I ignore her and begin to examine the pieces carefully, one by one. They are all black, as I requested. Lace and pearls and silk are too beautiful for the likes of Ivy Moreno. Yet she will have one regardless. No wife of mine will marry me in tatters, but I will surely take pleasure in seeing the destruction of her beautiful dress once the ceremony is over.

“You’re actually buying her a gown?” Mercedes scoffs. “Why?”

“Because she will be my wife,” I growl. “And I will not have her tarnish the De La Rosa name by wearing anything I don’t approve of.”

“She will be a De La Rosa in name only,” she snarls. “Who cares what she wears when her blood will stain the floors of The Manor? If it were up to me, I would do it at the ceremony in front of her family for all to see. She should have to walk naked over fiery coals to deserve your hand in marriage.”

“That’s why it isn’t up to you.”

“I still don’t understand why you have to marry her. Just torture her and be done with it.”

“You don’t have to understand.” I dismiss her coldly.

The room falls silent, and I can feel Mercedes watching me as I pick apart each dress. There is still much to be done, and her presence is only delaying my efforts. But sending her away now would only add to the salt in her wound.

I reach for the finest dress in the selection and hang it on the end of the rack. After I call for the sales assistant and tell her to package it up, Mercedes mutters under her breath.

“She doesn’t deserve to wear something so beautiful. Fucking Morenos.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s not your decision to make.”

She watches me carefully as I roam the store, seeking out a pair of heels to match. The jeweler will be here soon with a selection of rings. The rest I can send my staff to pick up. Flowers. Candles. Hairpieces. I pause in front of a lingerie display, swallowing the knot in my throat.

“You must be kidding,” Mercedes hisses. “Don’t tell me you actually plan to bed that awful woman.”

I finger the black lace and try to imagine what Ivy would look like in such a display. My enemy and my soon-to-be wife. The woman twelve years my junior. I have not seen her up close in years. Not since the explosion. But I have watched her. I know her curves, her softness, her impossibly girlish dreams of escaping this life. She will be mine to do with as I please. Mine to take. Touch. Torment.

And horrify.