╰┈➤ ꨄ︎
The morning broke over Hotel Lotus White with a softness that did not match the intensity waiting inside its walls. The entire 20th-floor wedding hall had been transformed into something that did not look man-made at all. It looked like a dream—one crafted carefully, obsessively, with money that most nations couldn't imagine spending in a century.
From the ceiling, vast constellations of white blossoms cascaded like frozen waterfalls. Petals bloomed between chandeliers—thousands of glass crystals reflecting golden light into every corner, every table, every pale ivory drape swaying with the morning warmth. A walkway of white carpet cut through the flowers like a quiet river. Every step, every breath inside this room felt soaked in luxury and destiny.
And on the opposite side of this ethereal hall, inside the private bridal suite, a very different war was happening.
"Laylaaaa," Andrea called from the changing room, voice echoing off cream walls. "Ben bilmiyorum... this dress is something else."
Layla, who had been pacing like a pre-exam student, froze mid-step. "Something else like... too tight? Too loose? Too heavy? Did they sew your weapon pockets wrong?"
"No," Andrea replied. "Not that. It's just—something."
Layla groaned. "Girl, open the door. I swear if you ripped a seam—"
The door clicked.
And Layla's jaw fell so dramatically she almost dropped the hairpin in her hand. Andrea stepped out slowly, letting the gown's fabric sweep the floor like liquid silver.
It was the gown from the second picture—the one that looked crafted for a queen rather than a bride.
A sculpted corset hugged her waist, the silk draping folding like moonlit waves around her hips. The bodice shimmered with delicate beaded embroidery, glistening like frost kissed by dawn. Long embroidered gloves framed her arms, disappearing under the fall of her hair.
Andrea twirled once, calm as a snowfall. "This dress is... perfect."
Layla blinked hard. "Perfect? Girl, you scared me! I thought you meant something else."
Andrea grinned. "It is something else. Perfect for hiding weapons too—look." She pulled a small concealed dagger from a slit beneath the draping.
Layla slapped her forehead. "It's your wedding dress, not a spy uniform!"
"It's a mission wedding dress," Andrea corrected, straightening the drape. "Madam Layla."
Before Layla could retort, a soft knock tapped the door.
No one answered.
The door opened anyway.
Eunwoo stepped inside like the room had been waiting for him. His eyes lifted once, and then they refused to move. Every line in his face—usually carved from ice—softened. He walked toward Andrea in small, calculated steps until the quiet itself felt breathless.
"Wow," he murmured.
Andrea crossed her arms. "Are you praising the dress or me?"
"You," he said without hesitation—so straightforward even he blinked after saying it. "I mean—" he coughed. "Whatever I choose is amazing. Naturally."
Layla rolled her eyes so hard she nearly fell. "Boss, that means Andrea is amazing."
"Yeah," Eunwoo muttered, cheeks tightening. "Probably."
Andrea smirked. "This is not your room. Did you need something important?"
His expression returned to its CEO default: calm, unreadable, slightly annoying. "Yes. I brought the accessories you'll wear today."
He placed three black boxes on the table—one small, two large—and a separate velvet pouch for the shoes.
Andrea narrowed her eyes. "Accessories? Eunwoo, I'm not wearing any necklaces. They get in the way."
Layla whispered, "Weapons."
Andrea nodded solemnly. "Weapons."
Eunwoo ignored both of them and opened the first box.
Inside lay a pair of white designer sneakers—clean, elegant, and somehow still wedding appropriate. The embroidery glittered faintly with crystals. Andrea lifted them, eyebrows raised.
"Running shoes?" she asked.
"Three-thousand-dollar running shoes," Eunwoo corrected.
She sighed. "Stop wasting money like water."
"I'm not wasting," he said. "I'm investing in my bride's ability to run across marble floors without twisting her ankle."
Layla snorted into her palm.
Next, he opened the second box.
Andrea felt her breath pause.
It was the sapphire tiara—the same from the image—crafted in leaf-shaped diamond filigree, each branch curling delicately toward the center stone: a rich ocean-blue sapphire. It looked as if it would glow in moonlight.
Andrea touched it gently. "This... this is worth millions."
"Correction," Eunwoo murmured with a smirk. "Billions."
She whipped her head toward him. "BILLION?!"
He shrugged. "You know, Ms. Yeldiz... your future husband is a billionaire."
Layla lost control of her expression completely, bending over as Andrea stared at him like he was announcing the weather.
Then he opened the final box.
The diamonds inside were enough to blind the room. A teardrop-shaped center stone hung from a necklace of perfectly cut, icy white gems. Earrings to match nestled beside it, glittering like captured stars.
Andrea lifted the necklace with two fingers, watching light shatter inside every facet.
"This is..." she whispered. "I expected maybe something worth... millions. Not—"
"Billion," Eunwoo corrected again.
Andrea almost threw the necklace at him. "I said stop wasting money like water!"
"For the last time," Eunwoo replied, "I do not waste."
He smirked, enjoying the rare moment where he clearly had the upper hand.
Andrea slapped the necklace against his chest. "If you bought this to show off—"
"I bought it," he said, leaning closer, "because I wanted you to wear something worthy of you."
Her throat tightened for exactly one second, but she hid it under a glare and snatched the earrings instead.
Layla began arranging the tiara in Andrea's hair while Andrea slid the diamond earrings into place. Eunwoo stood behind her, watching her reflection with barely veiled admiration.
Andrea's eyes met his in the mirror.
His lips curved slightly. "Perfect."
Layla stepped back. "Boss, everything's ready. I'll go check the venue for the final plan."
"Good," Eunwoo said.
Layla excused herself and slipped out.
The room fell into a quiet that hummed with tension.
Andrea put on the necklace slowly, letting the diamonds settle against her collarbone. Eunwoo moved closer, his gaze steady, almost heavy—like he was memorizing her.
She pretended not to notice.
He pretended not to stare.
Andrea reached for the gloves, sliding her hands through the delicate embroidered fabric.
Eunwoo's voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "Andrea."
She looked up.
He swallowed lightly, controlled as always, yet unable to hide the softness around his eyes. "You look..." He exhaled once, controlled. "...like something I can't define."
Andrea turned her face away. "Save the poetic nonsense for the actual ceremony."
A low chuckle slipped out of him.
She looked back into the mirror—and found him not admiring the diamonds, not the dress, but her.
For someone as cold as winter stone, Eunwoo's gaze burned with quiet fire.
Andrea looked away first.
She always did.
He stepped back finally, smoothing his suit jacket. "Layla will bring the bouquet. I'll come for you when it's time."
She nodded stiffly.
He moved toward the door.
Paused.
Turned back one last time.
"Andrea..." His voice softened. "...don't run."
She raised an eyebrow. "Why would I run?"
He opened the door with a tiny, knowing smirk. "Because that's what you always do when you feel something."
She stared at him, speechless.
He slipped out, closing the door behind him.
Andrea stood there, staring at her reflection—her dress glimmering under the warm lights, diamonds sparkling like something stolen from the sky, the sapphire tiara turning her into a woman she had never imagined being.
She lifted the skirt of the gown and checked her hidden weapon.
Perfect.
Mission bridal dress, indeed.
She pressed a hand lightly to the sapphire tiara.
Then the necklace.
Then the earrings.
She sighed. "Billion dollars... Waste of money."
But she didn't remove them.
Not even once.
Because deep inside, where she wouldn't admit aloud, something felt soft... warm... terrifyingly real.
Something she wasn't prepared for.
And downstairs, through the halls glowing with white blossoms and golden chandeliers, her future waited—cold, calculating, maddeningly possessive—
and looking at no one but her.
✦ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ✦⋆｡°✩₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ⋆｡°✩
Afternoon sunlight spilled through the tall glass windows of Hotel Lotus White, warm and golden, touching every polished surface as if the day itself had come to watch the wedding of the wealthiest man in the city. The halls buzzed with excitement. Media teams were already stationed at the entrance, their cameras like small armies waiting to strike.
Inside the grand venue, Minjoon stood near the main guest area, dressed sharply, earpiece hidden beneath his styled hair. His job today: smile politely, scan every inch of the room, and report suspicious movement to Eunwoo. Unfortunately, suspicious movement arrived early.
The doors at the back opened.
Juntae stepped in.
He wore a black suit so sleek it almost blended into the shadows, his presence sharp and cold like a blade concealed under silk. His eyes swept the hall, absorbing every detail with the kind of attention only men with dangerous intentions possessed. A lawyer trailed behind him, carrying files, expression stiff and unnerved.
Minjoon stiffened. His fingers twitched toward the tablet at his side. One quick swipe and he sent a silent message to the groom.
"Target spotted."
Before he could add more, another figure entered through the same doors, stealing the breath from a few guests.
Seorii walked in wearing a cream-pink gown. Classic Korean lines shaped the dress, soft layers, delicate embroidery shimmering like petals caught in the wind. Her hair was pulled into a perfect bun that highlighted her cheekbones and the subtle danger in her smile.
She didn't look around. She didn't hesitate. She walked straight to Juntae.
"Annyeong, Uncle," she said sweetly. "You told me you wouldn't come."
Juntae's laugh was a soft knife. "And you told me you weren't attending either."
Her smile sharpened. "Nae. But here we are. Both liars. I suppose we're here for the same reason... to see who the bride is."
"Exactly," Juntae murmured, voice dropping. "Time to see what Eunwoo has hidden so well."
They walked together toward the guest area. Minjoon tracked them out of the corner of his eye while greeting a wealthy business family. His fingers danced subtly across the tablet screen, sending Eunwoo a live update.
Juntae... Seorii... both present. Watching the ceremony.
In the hallway behind the main hall, Eunwoo received the notification. His expression didn't flicker. Not a twitch. Not a shadow. Only a deepening calm, so absolute that it felt dangerous.
"Good," he murmured under his breath, adjusting his cufflinks. "Let them watch."
Then he stepped out, entering the wedding hall with the kind of quiet authority that made the entire crowd shift in their seats. Guests stared. Cameras moved. The wealthy leaned closer. His black suit was perfect, elegant, severe; his features looked carved from winter.
He walked up to the stage and took his place before the priest.
And he waited.
The hum of conversation grew, mixing with excitement and curiosity. Speculation rippled through the room.
Who was she?
Where did she come from?
Why had Eunwoo kept her hidden?
And the media, hungry with anticipation, prepared their cameras like vultures circling gold.
Meanwhile, Seorii settled into her seat beside Juntae, her expression twisted in amusement.
"Look at him," she said under her breath. "Standing there like a king. Didn't even hesitate to reject me that day. Right in my face. And now he's getting married."
Juntae didn't glance at her. His eyes stayed glued to the altar. "Running after love is foolish," he muttered. "That word has no power. No weight. No guarantee."
Seorii smirked and folded her arms. "I know. If we run after power and money instead, we get everything."
"Exactly."
She leaned closer. "When do we leave?"
"After the ceremony," Juntae replied. "Don't worry. This marriage won't stop me from taking what's mine."
Seorii shivered slightly—not from fear, but from anticipation.
Then the music changed.
The doors closed.
Silence washed across the hall.
And Minjoon returned to stand behind Eunwoo, a faint smile pulling at his lips. The signal was clear.
She was coming.
The doors opened.
Every camera jolted alive. Every reporter lifted their equipment. Every guest leaned forward, breaths held, eyes wide.
Andrea stepped into the light.
Her face was covered by a silk veil, her sapphire tiara sparkling faintly beneath it. Her gown floated around her like a living wave of white silk and embroidery. Diamanté details glimmered, catching the chandelier lights, making her look like she'd been carved from moonlight itself.
The hall gasped.
Media shutters clicked so rapidly the sound became a storm.
Andrea took a steady breath. A long, slow inhale. Then she stepped forward, one foot on the white carpet, then another.
And with each step she took, eyes widened.
Whispers escalated.
Who is she?
Is she royalty?
Is she a foreign dignitary?
She walked with a regal power no one expected. The veil shifted as she moved, revealing flashes of her lips, the curve of her jawline, the shine of her earrings.
She lifted the veil halfway.
Her crown shone in full.
Cameras flashed so violently the entire hall lit up.
And then her face was visible.
For a heartbeat, the entire hall froze.
Juntae stiffened.
Seorii's eyes widened, shock slicing through her composure.
Both of them stared at the same face—the one they remembered so well.
"That's..." Seorii whispered. "That's the girl he introduced as his friend."
"She told us the same," Juntae muttered, voice darkening. "A friend."
A deeper meaning grew between their exchanged looks.
But now she was walking toward the altar.
Now she was in a billion-dollar dress.
Now she was marrying their rival.
"Their 'friend'," Seorii whispered, "is about to become his wife."
"And our plans just became ten times more complicated."
Media voices buzzed around them, clueless to the tension building at their table.
Andrea moved steadily, steps graceful, but her mind was chaos—wild, fast, cluttered. She whispered in Turkish under her breath, loud enough only for herself.
"Tanrım... bu nasıl bir düğün... medya... insanlar... ben... kiminle evleniyorum... deliye dönüyorum..."
Layla walked behind her, holding the gown's long draping, matching Andrea's pace with trained calm.
Andrea's thoughts ran faster.
Oh God... who is here... who isn't... where are the cameras not pointing... is the weapon hidden properly... why are the chandeliers so bright... why am I walking like this... why isn't anyone fainting... and—
I'm actually getting married.
Yahhhh! she screamed in her mind.
She wasn't sure if the emotional meltdown was visible. Hopefully not.
Finally, she reached the stage.
Eunwoo turned, expression softening by a fraction the moment she arrived.
His eyes dipped once—from the tiara to the gown to her hands—before meeting her gaze again.
And he smiled.
A small, rare, private smile that he allowed only for her.
Andrea forced herself to breathe.
Calm. Calm. You're a trained professional. You can handle guns, fights, infiltrations, explosives... but not a wedding? Seriously?
The priest cleared his throat and opened the ceremonial book.
"Let us begin."
Minjoon approached with the rings.
Layla took her place behind Andrea, hands clasped over the ring box she'd held for the bride.
The words of the priest droned softly. Andrea nodded when she was supposed to nod. She kept her face composed, her posture poised. Media lenses zoomed in on her profile, her tiara, her earrings, the intricate flowers on her dress.
Meanwhile, Juntae watched every movement.
Every breath.
"This girl," he muttered. "This girl will ruin everything."
Seorii clicked her tongue softly. "Or she might just be the key."
Onstage, the moment arrived.
Minjoon handed Eunwoo the ring.
A plain platinum band topped with a perfect diamond. Simple, elegant, classic.
Eunwoo slid it onto Andrea's finger, his touch steady, warm.
The priest turned toward Andrea.
"And do you, Andrea Yeldiz, take Eunwoo as your husband?"
Andrea inhaled. Lifted her chin. Smiled sweetly, pretending the cameras didn't exist.
"Yes," she said. "I do."
Her voice flowed effortlessly—light, warm, touched with pretend shyness.
Some guests sighed softly, enchanted.
Eunwoo's eyes narrowed the slightest bit, reading her act easily.
Then the priest nodded at him.
"You may kiss the bride."
Andrea's eyes widened slightly.
Her gaze flickered up to Eunwoo.
She whispered through her eyes, not her lips.
Don't you dare.
Eunwoo gave her a look back.
I dare.
If you kiss me too deeply, I'm going to—
He leaned in.
Don't—
He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close, close enough that she froze.
And then he kissed her.
Not a peck. Not a staged, awkward press of lips.
A real kiss. Firm, warm, slow, full of possession that made her heart forget its rhythm and made her eyes widen behind her lashes.
Her brain screamed.
What is happening?!
But the world was watching.
So Andrea kissed him back.
Softly at first, then deeper, beautifully, gracefully—just enough to satisfy the cameras without letting the dizziness swallow her. It was a wedding kiss after all. The kind that echoed in magazines, the kind people replayed later.
Media flashes erupted.
Guests applauded.
Layla grinned behind her hand.
And inside Andrea's mind, chaos danced wildly.
The kiss ended slowly, breath lingering, tension humming in the air like electricity.
She stepped back, cheeks warm, pulse racing.
As they turned to face the guests, Andrea's eyes swept the hall.
People clapping.
People smiling.
People recording.
But then—
A scent drifted into her lungs.
A familiar scent.
One that didn't belong here. One she recognized from a past she'd buried under discipline and silent fear.
Her breath stopped for one moment.
The smell grew stronger—like old wood, oak smoke, and a faint metallic edge.
No. No, it can't be.
She blinked hard, searching the crowd. But she couldn't break her cover. She couldn't ruin the ceremony. She couldn't give away panic.
She leaned slightly toward Eunwoo.
"We need to talk," she whispered under her breath.
He glanced at her, eyes narrowing with instinct.
"What's wrong?"
But Andrea straightened instantly, smile returning for the audience.
"I'll tell you later," she murmured, barely moving her lips.
Her eyes were still sweeping the hall, trying to pinpoint the source of the scent.
Someone familiar was here.
Someone dangerous.
Someone she thought she'd never have to face again.
And the wedding had only just begun.