Chapter 7

Dallas felt a weary sense of inevitability. She didn't have the will to refuse. She allowed Chelsea to lead her to a dressing room and helped her into a simple, elegant gown that was surprisingly similar in style to the suit Antone was wearing.

When she stepped out, Antone was standing there, looking like a groom. The sight was so absurdly, painfully ironic that she almost laughed.

Chelsea clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, you two look perfect together! Like a real bride and groom!"

She now understood. Chelsea, insecure about Desmond's lingering feelings for Dallas, was trying to push her toward Antone. To neutralize the threat.

Antone's face tightened. He understood, too. The one thing he couldn't stand was being publicly linked to Dallas, especially by the woman he loved. It shattered his fantasy.

"Come on, let's take some pictures!" Chelsea chirped, oblivious, pushing them together into the store's photo area. She snapped away, creating a collection of happy, fake memories.

"What a handsome couple," a sales assistant murmured to her colleague.

"Don't be ridiculous," Antone snapped, his voice sharp and cold. "She's my sister." He said the word "sister" like an insult, a way to put as much distance between them as possible.

Dallas knew he was in a bad mood now. She met his angry gaze and then looked away, heading back to the dressing room. She was done with this charade.

"Dallas, stop right there."

Desmond's voice cut through the air. He was back. And he looked furious.

He strode over to her, his eyes blazing. "What do you think you're doing? Dressed like that, with him?" He gestured angrily at Antone. "Have you no shame?"

He grabbed her arm, his grip like iron, and yanked her forward. "Go change. Now."

The force of his pull was too strong. Dallas stumbled, her feet tangling in the long dress. She fell, her head hitting the corner of a low table with a sickening crack.

Pain exploded behind her eyes. The world tilted.

"Dallas!"

Desmond's face changed instantly, his anger replaced by panic. He rushed to help her up.

Antone was there a second later, his own face pale with alarm, dabbing at the cut on her forehead with his handkerchief.

"It was my fault," Chelsea said, her voice trembling with guilt. "I asked her to try it on. I'm so sorry, Desmond."

Desmond turned his fury on her. "Why would you do that? Do you have any idea what people will say if they see them together like this? The rumors will destroy this family's reputation!"

Chelsea, who had never seen this side of him, looked shocked. Her eyes filled with tears.

"It's just a dress, brother," Antone interjected, his voice rising in defense of Chelsea. "Why are you making such a big deal out of it?"

"Stay out of this, Antone," Desmond warned. "And stay away from her." He pointed at Dallas. "I don't want you near her."

"I would never marry her!" Antone shot back, the words a desperate assurance meant for Chelsea.

The argument escalated, their voices a harsh cacophony around Dallas. Chelsea, overwhelmed, burst into tears and ran out of the salon.

Instantly, both brothers stopped fighting and ran after her.

"Chelsea, wait!"

They were gone.

Dallas was left alone in the middle of the bridal salon, sitting on the floor in a wedding dress that wasn't for her, with blood trickling down her forehead.

A sales assistant approached her timidly. "Ma'am... about the dress? It's been damaged."

Dallas looked down at the small smudge of blood on the white silk.

"I'll take it," she said, her voice quiet but firm.

She would need a wedding dress soon, after all.