THE WEDDING DRESS had become a prison.
Four hours into Grayson's disappearance, Mailah finally couldn't take it anymore. The beautiful silk that had made her feel like a bride now felt like a costume mocking her with its optimism. Every rustle of fabric reminded her of what should have happened. Every glimpse of white in her peripheral vision made her think, for one agonizing second, that she was still supposed to be walking down an aisle.
"I need to change," she announced to no one in particular.
The living room of the villa had become crisis headquarters. Grayson's brothers occupied various positions around the space—Lucson standing near the window, backlit by fading afternoon light, Mason pacing with predatory restlessness, Ravenson seated but radiating tension, Carson sprawled in a chair with deceptive casualness that didn't match the tight set of his jaw.
They all looked up when she spoke.
"Finally," Mason muttered. "That dress was getting depressing."
