Page 45 of Brutal Reign
She’s softer around the edges, curvier through the hips and fuller through the chest. Her skin glows under the golden light filtering in from the arched windows, and her hair is swept up in soft waves with a few loose strands brushing her neck. She’s grown into her beauty, the kind of woman who could bring a man to his knees.
As the priest continues his recitation, neither Hope nor Simon has noticed my arrival. Their attention remains fixed on each other. Simon’s hands hang relaxed at his sides, his mouth curved into a smug smile. He looks exactly like the photos I’ve seen of him. Dressed sharply in a tuxedo, his hair neatly combed back, he looks polished from the outside, but up close, there’s something predatory about him. The way his gaze rakes over Hope like she’s his property makes my hands itch for violence.
I still look like Lukas, the man she met years ago, but certain things have changed. My hair is a little longer now, brushing just below my ears, and my shoulders are broader from the relentless workouts I use to burn off frustration. The smile lines around my eyes have deepened with age. Still, I have no doubt she’ll recognize me.
But she doesn’t turn my way. Her eyes stay glued to Simon, as if afraid of what might happen if she looks away.
An aisle seat in the second row is free, and I lower myself into it. From here, I can see her bouquet trembling slightly in her grip.
At first glance, it could be wedding nerves. Maybe she’s deeply in love with Simon, overwhelmed by the moment. The thought that she moved on and found happiness while I’ve spent five years unable to forget a single night guts me.
But as I watch her more closely, something doesn’t fit. There’s no joy in her posture, no soft smile playing at her lips. Her breathing is too controlled, like she’s fighting panic. This isn’t the look of a woman in love.
Maybe it’s a strategic alliance then, two powerful players joining forces. That would make sense, for the daughter of Lai King and his right hand to unite in order to lead the triad. But even arranged marriages between willing parties have some warmth, some sense of partnership.
Hope looks like she’s facing a firing squad. Her jaw is locked, her shoulders drawn up so high they practically touch her earrings.
The truth, now clear, tugs at something fierce in my soul. Hope is not marrying him because she wants to. This isn’t love or strategy; it’s coercion. And whatever hold Simon has over her, it’s strong enough to get her to the altar.
What the fuck did he do to make her look like a cornered animal?
Whatever it is, he will pay for it many times over. I’ve walked around for too long with her memory eating me alive, and now that I’ve found her, I’m not letting her go.
I sit back and cross my arms, feeling the comforting weight of the Kevlar vest under my suit, the cold steel of the knife strapped to my ankle.
The priest’s voice carries over the silent crowd. “Do you, Hope King, take Simon Lau to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
She hesitates—just for a heartbeat—but it’s enough for me to sit up straighter, fists clenched. Her mouth opens and closes, and in that flicker of pure terror across her face, I see exactly how she feels about the man she’s about to marry.
Every muscle in my body coils tight, tension building in my chest like a storm gathering strength. With grim satisfaction, I settle in to wait for the fireworks to begin, ready to tear this whole charade apart.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
HOPE
Sweat beads along my spine,clinging to the fabric at the small of my back. My dress feels too tight, my skin too hot. My vision swims slightly at the edges even though I force myself to keep my head up, eyes straight ahead, as the priest speaks the words that feel like a prison door slamming shut.
“Do you, Hope King, take Simon Lau to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
My pulse thunders in my ears. Simon watches me, waiting for my response.
I stare at the priest and open my mouth to say the two words he’s waiting for. Two simple words.
I do.
But they don’t come. They lodge in my throat like a stone. My lips part, but no sound escapes.
Simon goes deathly still. He doesn’t speak, but I know he’s furious that I’m hesitating. I’m not even doing it purposefully; it’s my body rebelling against my brain.
As I try again to get the words out, there’s a burst of sound so loud it shakes the chandeliers overhead and makesthe ground shudder beneath my heels. I look around the room, waiting for someone to announce it’s fireworks or an earthquake—something that makes sense—but no one does. Simon stiffens, eyes narrowing as his head snaps toward the sound.
The air fills with screams and the acrid smell of smoke. Chairs scrape back all at once as the guests start to flee.
All I can think about is Kin. That I need to get to him. Before I can make a move, Simon grabs me by the wrist and pulls me from the altar, barking orders at his security team that seems to have materialized out of nowhere.
“What’s happening?” I choke out, stumbling after him in my heels as he drags me toward a side door. “Was there an accident?”
