Devil's Desire {A BWLM Novella}

20

20
Athena
Two days later...

Sweat trickles down my spine, my fingers trembling around the bouquet. The room feels too small, the air too thick. My vision blurs as the reality of what's about to happen crashes over me. I'm going to marry Santiago De La Cruz. I repeat it over and over, trying to steady my breathing, trying to convince myself that this is real. The veil slightly obscures my view as I stare into the floor-length mirror. Shallow breaths. I can do this. I have to do this.

~*~

My dress is stunning-a mermaid halter gown that hugs every curve, the chapel train trailing elegantly behind me. A chiffon coat drapes over my shoulders, lending a false sense of modesty. It's ironic, really. This dress, meant to symbolize purity and a new beginning, feels like a shroud for all the doubts and fears swirling inside me.

And the crown... God, the crown. Pearl and diamonds glinting in the light, delicate and heavy all at once. For a brief moment, I calm, thinking about how this is the wedding I once dreamed of. But dreams can be deceptive. They can lure you into traps disguised as fairy tales.

A chill runs down my spine, pulling me from my thoughts. A voice, unfamiliar and sharp, slices through the quiet. "So you decided to marry him after all."

I startle, whipping my head toward the sound. In the mirror's reflection, I see a tall, beautiful woman approaching, a gun in her hand. My heart lurches in my chest, and I slowly turn to face her, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Her raven curls cascade down her back, her presence commanding, dangerous. High-waisted leather pants and high-heeled boots give her a sleek, feline grace. Her green, cat-like eyes bore into me-too familiar, too sharp.

She paces back and forth, her gaze never leaving me, like a predator circling its prey. The gun glints in her hand, a chilling reminder of just how far this can go. My throat tightens.

"You stupid girl," she hisses, her words laced with venom. "I had everything planned perfectly for you to get away from him!" Her words hit me like a slap, leaving me reeling. It was her. She left me that voicemail. The warning about Santiago... it was her.

"You're Ingrid?" I whisper, disbelief tinging my voice. How did she get here? How did she get past security? The last I heard, she was still in America, wreaking havoc from a distance.

"You... you left me that voicemail. Why?" My voice trembles, but I manage to force the question out.

"I was trying to help you," she snaps, her tone biting. "You were innocent. You didn't deserve what he was doing to you. Why do you think I came back? To help you escape." Her voice softens, but there's an edge to it, a desperation that makes me wonder if she's trying to convince herself more than me.

I blink, trying to make sense of it all. "Your brother never hurt me, Ingrid," I say cautiously, watching her closely. There's something off in her intensity, something that goes beyond just wanting to help.

Her eyes narrow, her lips curling in disgust. "You love him," she declares, her voice dripping with contempt. "I can see it. You're pathetic."

I flinch at her words but force myself to meet her gaze. "Why do you think you need to save me, Ingrid?" My voice is firmer now, anger rising within me. "Is this really about helping me? Or is it about something else?" Was this about their mother? Did Ingrid think that if she saved me it would somehow erase the tragedy of losing her mother?

Her expression hardens, her jaw tightening. "I told you, I'm trying to help-"

"No," I cut her off, my voice sharper. "This isn't about saving someone. This is about you. Just like Santiago, you think your actions are justified, but they're all about you."