Chapter 8: Wedding Day
A month later.
Who would've thought that Mother's "stay with your fiancé" plan would actually work?
What started as a forced arrangement—two assassins playing house—turned into… something real. Quiet, unexpected, and terrifyingly genuine. We got closer in ways I never imagined: midnight talks in the kitchen, shared silences that spoke louder than words, stolen kisses in hallways, and soft laughter in the early mornings.
And now, it's our wedding day.
I stood in front of the mirror, clad in ivory silk and delicate lace. My hair was swept to one side, and the soft veil fluttered slightly with the breeze. My fingers trembled just a little as I adjusted my earring. Not from fear.
But from anticipation.
The door creaked open slightly, and Aeris peeked in. "He's ready," she whispered, her eyes shining.
I gave her a small nod and turned back to the mirror for one last glance.
Zaira Selene Pembroke. Soon to be Zaira Selene Lancaster.
Who would've thought?
Not me.
But now, I couldn't imagine it any other way.
I was alone in the bridal suite, the soft rustle of my dress the only sound as I stared out the large window. The garden below was blooming, rows of white and crimson roses prepared just for today. For us.
There was a knock.
I turned.
Zevren stepped in, shutting the door quietly behind him. He looked devastatingly sharp in black—tailored to perfection, crisp and clean—but his expression was tense, stormy, like something weighed heavy on his mind.
He closed the space between us in a few strides. My heart skipped.
"You're not supposed to see me before the wedding," I teased gently, trying to lighten the mood. But he didn't smile.
"Zaira…" he said, his voice quieter than usual. "Before we go through with this, there's something I need to tell you."
My breath caught. "What is it?"
He reached up, brushing his thumb over my cheek. "It's about—"
Knock knock.
The door burst open. The wedding planner popped her head in, flustered. "Sorry! Sorry! But we have to start now, the guests are all seated and—Mr. Lancaster, please, you'll have time later—"
Zevren's jaw tightened.
I reached for his hand. "Tell me after," I whispered.
He stared at me for a beat longer, like he was debating whether to risk saying it anyway.
But then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
"I will," he promised. "Right after I marry you."
And then he slipped out the door.
Leaving me alone again, heart racing.
What was he going to say?
What could possibly be so important… that it almost stopped our wedding?
The music began.
Soft, slow, regal.
I stood at the edge of the aisle, bouquet in hand, the delicate scent of roses surrounding me. Guests rose to their feet, a sea of blurred colors and unfamiliar faces. But my eyes—my eyes found him instantly.
Zevren.
Standing at the altar in black, framed by ivory blooms and golden sunlight. His white hair was neatly styled, a contrast to the chaos I knew simmered beneath his polished exterior. But his eyes—they were on me, unwavering.
My feet moved, almost on their own, each step echoing like a heartbeat in the quiet space.
He didn't smile. Not really.
But there was something softer in his gaze, something raw and real that only I got to see.
When I finally reached him, he offered his hand.
I placed mine in his.
Warm. Steady.
Our fingers curled together like they always belonged.
The officiant began, but I barely heard the words. My attention was on him, on the way his thumb brushed the back of my hand, on the subtle rise and fall of his chest.
"Zevren Laziel Lancaster," the officiant said, "do you take Zaira Selene Pembroke to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
He didn't even blink.
"I do."
A shiver ran down my spine.
"And do you, Zaira Selene Pembroke, take Zevren Laziel Lancaster to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
My lips parted.
"I do."
"By the power vested in me," the officiant declared, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Zevren didn't hesitate.
He pulled me close, one hand around my waist, the other lifting my chin. The kiss was soft, yet full of silent promises—danger, devotion, and something dangerously close to love.
And just like that… I was his.
Mrs. Lancaster.
Assassin. Surgeon. Wife.
God help me.
The kiss ended too soon. I was still dizzy, my heart racing from the overwhelming sensation of being his.
But that sense of calm didn't last long.
A loud crash echoed through the room.
Everyone froze, the music halting abruptly. The air thickened, and my skin prickled with a sudden, chilling sense of danger.
I turned, heart dropping to my stomach.
A man in a black hooded cloak stood at the entrance, a long, gleaming scythe in his hands. His eyes, barely visible beneath the shadow of the hood, glowed a faint red. He moved slowly, deliberately, the metal of the scythe scraping against the floor with a sickening sound.
Guests shrieked, running in every direction, some stumbling, others hiding behind pillars and chairs. Panic flooded the room as the man took one step after another, the tension palpable, his every movement carrying an air of cold, calculated menace.
I instinctively took a step back, but Zevren was already there, a shield between me and the threat. His body tensed, his posture becoming that of a warrior—alert, protective.
"No one moves," Zevren commanded, his voice sharp, unyielding.
The man's gaze flickered to Zevren, sizing him up, then to me—his eyes lingering on me like I was the prize.
"You've come too far, Lancaster," the man growled, his voice low and gravelly. "This wedding—this life you've built—it's all for nothing."
I felt the blood drain from my face. My heart pounded. Was this connected to my past? Had someone found us? Had someone found me?
I looked at Zevren, his face set in grim determination. "Stay behind me," he ordered softly, though his voice had an edge to it.
I nodded, but my fingers clenched around the fabric of his suit. I won't leave you.
The man's grip tightened on the scythe. "I'll make sure you regret this day, Lancaster."
Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, Zevren moved.
Faster than I could blink, he drew his weapon—silent, precise—and aimed it at the intruder. The room was charged with tension, and every muscle in my body screamed at me to move, to act.
But Zevren had it under control.
For now.
The air was thick with tension, and I could feel the adrenaline rush in my veins, making every sense sharper. Zevren had already drawn his weapon, standing firm between me and the hooded man, but I couldn't just stand there.
I couldn't.
With a quick, decisive motion, I tore the bottom of my gown, the fabric ripping as I reached for the hidden blades in my thigh holster. I drew them out, the cold metal humming in my grip.
Zevren's eyes snapped to mine, a flash of surprise crossing his face.
"Zaira, what are you doing?" His voice was a mixture of disbelief and concern.
I met his gaze, unwavering. "I'm here to help you. I am your wife, remember?"
The words weren't just a promise, they were a declaration. This was my life too now, and I wasn't going to stand on the sidelines while Zevren fought alone.
The hooded man's eyes flicked between us, and a smile twisted at the corner of his lips. "How sweet. The bride wants to play hero."
Before I could retort, the man lunged.
Zevren was quicker. He intercepted the strike, his blade clashing against the scythe with a harsh clang. Sparks flew in the air as they locked in a deadly dance, the hooded man twisting and turning with the grace of a snake, his scythe slicing through the air with deadly precision.
I didn't wait. I dove in.
My blades slashed through the air, cutting through the fabric of the space between us. The man parried my strikes, but he didn't expect the speed with which I moved. He barely blocked my next attack, and I landed a solid strike to his ribs.
He hissed, but before he could retaliate, Zevren was there again, his sword flashing in the light, the glow of the blade just barely visible in the chaos of the room.
We moved as one—no hesitation, no doubt, just synchronized, fluid motion.
But something wasn't right.
The man grinned wider, his gaze fixed on me as he dodged another strike. "Why are you fighting alongside the biggest threat of your assassin career, Miss Selene?"
I froze.
What was he talking about?
I caught a glimpse of Zevren out of the corner of my eye. His expression was unreadable, his body tense. But his attention was entirely on the man, so I returned my focus there too.
"What?" I asked, breathless, my heart hammering in my chest. "What are you talking about?"
The man's grin widened, like he was enjoying this twisted revelation.
"The Ghost…" He paused for dramatic effect. "Is Lancaster."
I stopped in my tracks.
The words hit me like a freight train, and for a moment, everything went still.
Zevren's eyes flickered toward me, a fleeting shadow crossing his expression. But in that moment, I couldn't look at him. My world felt like it had shifted beneath me.
The Ghost. The name had always been a whisper in the shadows of the assassin world—a shadowy figure known for his brutal efficiency, his ruthlessness.
But to hear the name Lancaster attached to it…
No.
I couldn't—couldn't believe it.
Zevren took another step toward the man, his sword poised for another strike, but the tension in the air was palpable.
"You know nothing about me," Zevren said, his voice icy, his grip on the sword unwavering. But I could hear the edge in his tone.
I glanced at Zevren, still trying to make sense of the revelation. "Zevren…" My voice faltered, my heart a mixture of disbelief and confusion.
But he didn't answer me. Instead, with a precise movement, he launched himself at the hooded man again, his blade clashing against the scythe with a force that sent vibrations through the floor.
It was clear now. This fight was no longer just about protecting me—it was about everything.
The Ghost. Lancaster. The man in front of us. They were all tied together.
And I had to make a choice.
The hooded man retreated, his dark laugh echoing through the now empty room. The sound of his scythe dragging across the floor was like the last cold breath of a ghost before vanishing into the shadows. His final words lingered in the air, sharp and cruel.
"Looks like you'll lose your wife soon, Lancaster."
Zevren's eyes snapped to me immediately, and I felt his gaze cut through the fog of confusion that clouded my mind. But I couldn't move. I couldn't look away.
My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I stared back at him, my face betraying nothing. I had to keep it together. But inside? Inside I was falling apart.
Zevren started walking toward me, his footsteps measured, cautious.
"Zaira..." His voice was quiet, soft even, but I couldn't bring myself to respond. His presence felt like a betrayal now, even if I wasn't sure whether he was the one who had betrayed me or the world that had betrayed us both.
I took a step back, my hand shaking slightly as I held my ground.
"Did you know?" The words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. "Did you know all along?"
Zevren didn't answer. He just stood there, his gaze unwavering, his face hardening into something unreadable. He didn't deny it.
I felt a cold wave of realization wash over me. So, he knows.
The walls I had carefully built between us over the past month were crumbling. The trust, the bond we'd formed—it was shattering with each passing second. How could I ever trust him if he had been hiding this from me? From the beginning.
I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You knew all along I was that assassin you've been battling these past few months... and yet you have the audacity to stand before me and claim to be my husband."
I didn't recognize my own voice. It was colder, sharper, like the words were laced with venom. I didn't want to feel this way. I didn't want to hurt. But it was too late. The cracks were already there.
Zevren stopped in his tracks, his eyes momentarily flickering with what I could only assume was regret. But it wasn't enough. Not after everything.
He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up my hand, silencing him.
"I don't want to hear it," I said, my voice low and steady, though it trembled with everything I wasn't allowing myself to feel. "I'm done, Zevren. I don't know who you are anymore."
I felt the weight of the words as they left my mouth, each one heavier than the last. This wasn't just about the fight. This was about everything that had been built on lies—on hidden truths that should've been shared from the start.
He took a step forward, reaching out, but I stepped back again, refusing to let him close the distance.
I wouldn't let him break me again. Not now.