and forever. But I wasn’t hearing her. I was going to get her back. Or burn down everything trying.

PEARL’S POV

It’s been three days. Four days of silence. Of retraining my heart to beat without needing him. Four days of watching my parents beam with pride and act like the past six years hadn’t nearly broken me. And four days of smiling, nodding, and trying to believe them when they said I was doing the right thing.

I was. I am. This wedding—it’s final. It’s real. The papers are signed. The ceremony planned. The cake chosen. Every little detail checked and confirmed and locked. No turning back.

Today is the gown fitting. And of course, Mother insisted on coming, along with three stylists, a hair consultant, and her favorite red lipstick in case I looked “washed out by all that lace.” I just laughed and let her fuss. Let her paint my face like a doll while I sat still, confident and collected, like a proper heiress should.

But my heart’s still bruised. It beats quieter now. Not broken. Not anymore. Just… healing. The boutique was pure elegance—glass chandeliers, champagne trays, soft piano music drifting through silk curtains. I stood in the center platform as the tailor adjusted the corset of my gown, and I stared at myself in the mirror like I was watching someone else.

“Stunning,” the boutique owner breathed. “You were born to wear silk, Miss Antonov.”

I didn’t argue. Of course I was. My mother clapped her hands together. “Sebastian’s here.”

I blinked. “Sebastian?” My fiancé. The man assigned by my father. The man I hadn’t even met. Not really. The one who would be at my side in front of a thousand cameras next week.

And then I saw him.

Tall. Composed. That signature black coat draped over his arm, his charcoal suit tailored like it was sewn onto his body. His eyes—stormy steel gray—locked onto me the moment he stepped in. My breath caught.

No. It couldn’t be.

“Sebastian?” I asked, stepping down from the platform, silk rustling around my legs.

He smiled. That same calm, warm smile. The stranger who always saved me was my fiancé all along?

“I should’ve known,” I whispered, stopping a foot away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looked me straight in the eye. “Because I didn’t want you to fall in love with a contract. I wanted you to meet me. And you did.”

I stared up at him, stunned, my voice soft. “You’re Sebastian—”

“Montgomery,” he smiled, “And you’re my wife.”

My mother stepped between us with a delighted laugh. “Oh, good, you’ve met officially now. I told you he was charming, didn’t I, darling?”

But I barely heard her. My entire world was folding in on itself. And at the center of it—Sebastian. Calm, steady, real.

He stepped closer and offered his arm. “Walk with me.”

Chapter 11

We stepped outside the boutique. I needed air. He didn’t speak until we were alone on the marble terrace, above the street noise and away from the chaos.

“I saw the pain in your eyes that night when you collapsed,” he said. “I really tried to stop myself from killing them… those jerks.”

I froze.

“I’m not here to replace him,” he said. “I’m here to remind you that you’re not meant to be forgotten.”

I looked up at him, surprised. “You don’t know me.”

“I know enough,” Sebastian said, voice calm, low. “And I know you’re strong—but even strong women get tired of holding themselves up alone.”

He paused, his gaze locked on mine. “Let me be the one who stands beside you, Pearl. Not because it’s arranged. But because I want to.”

My heart did that stupid thing—it fluttered. I opened my mouth to argue, to retort, to remind him I didn’t believe in perfect men or clean promises—but instead I found myself nodding, just once, as the wind picked up and tangled my hair.

“I’ll let you try,” I said quietly. “But don’t expect me to fall overnight.”

“I don’t need overnight,” he said. “I’ve already waited years.”

Later That Evening—Prenup Photoshoot

The photographer had us in the vineyard hills just outside London. The golden hour bathed everything in soft amber. I wore an ivory gown, not the wedding one—but something elegant. He stood beside me in a navy suit, hand resting at my waist like it belonged there.

The first flash went off, and I didn’t flinch. I tilted my chin, lifted my eyes, and smiled like the world had already bent to my feet. Sebastian leaned in, his lips brushing my temple.

“You’re magnificent,” he murmured.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I smiled.

He chuckled, and the camera caught the moment. Raw. Real. Electric.

I posted one of the shots that night. Just one. Me in his arms, his lips against my cheek, the London skyline behind us. The caption was simple: “The future looks good from here.”

The internet exploded. Within hours, blogs were running headlines like “Heiress Pearl Moreau Engaged to Billionaire Tycoon Sebastian Montgomery” and “London’s Hottest Power Couple Just Broke the Internet.”

Chapter 11