I stared at my reflection, barely recognizing the woman in the mirror.
The stylist's brush danced along my collarbone, leaving a trail of shimmer like fairy dust. My veil floated behind me — long, sheer, glowing white — like a promise I still believed in. My lips were glossy, nude pink. My eyes soft with fluttering lashes. To anyone else, I looked perfect. Radiant. A woman in love.
But I was shaking.
I whispered to myself, "He's coming. He said he loves me…"
My fingers clutched the bouquet tighter. The soft echo of piano keys drifted in from the hall — the song we'd picked together.
Then came the knock.
"Princess?"
My father stepped in, beaming. He looked so proud, like I was a trophy he finally got to show off.
"The guests are arriving. Everyone's talking about how stunning you look. Even Mr. Benson from the oil board is here."
I gave him a small smile. "Thanks, Dad."
He smiled back, then closed the door.
I waited.
Five more minutes.
Then ten.
The music kept playing.
Fifteen minutes. Then twenty.
The whispers began.
The pianist paused.
Then came the question. One voice from the crowd — just loud enough:
"Where's the groom?"
And just like that, the air shifted.
"Is this a joke?"
"Did he get cold feet?"
"Maybe he ran away…"
I froze. My bridesmaids stood near the door, trying not to look at me.
I blinked. "He's coming," I murmured again, but this time, my voice cracked.
The wedding planner's phone buzzed. She stepped aside, answered quietly. Then she whispered something to the pastor. He looked toward me… and didn't say a word.
My heart slammed against my chest like it wanted out.
That's when I heard it — a sharp gasp behind me.
"Dad?" I turned, just as he stumbled forward.
His face contorted, his hand gripped his chest. He collapsed, right there in his tuxedo, right in front of everyone.
"No!" I screamed.
Guests surged forward. Phones came out. Cameras. Voices. Chaos.
"Call an ambulance!"
"Get him air!"
"What's happening?!"
"Where the hell is the groom?!"
i heard different voices whisper
I knelt beside my father, grabbing his hand. His eyes were open but dazed. My mother shoved me aside, screaming. The paramedics arrived within minutes, but it felt like hours.
The wedding was ruined.
People began to leave.
"Disgraceful."
"He didn't even show up."
"I told you he was trouble."
"That dress was custom-made. All that money… wasted."
I stood there in my white gown, numb. The bouquet fell from my fingers. My heels wobbled beneath me.
My mother turned on me like a loaded gun.
"This is your fault!" she screamed. "I told you that boy was too smooth! But you wouldn't listen! You always do this — always bring shame!"
I said nothing. I couldn't speak.
Everything blurred.
---
That night, I walked through the rain in my wedding dress. Alone.
The mascara had melted into my skin. My heel broke two blocks ago. I didn't care. I kept walking — past the nice shops, the closed cafés, the empty streets.
I didn't even know where I was going until I saw it.
ROYAL DRAGON SLOT HOUSE
The neon sign flickered like a heartbeat. Red. Then gold. Then red again.
I stepped inside.
Music thumped against the walls. Loud. Crude. Wild.
The air reeked of sweat, perfume, cigars, and sex. Glitter clung to everything — the walls, the poles, the half-naked dancers grinding on stage. Girls in tiny shorts and fishnets twisted around silver poles while men shouted and waved bills.
I was out of place. A bride among wolves.
The bouncer squinted at me.
"Uh… welcome, Miss… Bride?"
I walked past him without a word.
Someone whispered behind me, "Is that a wedding dress?"
I kept going. My legs felt numb. My chest was hollow.
And then I saw him.
He sat in a VIP booth, surrounded by shadows. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a peek of skin. Tousled dark hair. Sharp jawline. Eyes like green fire.
He didn't look like he belonged there either.
He noticed me.
Our eyes locked.
He smiled — slow, lazy, wicked. Like the world bored him and I was finally something interesting.
I walked toward him without knowing why.
I sat beside him without asking.
He looked me up and down. "You look like a ghost bride."
I swallowed.
Then whispered, "Sleep with me."
He raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"I need to forget," I said. My voice was trembling. "Tonight. Everything. Just… do it. Please."
He studied me for a long moment. He could've laughed. Said no. Told me I was crazy.
Instead, he stood.
"Come with me."
---
The hallway upstairs was covered in velvet. Deep red walls. Golden lights. Each step echoed like a drumbeat in my head.
He opened a door — suite 407.
Inside, the lights were low and warm. A massive bed. Soft music. A faint scent of wine and roses.
I stood frozen, rainwater still dripping from my hair.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I whispered.
He walked up behind me, slid his hands around my waist. "You don't have to know."
He pulled the veil from my hair gently, letting it fall. His fingers brushed my neck, warm and slow. My skin tingled.
"You're shaking," he murmured against my ear.
"Then warm me," I whispered back.
He didn't rush.
His hands moved to the back of my dress, tugging gently at the laces. One by one, he loosened them — slow, deliberate, like he was unwrapping something fragile. His fingers grazed my spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, so close I felt the words on my skin.
The gown slipped down my shoulders.
I turned around, wearing nothing but lace and shame.
He tilted my chin up.
His lips met mine.
The kiss was soft — at first. Just a whisper. Then deeper. Rougher. His tongue slid against mine, tasting, claiming.
My hands grabbed his shirt, yanking at the buttons.
"Please," I breathed into his mouth. "Just touch me."
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, carried me to the bed, laid me down like something sacred.
He peeled off his shirt. Tattoos along his collarbone. A deep scar across his ribs. Muscles lean and tense.
He hovered over me, eyes locked with mine.
"Tell me to stop, and I will."
I shook my head. "No. I want this."
His lips kissed down my neck. My chest. My stomach.
His hands — God, his hands — were everywhere. Teasing. Stroking. Burning.
He unclasped my bra, tossed it aside. His mouth found my skin, sucking gently, teasing until I gasped and moaned.
"You're so soft," he groaned. "So damn soft…"
My thighs parted on instinct. His hand slid down slowly — tracing, circling, making me tremble.
"You're soaked and a Virgin," he murmured.
"I need you…" I choked out. "Please."
He stripped me completely.
Then himself.
And when he finally slid inside me — slow, deep, stretching me wide — I cried out.
He paused.
"You okay?"
I nodded, biting my lip. "Keep going."
He moved — rhythmically, steadily — rocking into me with long, deep thrusts that made me forget everything. My father collapsing. The guests. My mother's voice. The church.
All of it disappeared.
Only him. Only now.
He kissed me again, tongue tangled with mine. His hands on my hips, his body pressed tight to mine. Each thrust made me moan louder. He groaned into my neck.
"You feel like f*cking heaven," he gasped.
I arched beneath him, whimpering. The pressure built inside me like fire in my veins.
"I'm close," I whispered.
"So am I," he groaned. "Don't hold back."
And when I broke — shuddering, gasping, crying out his name — he followed right after, his body jerking as he came inside me, his voice a hoarse growl against my ear.
--
We collapsed.
Tangled. Sweating. Spent.
Silence filled the room.
His fingers stroked my hair.
Then, after a long pause, he lit a cigarette and exhaled smoke toward the ceiling.
"Feel better now?" he asked.
I turned my face to the wall.
"No. But at least I don't feel anything."
He chuckled softly. "That's a start."
I didn't look at him. I didn't want to.
But he asked anyway.
"So… what was his name? The one who didn't show?"
I closed my eyes.
"I… I don't wanna remember him"
He smirked.
"Funny. I never told you mine."