*The Wedding: "You May Now Kiss the Bride"*
The church in Upper the East Side was packed. Old money, new money, and Gramma ardella in the front row wearing enough diamonds to buy a small country, dabbing her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief.
_"Do you, Dorian Ashford, take Selena to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward—"_
"I do," Dorian said. Voice steady. Eyes locked on Selena like he was closing a merger.
_"And do you, Selena, take Dorian to be your lawfully wedded husband—"_
Selena's jaw ticked. The entire congregation was watching. Grammardella was already crying. Vivienne looked like she'd swallowed a lemon.
"…I do," she said through her teeth.
The priest beamed. "Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
The organ swelled. Phones went up. Two hundred people waited.
Dorian turned to her. Slowly. Deliberately.
Selena's lips pressed into a thin, stubborn line. Her whole body screamed _"absolutely not."_
He leaned down, his breath brushing her ear. Voice low, for her only: "Selena. Open."
She made a small, defiant _"mm-mm"_ sound, eyes blazing.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. Then his hand slid to her waist, fingers splaying possessively against the silk of her dress. And he pinched.
Light. Sudden. Right above her hip.
Selena's gasp was involuntary — a sharp, betrayed little _"ah!"_ as her mouth parted on instinct.
That's all he needed.
Dorian used the moment to capture her lips with his. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't chaste. It was a claiming — hot, controlling, and _angry_. His other hand cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone like he owned it.
For one stupid, electric second, Selena forgot to be mad.
Then she remembered.
Her palm connected with his chest in a hard, open-palmed _shove_, breaking the kiss. "Off. Me."
The church erupted.
Applause. Whistles. Grammardella sobbing _"My babies!"_ into her Chanel. Vivienne choking on air.
Dorian just looked down at her, eyes dark, a smirk ghosting his lips as he straightened his tie. Like he'd won. Again.
Selena wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and hissed, "You're dead, Ashford."
He leaned in, just for her: "We'll see, Mrs. Ashford.
1 month earlier
The boardroom was silent, but not the normal kind. It pressed against the walls, seeped into the chairs, thick enough to choke anyone who dared speak. Even the air seemed to wait.
Not the normal kind.
This silence pressed. It settled into the walls, into the chairs, into the people seated around the long table. It wasn't empty—it was waiting.
At the head of the table, Dorian sat.
Mr. Chairman.
He didn't speak immediately. Didn't look at anyone. His attention rested on the file in front of him, fingers tapping lightly against the surface.
Once.
Twice.
The sound echoed.
No one moved.
"Funds assigned to the Nomad Beauty contract," he said at last, voice low, controlled, "were diverted."
A pause.
"I hate theft."
Across the table, someone swallowed hard.
Dorian closed the file.
Soft.
Final.
"I hate betrayal more."
he looked up.
And just like that, the room felt smaller.
The man at the far end broke first.
"Sir—I can explain—" he said cold sweat forming in his head
"Can you?" Dorian asked calmly.
The man's words died.
"I trusted you," Dorian continued. "That was your only advantage."the director was one of the few directors Dorian actually trusted
Silence tightened.
"And now," he added, "it's gone."
He leaned back slightly.
"Take him."
The guards moved instantly.
The man struggled , panic rising too late. "Please—I've been with you for years—you can't do this—!"he cried as he was being dragged on the floor kicking and struggling
Dorian didn't react.
He didn't even watch
"That will be all" he said and stood up the directors rising almost immediately
He strolled out his assistant closely behind him
The doors closed behind them.
The meeting was over.
Dorian walked into his office.
He took off his coat and hung it backwards on the chair.
No pause. No noise.
He pulled out a cigarette, and lit it.
He stopped at the full glass wall, the city spread out beneath him.
His left hand stayed in his pocket.
Smoke left his lips slowly.
His mind wasn't on the room.
It was on the betrayal.
Director cheng
It had taken him a long time to trust him. Years of control, observation, silence. Dorian didn't trust easily—but he had done it anyway.
And the man had broken it.
Cleanly.
Completely.
Dorian exhaled again.
A knock.
His assistant Jake stepped in.
"He's ready."
Dorian slowly looked away from the city.
He walked back to the desk, dropped the cigarette into the ashtray, he took his coat and flung it on one arm.
He walked out his assistant walking closely behind him
The elevator ride was silent.
Jake felt he was going to suffocate, the air
In the elevator felt limited. He readjusted his tie
The elevator went lower
Past the office floors.
Past where people mattered.
Into the underground.
The hidden room.
No one knew it existed above ground.
The door of the elevator chimed it opened
The lights were low—dim strips running along the ceiling, casting hard shadows that didn't quite settle.
Every sound carried.
A drip somewhere.
A faint scrape of metal.
Nothing else
The room itself was bare.
A chair fixed to the floor.
Chains bolted into place.
Barely holding himself together.
Dorian stepped in.
The smell of the place struck Jake like a bat cursing his nose
Dorian didn't show any sign of irritation.
He walked towards the man who was already beaten up.
He looked at him for a moment.
Then spoke.
"Who sent you?" he said coldly
The man coughed, trying to lift his head.
"You didn't work alone," Dorian continued. "Someone gave you access."
Silence.
Dorian tilted his head slightly.
"Tell me who sent you, and maybe I will reduce what happens next."
The man laughed weakly. Then shook his head.
"Never "he spat
Dorian stared at him for a moment longer.
Then gave a small signal.
"
Finish it.
The man's eyes widened.
"Wait—please! I'll talk—help me!".
Dorian didn't move.
Didn't react.
Didn't even look at him again.
The shouting continued.
But it didn't reach him anymore.
He walked out like a demon king who had had unleashed terror in hell
The limousine glided through traffic, smooth and silent.
Dorian leaned back in the leather seat, eyes half-lidded, one hand resting lazily against his jaw.
"Anything else for today?" he asked.
Jake, seated opposite him with a tablet in hand, glanced down. "Yes, sir. You have a meeting with the Virelli Group in an hour.
"Cancel it."
Jake blinked. "Sir?"
He knew better than to make him repeat himself
A brief pause.
Jake hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Sir… your grandmother called earlier. She said—"
"I know what she said." Dorian's voice turned colder. "I spoke to her. She can wait."
He shifted his attention back to his phone.
The screen lit up.
Grandma.
He ignored it.
It rang again.
And again.
Jake shifted slightly, tension creeping into his posture. "Sir… it might be important."
Dorian exhaled, irritated. "It's never important.' It's a lecture."
The phone kept ringing.
"Handle it," he said, voice low. "Make up something. Tell her I'm busy."
Jake didn't move.
"Sir… I don't think that's a good idea."Jake knew if Dorian were to miss dinner the old lad will have his head on platter.
The phone continued vibrating between them, persistent. Unrelenting.
Dorian exhaled sharply, irritation flashing.
He tossed the phone aside
"Reschedule it. Tell her I'm—"
"Dorian Ashford."
Silence dropped.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Dorian's expression didn't change, but his grip tightened just slightly as he lifted the phone properly to his ear.
He had answered the call.
Across from him, Jake went rigid.
"You spoiled brat," her voice snapped.
"For a whole month now it's 'next week… next week.' Do you take me for a fool?"
Dorian leaned back, eyes drifting to the tinted window, jaw set.
A memory flickered—sharp, unwelcome—but he buried it just as quickly.
"You will be at the family dinner tonight." Her tone lowered, firm, absolute. "And you will not keep me waiting."
Dorian said nothing.
"This is not a request."
Silence.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Dorian dragged a hand over his face, irritation simmering beneath the surface—but there was no room to argue.
The line went dead.
For a moment, only the low hum of the engine filled the car.
Jake carefully straightened. "Sir… should I have the driver head to the family mansion?"
Dorian stared ahead, expression unreadable.
"Mm"
The limousine slowed—then made a smooth U-turn, merging back into traffic in the opposite direction.
Toward the mansion.
...
"Stop the car," Dorian said.
The sedan slid to the curb. He got down slowly the sun hitting his face harshly.
_Floraison_ — Bespoke Scent Atelier.The sign read.Granny had suddenly summoned him
with no warning. He had no gift. Flowers would have to buy him silence before the lecture started.
The bell gave a thin chime as he walked in.
A woman stood at the counter, sealing a box like it held a live grenade. She didn't look up.
"Are you closed?" His tone was clipped. He scanned the shelves — dried lavender, glass vials, everything soft and expensive and not his world.
"Almost," she said, still not looking. "If you're quick." She signed the bag. _Selena._
"I need flowers. Nothing pink."
That got him a glance. Fast. Judging. She'd already decided: _Another asshole who forgot an anniversary._
She shifted, order in hand. "Dahlias are—"
"Mr. Ashford!" The driver called from the curb.
Dorian turned.
His elbow slammed into her side.
The box left her hands.
The sound was obscene — thin glass giving up against hardwood.
For one second, Dorian felt it. Actual regret. He hadn't meant to. He saw her face go white.
Then the scent hit.
Jasmine. Pear. White musk. Something achingly feminine, like skin after a bath. It spilled across the floor, three weeks of work bleeding into the grain.
Selena looked at the puddle. Then at him.
"You stupid—" Her voice shook. "Are you fucking blind, do u have scales in place of eyes that u can't watch where you are going?"
That second of guilt evaporated.
"Watch your mouth," he said, voice dropping. "It was an accident."
"An accident?" She laughed, wild. "That was a custom order for a _woman_. Her anniversary gift from her fiancé. Three weeks. Do you know what three weeks of macerating and balancing means? Do you?"
Dorian's jaw locked. "How much."
"how much?" She laughed.
"You can't buy this," she snapped. "Not everything bows to money, _sir_. Time doesn't. Craft doesn't. You just destroyed something you'll never understand."
His left cuff was soaked. The perfume had splashed up his sleeve, into the wool. He smelled like her shop now. Like a woman he didn't know.
He pulled out his card, tossed it on the wet counter. "Have your lawyer send me the bill. We're done here."
He didn't wait for her answer. Grabbed a bunch of white lilies on his way out — didn't even ask the price — and slammed the car door.
---
*Twenty minutes later. Ashford Estate.*Dorian pulled into the family mansion just before dusk, engine cutting off into silence.
He stepped out, already loosening his tie, expression set in that usual unreadable calm.
Inside, the house felt the same—grand, quiet, and heavy with expectation.
A maid greeted him; he barely nodded, already moving past.
He didn't pause until he reached the dining room doors—the doors opened for him.
The dining room was already full. Dad mid-speech. Mom mid-sip. And Grandma Adela at the head, eyes sharp.
Dorian walked over kissed her cheek "For you. Since you 'missed me'." He dropped the flowers on her plate
Adela didn't touch the flowers. She leaned in, instead. Inhaled.
Then she smiled. Slow. Cat-caught-the-canary slow.
"Dorian Ashford," she said, loud enough for the table to hear. "Since when do you wear _Femme Fatale_?"
His father stopped talking.
Dorian looked down at his sleeve. The scent was faint now, but unmistakable. Jasmine. Pear. Woman.
"I don't," he said, too fast. "Flower shop was crowded. Someone spilled—"
"Mm." Grandma plucked a lily from the bunch, twirled it. "Smells like you were crowded with a _girl_. A very expensive girl." She patted his hand. "I like her already."
"It's not—"
"Sit, boy. You smell like trouble and secrets. My favorite."
Dorian leaned back .The whole table was looking at him now.He ignored and ate his food
"How's the company?". Miranda ,Dorians stepmom asked in an overly sweet voice.that sounded irritating to Dorian.
"Fine" he replied curtly leaving no room for further conversation.
" I head u secured the TMS contact that's big congrats son." his father said proudly.
He half smiled and briefly replied.
grandma adella turned to Dorian.
"You're expanding."
"Yes."
"You're acquiring."
"Yes."
"And you're still alone."
There it was.
Dorian leaned back slightly.
He already saw that coming.
"I'm not having this conversation."
"You don't get to choose that," she said calmly.
His father nodded.
"She's right. At some point, you need stability."
Miranda smirked.
"Or at least someone who can stand by you "Miranda said her voice dripping with unsettling sweetness
Dorian's jaw tightened.
"And did I tell you I am interested in that" he said.
"For once," Miranda said, sitting forward, "have you considered that not everything revolves around what you want?"she said clearly trying to sound calm
There it was.
Opposition.
Not subtle.