Chapter 180
Dominic POV
Vivian is wearing white.
That is the first thing I notice.
And it is a problem.
Not technically white, she would argue. Not the exact shade. Not the same fabric. Not the same design.
But close enough.
Close enough that several guests had already glanced at her twice. Close enough that, from a distance, someone could mistake her for the bride.
And today, of all days, that is unacceptable.
Vivian notices me approaching and immediately brightens. She lifts a hand in a small, familiar wave.
"Dominic. Hey—"
"We need to talk."
The smile on her face flickers.
Only for a fraction of a second.
Then it is gone, replaced by that soft, understanding expression she has perfected over the years.
"Oh. Of course."
Before she can say anything else, I take her arm and guide her away from the crowd.
Not harshly.
Not enough to cause a scene.
But firmly enough that she understands this conversation is happening.
I stop once we're far enough down the hallway that curious ears will have to work harder to listen. Then I release her and turn to face her, folding my arms across my chest.
"Is there a reason," I ask calmly, "your dress is almost white?"
Her eyebrows lift.
"Dominic, it isn't white."
"It is close enough that three people have already mistaken you for the bride."
A pause.
A tiny one.
But I notice it.
"I've been helping with every detail of this wedding," she says softly. "I barely had time to think about myself. It was simply the only appropriate gown I had ready."
My jaw tightens slightly.
She lowers her gaze.
"I didn't mean to upset you," she continues. "I would never intentionally embarrass Ellie. I'm sorry if it seemed that way."
I watch her carefully.
Really watch her.
Because Ellie's voice keeps replaying in my mind.
Every argument.
Every accusation.
Every time she looked at Vivian and saw something I refused to see.
"Ellie believes you sabotage her," I say.
Vivian's eyes widen just enough to appear wounded.
"Dominic..."
"You know I wouldn't do something like that."
"Do I?"
The question leaves my mouth before I can soften it.
She freezes.
I have known Vivian almost my entire life. I have comforted her. Protected her. Considered her family.
But today, for the first time, I am looking at her without the benefit of childhood memories.
"We grew up together," I say, my voice steady. "I care about you. I always will."
Her expression softens slightly.
"But that does not give you permission to make my wife uncomfortable."
Her hand lifts toward my arm.
"Wait. Hold on, Dom—"
I step back before she can touch me.
"I don't care whether this was intentional or careless," I continue. "I don't care what your intentions were."
Her face falls slightly.
"I care about the result."
I look directly at her.
"And the result is that my wife—my Luna—is the one paying the price."
Her lips part.
"You opened her dressing room door."
Her expression shifts.
"You showed up wearing something designed to invite comparison."
"Dominic—"
"Whether you admit it or not, you put her in a position where she has to defend herself."
My voice remains calm.
But there is no room for negotiation.
"And I will not allow that."
Vivian swallows.
For a moment, she looks genuinely surprised.
Then I reach into my jacket and pull out a folded stack of cash.
I hold it out.
"You're going to change."
She stares at the money.
Then to me.
"Into anything else," I continue. "Any color except this."
A silence falls between us.
"And you won't come back until you have."
She takes the money slowly.
The expression on her face changes.
Not anger.
Not hurt.
Something colder.
Something I have never seen from the girl I once thought was as delicate as a butterfly.
"Fine," she says quietly.
Her lashes lower.
Her voice softens again.
"But may I ask you something?"
I nod once.
She tilts her head.
"As her sister..."
A pause.
"Why her?"
I say nothing.
She watches me carefully.
"Why do you love Ellie so much?"
I raise an eyebrow.
"Were you under the impression this was a competition?"
Her lips press together.
"That doesn't answer my question."
Before I can move, her hand reaches for mine.
My eyes narrow.
"Why?"
She steps closer.
"Why her?"
Her fingers curl around my hand.
Warm.
Familiar.
But not welcome.
"Do you not remember our kiss?" she whispers.
My expression hardens.
"Do you remember any of it?"
I pull my hand away immediately and step back.
I thought we were past this.
Past childhood misunderstandings.
Past old assumptions.
But Vivian follows, closing the distance like she believes proximity can change the answer.
My back touches the wall.
"Please," she whispers.
And this time, the sound isn't polished.
It isn't rehearsed.
It sounds fragile.
"You must remember."
Her voice shakes.
"It meant something."
A pause.
"It meant something to me."
"Vivian."
My tone is firm.
"This is Ellie and my wedding."
Her expression tightens.
"You are not owed anything."
The words hit harder than I expected.
The cracks in her perfect expression begin to show.
"At one point," she says quietly, "everyone thought it would be me."
Her voice trembles.
"Our parents talked about it. The pack talked about it."
She looks up at me.
"And you never stopped them."
A pause.
"We were..."