Chapter 50

Ronan’s POV

My dark eyes followed her as she fled the ballroom. The long train of her white gown bounced with every frantic step; her hands covered her face, trembling with silent sobs. I could tell she was crying. “Seris, my sweet Seris,” I murmured, a gentle smile curving my lips as I watched the spot she had just passed. The image of that perfectly fitted, corseted gown—crafted by my own hand—refused to fade from my mind.

I couldn’t help smiling again, picturing her descending the grand staircase to meet me. The gown clung to her curves, accentuating her bosom and narrowing at her waist as if made just for her—well, because I had made it. Every seam, every stitch, still amazed me. Seeing her in it stirred a primitive desire to press my face against her chest, to leave my mark in teeth and kisses and let the whole world know she was mine.

Her innocent smile had been that of a radiant angel: pure, fragile, and breathtakingly beautiful. I wanted nothing more