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Bound to You

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Chapter 4: Wedding Silks and Silent Fires

Evelyn’s phone buzzed early in the morning with a single message:

I’m picking you up at 10. We’re going shopping together—don’t argue.

– Valentine

She blinked at the message, arching a brow.

He could’ve at least asked… But she didn’t hate the idea.

Standing in her closet, Evelyn pulled out a soft ivory blouse and a long navy skirt. She tied her hair into a loose braid and applied just a hint of gloss before catching herself in the mirror.

Why am I dressing up for him?

Before she could answer that thought, a sleek black car pulled into her driveway. Valentine stepped out, dressed in a tailored dark shirt and coat, holding two takeaway coffees in hand like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“For you,” he said, offering one. “Vanilla latte, right?”

“You remembered?” she blinked, accepting it.

“I’ve been remembering a lot of things about you lately.”

Her eyes met his briefly before she looked away, sipping the coffee to cover the awkward flutter in her chest.

The boutique was a dazzling little place nestled off a cobbled side street—exclusive, luxurious, and charmingly warm. Valentine held the door open as they entered, the soft chime ringing above them.

A well-dressed woman with a honey-sweet voice approached. “Mr. Valare, always a pleasure. And this must be your bride.”

Evelyn smiled politely. “Thank you for having me.”

“Camille,” the woman introduced herself, “head designer and creative director. I’ve selected a few pieces based on what Valentine told me about your style.”

Evelyn turned to Valentine. “You discussed my style?”

“Just a little,” he said, looking entirely unapologetic. “I wanted them to be perfect.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

Camille led them into a private suite where an array of wedding gowns hung on display. The walls were mirrored, the floor covered in plush cream carpet, and a tray of refreshments sat nearby.

The first dress Evelyn tried was a satin off-shoulder gown with delicate pearl detailing. It clung to her waist and flowed into a regal train.

She stepped out of the changing room, and the air seemed to pause.

Valentine’s eyes roamed slowly, reverently. He didn’t speak at first—he just stared.

“Say something,” she whispered.

“You look...” He took a breath. “Like the woman I dreamed about marrying since I was fifteen.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest, but she quickly laughed, brushing it off. “Don’t say such things. It’s just a dress.”

“It’s not,” he said quietly, but didn’t elaborate.

The second dress was a daring backless design, and Evelyn was almost hesitant to step out in it. But when she did, Camille clapped her hands excitedly.

“Stunning. Simply stunning.”

Another voice joined them then—low, smooth, and undeniably confident.

“She wears it better than the model.”

A tall man with neatly styled dark blond hair and a designer badge on his lapel stepped into the suite.

Camille smiled. “This is Lucien, our creative partner.”

Lucien approached Evelyn with a soft grin and adjusted the shoulder strap of her gown. “Mind if I?”

Evelyn blinked. “Uh—sure.”

He stood quite close—closer than needed. His fingers brushed her bare shoulder as he adjusted the fit.

Valentine sat still on the plush sofa, his jaw clenched.

Relax. She’s just trying on a dress. The guy’s probably like this with all clients. But the little voice in his head didn’t listen. His gaze sharpened with every subtle touch.

Lucien chuckled. “Bridal elegance with an edge. I like that. You’ll make quite the entrance, Miss Hart.”

Valentine stood then, his movement calm, but the storm was unmistakable behind his eyes.

“Thank you for your help,” he said, placing a firm hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “But I think I’d like some privacy with my fiancée.”

Lucien raised a brow, but smiled knowingly. “Of course. I’ll be just outside.”

When the door closed, Evelyn turned to him, curious.

“Are you always this... territorial?”

Valentine exhaled through his nose, stepping closer. “Only when someone else touches what’s mine.”

Her breath caught. “Yours?”

“You’re my wife, Evelyn.” He said it softly, not like a claim, but a truth. “At least, you will be.”

Why does that sound more intimate than it should?

She didn’t reply, and he didn’t press. Instead, he gently helped her down from the platform and passed her her coat.

Later that evening, they pulled into the Hale estate. The soft glow of garden lanterns and the elegant porch welcomed them into a home full of laughter and warmth.

Isobel Hale opened the door herself, smiling wide. She wore a lilac dress and pearl earrings, looking every bit the gracious host.

“Evelyn! You’re even more beautiful than I remember. Come in, sweetheart.”

Valentine’s stepfather, Julian Hale, stood beside her—distinguished and kind-eyed.

“Welcome to our home,” he said warmly.

Evelyn hadn’t known what to expect, but this wasn’t it. She stepped inside, stunned by the kindness.

The dinner table was full—Isobel had invited Elijah too, and the sight of her brother laughing easily with Julian and Valentine melted something inside her.

They passed wine, complimented the meal, and talked about everything from the weather to art exhibitions.

Isobel reached over to squeeze Evelyn’s hand. “I always wanted a daughter. And now, I have you.”

Evelyn looked down quickly, hiding the sudden sting behind her eyes.

Don’t cry. Not now.

She took a sip of her wine, but her voice wobbled.

“I’ve never had a dinner like this... with family.”

Valentine looked at her from across the table, eyes unreadable. His hand brushed lightly against hers under the table—just a brief, grounding touch.

I want this, Evelyn realized. I want to belong somewhere. Maybe... maybe I can.

After dessert, Valentine walked her to the garden while Elijah and Julian talked politics inside.

“They adore you,” he said.

“I wasn’t expecting that.”

“They’ve always wanted to meet the woman I—” He stopped.