The church doors explode inward with a sound like thunder.

All heads turn. Gasps ripple through the congregation. The organist stumbles over the melody.

There he stands, backlit by the setting sun, filling the doorway with his presence alone.

Eliot.

Not just back - reborn. Harder. Darker. More dangerous than the boy who left two years ago. His black leather jacket strains across his broad shoulders. His unbuttoned shirt reveals a glimpse of tanned skin and a faint trail of hair disappearing beneath his belt. His eyes - those intense, burning eyes - lock onto yours with laser precision.

Time stops. The wedding march fades to nothing. Your groom's face registers confusion, then outrage.

Eliot doesn't spare him a glance. He moves down the aisle with the predatory grace of a big cat, each step echoing through the silent church. Boots against wood, steady as a heartbeat.

"Stop," your groom barks, taking a step forward.

Eliot's head turns slowly. The cold, contemptuous look he gives Charles would freeze lava. "Sit down, Hargrave. Before I forget myself and break that pretty nose of yours."

Charles falters.

Eliot continues forward until he's standing directly in front of you. Close enough that you can smell him - leather and pine and something uniquely masculine. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curl into fists at his sides like he's barely restraining himself.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" you whisper, voice shaking despite your best efforts to stay calm.

He reaches out, calloused fingers brushing your cheek before tangling in the veil at the back of your head. With one sharp yank, the delicate fabric rips free.

"Stopping a mistake," he growls, the word vibrating against your lips. "You think I'd let you marry this weak little shit? You think I'd let another man put his hands on what's mine?"

The world narrows to the heat of his body, the fire in his eyes, the raw possession in his voice.

"I've wanted you since we were kids," he continues, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Fought with you. Teased you. Did everything to get your attention because you're the only one who matters. And you're standing here, wearing white for someone who doesn't deserve you."

His thumb brushes your lower lip, pulling it down slightly.

"Take off the dress," he commands, low enough only for you to hear. "Walk out with me. Or I'll carry you out over my shoulder in front of everyone. Your choice, princess."