Westley You Are Late Chapter 11
The next time I saw Westley was at Vera Wang.
I had just stepped out of the dressing room in the final gown when the curtain behind me was yanked open.
Westley stood at the entrance in a tailored suit, his dark eyes locked on me.
His expression was a storm of shock, confusion, and a flicker of raw anger.
“Brielle…”
His voice was rough as he walked toward me, one slow step at a time.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying on wedding dresses,” I answered evenly.
“Trying on wedding dresses?”
He bit out the words through a clenched jaw.
The next second, he grabbed my wrist, his grip painfully tight.
“Who told you to wear that? Take it off.”
Seeing him like this, I knew exactly what he was so angry about.
Two years ago, he had taken me to a couture atelier to have a wedding dress designed for me.
Pointing at the sketch, he’d said, “My bride deserves a dress that’s one of a kind.”
After the dress was finished, Sofia somehow heard about it and begged Westley to let her try it on.
That day, I had just put it on myself and didn’t want to take it off.
Sofia had burst into tears.