Autumn's hands shot out, pushing Dexter away from her, as she turned to face Iris. Her gaze lingered on the exquisite white gown, its delicate lace and intricate embroidery gleaming in the light. The dress, passed down from her grandmother before she died, was a treasured family heirloom, meant to be worn by Autumn on her wedding day and someday passed down to her own daughter. But now, it was draped on Iris's slender frame, its beauty diminished by the woman's tacky taste.

Autumn's eyes narrowed, her rage simmering just below the surface. For Iris to have access to this gown, Ivan must have taken her to Autumn's own bedroom,...