~BLAIR~
I stood at the altar beside Grayson Shaw, my hand trapped in his, and I hated how aware I was of every point of contact.
His palm was warm, and somehow the simple press of his skin against mine sent small, traitorous tingles racing up my arm.
My body clearly had not gotten the message that this man was the enemy. That he already belonged to someone else. That he had openly planned to make me hate him.
I scolded myself silently.
Stop it. He’s nothing. This is nothing.
The ceremony hall was packed with people who mattered to our families—league officials, business partners, distant relatives who had flown in for the spectacle. Cameras lined the back.
It was supposed to be a powerful union with no hint of the resentment simmering between the two people standing at the center of it.
I let my eyes move over the seated guests, searching for a familiar face I both wanted and dreaded to see.
Chase. Sophie. There was no sign of them. Part of me felt relief. Another part—smaller and more bitter, felt robbed of the chance to watch his expression when the vows were spoken.
But even if he didn’t attend today, he would see it on his phone, just like I watched his wedding to Sophie.
Grayson’s fingers shifted slightly against mine. I glanced up at him from the corner of my eye. He stared straight ahead, jaw tight, expression hard.
If he felt anything about holding my hand, he gave nothing away. That only made the unwanted warmth in my palm more irritating.
The officiant began the vows.
I repeated the words when prompted. To have and to hold. For better or worse. They were just sentences. Empty formalities spoken for an audience. And yet, standing there with Grayson’s hand wrapped around mine, the promises felt more serious than they should have. Like the universe was listening even if neither of us meant them.
Grayson’s voice, when he spoke his part, was low and controlled. He never once looked at me while he said them.
I told myself I was glad. I did not want him pretending to mean those words for the sake of the people around us.
Then movement at the back of the hall caught my attention.
I held in a gasp.
Chase.
He stood near the entrance in a dark suit, Sophie at his side, both of them late enough to make an entrance. Maybe they’d intentionally done that, Sophie was always the type of girl that loved the attention to be on her. It was part of the reason that she slept with half the team. And also the reason she’d chosen to wear such a flashy dress today.
Chase’s eyes locked onto mine across the distance. For a split second I saw shock, then something darker. Anger. Possession he no longer had any right to feel.
Good. That’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for.
The officiant smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”
A murmur moved through the crowd. It would be rather embarrassing if Grayson refused to kiss me right now, especially with Chase and Sophie watching, waiting for something to laugh about.
I didn’t give myself time to think. I turned toward Grayson, rose onto my toes, and pressed my mouth to his.
It was supposed to be a statement. A performance. Something sharp enough for Chase to see and understand that I had already moved on. To think that he no longer mattered to me.
The second my lips touched Grayson’s, everything changed.
He went still at first—completely rigid, as if I had caught him off guard. Then a low, rough sound vibrated in his chest, almost a groan, and his hand left mine to grip the side of my waist.
His other hand came up, fingers sliding along my jaw as he angled my face and kissed me back.
I was not prepared.
There was nothing polite about it.
His mouth moved against mine with sudden, focused heat, lips firm and demanding.
When I parted for him, more from shock than intention—his tongue swept inside, tasting me like he had every right.
The kiss deepened fast, turning desperate and dirty in a way that made my knees weaken.
Heat flooded my stomach, spreading lower, and I hated how easily my body answered. My fingers curled into the front of his jacket without permission, holding on as he kissed me like the entire room had disappeared.
Someone could have told me the building was on fire and I wouldn’t have pulled away.
A loud crash shattered the moment.
The sound of something heavy hitting the floor and breaking echoed through the hall. We broke apart, breathing harder than either of us should have been.
My lips felt swollen. Grayson’s eyes were darker than before when they met mine, something unreadable and intense flickering there before he shut it down.
I turned toward the noise.
Lily Sinclair stood near the far side of the altar area, beside what remained of the elaborate ice sculpture that had been displayed for photographs.
The top half had shattered across the floor in a mess of glittering shards.
Her hand was still slightly raised, as if she had only just pulled it back. Her face was pale, her expression filled with irritation.
She didn’t look at the broken ice.
She looked at us. Like she wanted to kill me for kissing him.
Her eyes moved to Grayson’s hand that still lingered near my waist. At my mouth. At the tiny space between our bodies.
A few guests gasped. Staff moved quickly to clean the mess. The officiant cleared his throat and tried to regain control of the ceremony, but the damage was already done.
I stood there with the taste of Grayson still on my tongue, my pulse racing for all the wrong reasons, and the sudden, unwelcome realization that the kiss I had started to make Chase jealous had not felt like a performance at all.
It had felt like a beginning of something I never asked for.
Dex Morgan
Dex works to elevate each story with clean writing, emotional balance, and thoughtful flow for readers.