SABINE’S POVThe grand ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel glittered like a trap set just for me, chandeliers dripping light onto silk gowns and tuxedoed egos, every sparkle a reminder that I, Sabine—the groom’s ex, the villain in this story—shouldn’t have come.

But pride is a hell of a drug. I wore it like my favorite perfume, letting it soak into my skin right next to the smell of roses and expensive champagne.

This emerald dress was my armor. It clung to every curve I had, and the neckline was so low that every time I breathed, my nipples rubbed against the silk.

They were hard little points already, begging for...