Leonardo leaned closer to Damian.
“This wedding is none of your business.”
Damian looked down at you again.
You were conscious enough to hear everything, but too weak to move.
His gaze settled on your wrist.
Your sleeve had shifted when you fell.
Beneath the lace, fingerprints marked your skin.
Not old.
Fresh.
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“It became my business when she hit the floor with bruises under a wedding dress.”
Leonardo’s mother, Evelyn Harrington, stood from the front row.
She was a cold, elegant woman in a silver gown, diamonds at her throat, and cruelty polished into every line of her face.
“Mr. Salvatore,” she said smoothly, “Valeria has always been delicate. Emotional. She has had episodes before.”
Your mother made a broken sound.
“No,” she whispered.
Evelyn turned to her with a look sharp enough to cut.
“Caroline, please. This is embarrassing enough.”
Something inside you tried to rise.
You wanted to speak.
You wanted to tell them you were not delicate.
You were not unstable.
You were not dramatic.
You were terrified.
But your body betrayed you.
Damian removed his jacket and placed it over you.
Not for show.
Not romantically.
To cover you.
To protect the parts of you the room had no right to see.
Then he looked at the priest.
“This wedding is over.”
The words hit the ballroom like a gunshot.
Leonardo laughed again, louder this time.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
Damian turned his head.
“No?”
Leonardo stepped forward.
“This is my wedding. My family’s event. My fiancée.”
Your eyes opened at that.
My fiancée.
Not Valeria.
Not the woman I love.
