Page 77 of My Wedding Night Massacre

Call me when you get home. We need to discuss your return.

The reminder is a bucket of ice water. Right. Return home. Get married off. Become someone's wife, someone's possession, someone's anything-but-mine.

Four days of freedom left.

I look back at the VIP section, and the silver-haired man is still there, still watching. But there's something in his expression now that wasn't there before. Something that looks almost like... recognition. Like he's seeing something in me that he didn't expect to find.

My underwear is ruined. I can feel how wet I am, how ready, and it's mortifying and thrilling and I've never wanted anything as badly as I want to know what his hands feel like.

I could talk to him. Just walk up there and—

"Don't overthink it," Tiana says softly. She knows me too well, knows I'm already building a thousand reasons why this is a bad idea. "For once in your life, Aurora, just do something without calculating the risks."

"That's literally the opposite of what they taught us in accounting."

"This isn't accounting. This is..." she gestures vaguely at the VIP section, at him, at whatever this electricity is between us. "This is living."

The song changes. Something slower, heavier, all bass and dark promises. Around us, couples start pulling each other closer on the dance floor.

He stands.

My heart kicks into overdrive.

He's tall. Taller than I thought, probably six-two or six-three, and the way he moves—God. There's this controlled power in it, like every gesture is intentional, nothing wasted. Muscles shift under that expensive suit. He says something to the person next to him, doesn't wait for a response, and starts walking.

Toward the stairs.

Toward the main floor.

Toward me.

"Oh shit," Chloe breathes. "Oh shit, he's coming over here."

"What do I do?" My voice comes out higher than normal. My nipples are so hard they hurt. The throbbing between my legs is distracting, demanding, making it hard to think.

"You breathe," Tiana says. "And you smile. And you see what happens."

But he doesn't come over. He stops at the edge of the dance floor, hands in his pockets, and just... looks at me. Like he's waiting for something. Like this is my decision, my choice, and he's going to respect whatever I pick.

Come here. Don't come here. Your call.

The bucket list burns in my mind. Number seven. The one thing I haven't been able to check off, not because I haven't tried, but because I've never found someone who made me want to try hard enough.

Willingly lose my virginity to someone I actually choose.

I don't know him. Don't know if he's good or bad or dangerous or safe. But standing here, feeling his eyes on me like a physical touch, feeling my body respond in ways I didn't know it could, I know one thing for sure:

I want him.

Maybe that's enough.

"I'm going to regret this," I say.

"Probably," Chloe agrees, grinning.

I stand, smooth down my dress, and take one step toward him.

He smiles.