CHAPTER FOURTY-SEVEN

THE NEXT HOUR FEELS LIKE A DREAM.

After dismissing his men, Lucifer introduces me to an elderly man dressed in traditional Catholic priest robes. He doesn’t speak English, so I simply nod and pretend to understand as he talks to me in rapid Spanish.

It’s embarrassing to admit, but my Spanish is limited to what I learned in high school.

Growing up, my parents only spoke English at home, and I never spent enough time with my abuela to learn more than a handful of basic phrases.

Once the introduction is over, Lucifer leads me into a different room, a small office furnished with a desk and two chairs.

Moments later, two young women enter. One carries a long, white dress, while the other holds a pair of shoes and some accessories.

They’re cheerful and animated, speaking to me in a mix of Spanish and English as they begin working on my hair. I try to keep up with the conversation, but my responses are stiff and unnatural, the tight knot of anxiety in my chest making it impossible to act like the happy bride they expect.

Noticing my lack of enthusiasm, Lucifer gives me a warning glare before disappearing, leaving the women to continue their work.

By the time they finish, I feel drained, both physically and mentally. Even though Chicago and Bogotá share the same time zone, exhaustion weighs heavily on me, as if I’m suffering from jet lag. A strange sense of numbness washes over me, dulling the churning dread in my stomach.

It’s happening. This is real. Lucifer and I are about to be married.

The earlier panic has faded, replaced by a resigned weariness. I don’t know why I ever expected a different outcome from a man who kept me captive for fifteen months.

Did I really think we’d have a reasonable discussion about the pros and cons of getting married at this stage in our relationship? I scoff at the thought. As if.

Looking back, I realize that our four-month separation had softened the memories of those horrifying first weeks on the island. Somehow, I had managed to romanticize my captor in my own mind.

I had foolishly convinced myself that things between us could change, that I had some control over my life.

“All done.” The woman styling my hair beams at me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Beautiful, señorita, very beautiful. Now, please dress, and then we will make your face nice.”

They hand me silk undergarments to wear beneath the gown, then politely turn away to give me privacy. Not wanting to delay, I quickly change into the dress, which—just like the ring—fits me flawlessly.

Now, only my makeup and accessories remain, and the women work swiftly. Ten minutes later, I’m ready to be a bride.

"Come, see," one of them urges, guiding me toward the far corner of the room. A full-length mirror stands there—one I hadn’t noticed before. As I take in my reflection, I stare in silent shock, barely recognizing the girl looking back at me.

The young woman in the mirror is elegant and stunning, her hair arranged in a delicate updo and her makeup flawlessly applied.

The mermaid-style gown fits her slender frame perfectly, its sweetheart neckline highlighting the graceful curve of her shoulders and neck.

Teardrop diamond earrings adorn her small earlobes, while a matching necklace glimmers at her throat. She looks every bit the perfect bride… if one ignores the quiet sorrow lurking in her eyes.

My parents would have been so proud.

The thought ambushes me, and for the first time, I fully grasp that I’m getting married without my family. My parents won’t be there to witness their only child's wedding day.

A dull ache spreads through my chest at the realization. There will be no dress-shopping trip with my mom, no cake-tasting session with my dad.

No wild bachelorette party with my friends at a strip club.

I try to imagine how Lucifer would handle something like that, and a sudden snicker escapes me. I have no doubt those poor strippers would be leaving in body bags if I even stepped foot in such a place.

A knock on the door snaps me out of my half-hysterical musings. The women hurry to open it, and I hear Lucifer speaking to them in Spanish. They turn to wave goodbye before quickly exiting.

As soon as they’re gone, Lucifer steps inside.

Despite everything, I can’t help but stare at him. Clad in a sharp black tuxedo that molds perfectly to his broad, powerful frame, my soon-to-be husband is devastatingly handsome.

A flash of our encounter on the plane crosses my mind, sending a wave of heat between my thighs, even as my bruises pulse in protest. He watches me just as intently, his gaze hot and possessive as it sweeps over my body.

"Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?" I inject as much sarcasm into my voice as possible, trying to resist the way he affects me.

At this moment, I hate him almost as much as I love him, and the fact that I still crave him infuriates me beyond measure.

I should be used to this by now, but it never stops unsettling me—the way my mind and body refuse to be in sync when he’s near.

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his sensuous mouth. "That’s alright, my pet. I think we’re beyond such traditions. Are you ready?"

I nod and move toward him. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable—one way or another, we’re getting married today.

Lucifer extends his arm, and I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him guide me back to the grand room with the pulpit.

The priest is already waiting, along with Orson. A large camera is also positioned on a tall tripod.

"Is that for wedding pictures?" I ask in surprise, pausing in the doorway.

"Of course." Lucifer's eyes glint as he looks at me. "Memories and all that sentimental stuff."

Uh-huh.

I don’t understand why Lucifer insists on the dress, the tux, the church. The entire spectacle baffles me. This isn't a loving union—it’s just another way for him to tighten his grip on me, to cement his control.

All these elaborate details mean nothing, especially since Orson is the only person witnessing the ceremony.

The thought makes my chest tighten again. "Lucifer," I say softly, gazing up at him, "can I call my parents now?"

I want to tell them. I need to let them know I’m getting married. I already expect him to deny me, but I still feel compelled to ask.

To my shock, he smiles. "If that’s what you want, my pet. In fact, after you speak to them, they can watch our ceremony through a live video feed. Orson can arrange it for us."

I stare at him in stunned disbelief.

He wants my parents to watch?

To see the man who took their daughter?

For a brief moment, I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality—until the brilliance of his scheme clicks into place.

"You want me to introduce you to them, don’t you?" I whisper, eyes locked on his. "You want me to tell them I came with you willingly, to convince them that I’m happy.

That way, you don’t have to worry about the authorities or anyone else coming after you. I’ll just be another girl who fell for a rich, attractive man and ran away with him. These photos, the video... it’s all part of the illusion."

His smile deepens. "What you say to them is entirely your decision, my pet," he murmurs smoothly.

"They can witness a joyous occasion, or you can tell them you were taken again. The choice is yours, Ella. You can say whatever you like."