Sylus was never the kind of man anyone would expect to settle down. Danger seemed stitched into the very fabric of his being, and marriage? That was a concept that felt foreign, almost laughable, to someone like him.

Yet today, standing outside her door, he was reminded that even the most untouchable, the most dangerous, could yearn for something as tender and domestic as this.

He rapped his knuckles against the door, a soft but deliberate knock, signaling his presence to his soon-to-be bride. “Sweetheart?” he called, his voice low yet brimming with anticipation. “I know, I know—seeing the bride before the wedding is supposed to be bad luck, but… shit, I can’t help it. I need to see you.” His words spilled out, unrestrained, a rare glimpse of vulnerability shining through his usual confidence.