Mr. Jian Feng opened the car door and held Jing's hand as she stepped out.
It was time.
Walking into the hallway of marriage felt like stepping into something vast and consuming. Her heart thundered in her chest, louder than it had ever beaten before. All eyes were on her—but thank heaven for the veil. Without it, everyone would've seen how unsteady she truly was.
The hall was draped in black and gold roses—a striking blend of darkness and grandeur. Every guest was dressed in shades of icy blue and ghostly white, blending with the pale marble beneath their feet. The chandeliers above sparkled like frozen stars, casting fractured light that danced like shattered glass.
Jing's footsteps made no sound against the polished floor. With each step, she drew closer to the man at the altar—the one who now claimed her future.
Yinguang Lei stood like a phantom sculpted from ivory and shadow. He did not smile. He did not blink. His black suit clung to him like a second skin, the dark velvet swallowing light. Beneath the veil's lace, his eyes burned—impossible to read, impossible to ignore.
The officiant stepped forward in midnight robes trimmed with gold thread. His voice carried through the vaulted hall like the opening of a spell.
"Dearly gathered, we are called to witness this union between Jing Wei and Yinguang Lei—a binding not merely of name or vow, but of breath, of soul, of fate."
Jing's hands trembled in her father's grip.
The officiant turned to her, solemn and still.
"Jing Wei, do you, of your own will, take Yinguang Lei as your husband—to walk beside him in shadow and flame, in ice and ash, until the stars burn out and death itself bows before your bond?"
The words hit her like a stone. Of your own will—a cruel formality.
She barely moved her lips. "I do."
A whisper. A surrender.
Then he turned to Yinguang.
"Yinguang Lei, do you accept Jing Wei as your wife—to shield her flesh, guard her soul, and honor this union with unshakable devotion, through fire, storm, and silence eternal?"
Yinguang's lips curved—just slightly. "I do."
The officiant inclined his head.
"Let the exchange of rings begin. The circle eternal. The vow sealed in gold."
An attendant stepped forward with a black velvet pillow bearing two rings—golden, gleaming, thin as thread and heavy as fate.
Yinguang took the smaller band and slid it onto Jing's trembling finger. His touch was soft—but it lingered. Purposeful. Claiming. The cold metal seared her like fire against her bones.
Jing hesitated, then picked up his ring with shaking hands. Her fingers brushed his—and he caught her wrist briefly, strong and deliberate, as if to mark the moment.
"With these rings, let your lives be chained together," the priest intoned, raising his arms. "Let no force, no god, no grave tear apart what shadow and vow have sealed."
A hush blanketed the room.
"You may now seal this union… with a kiss."
Jing's breath caught.
Yinguang stepped forward, closing the space between them like dusk swallowing day. Her lungs forgot how to breathe. Her heart slammed against her ribs as his hand lifted her veil—agonizingly slow.
And then—she saw him.
Time stilled.
His face was sculpted, unreal—flawless and cold like an immortal statue. High cheekbones, a strong, still mouth, lips that looked as though they had whispered curses into the ears of angels. And his eyes—God, his eyes—dark as obsidian, gleaming with a fire that wasn't wholly human.
But just beneath the veil, she caught it—barely—a flicker in his pupils, too quick for anyone else to see. Slitted. Serpentine.
She didn't move. Couldn't.
Her skin prickled. Her limbs weakened. She felt the air leave her body. Something ancient stirred behind those eyes, and for one breathless heartbeat, she realized:
This was no ordinary man.
This was a creature who had simply chosen the shape of one.
His fingers brushed her cheek—featherlight, electric—and her pulse thudded violently. When his lips found hers, it was not gentle.
It was commanding.
Possessive.
A dark promise written in fire.
Her body jolted. Her lips parted before her mind could resist, and something deep within her—a sleeping, shivering, starving thing—stirred and answered.
By the time he pulled away, her breath was gone, her heart stumbling, her skin flushed. She barely heard the applause. Barely noticed the world.
Only him.
Yinguang Lei.
He offered her his arm, perfectly poised. She took it before she could stop herself, her fingers curling into the crook of his elbow like they belonged there.
And as he led her down the black-and-gold aisle, her veil trailing like smoke behind her, Jing couldn't tell anymore if she was walking into a cage...
Or something she secretly, shamefully hungered for.