Every bride walks down the aisle expecting forever.I was walking into a war.
The white satin gown fit like a straightjacket. Too tight around the ribs. Too cold on the skin. I didn't pick it. I didn't want it. But it was the only armor I had.
Outside the bridal suite, I could hear the guards shifting. Not wedding guests. Not family. Just security. Paid men with guns in their coats and blood on their boots.
My father's blood, maybe.
I gripped the edge of the vanity, staring into the mirror like it might shatter. But it didn't. It just showed me a girl dressed like a queen — wearing a collar made of pearls.
The door creaked open.
"It's time," said the man in black.
No warmth. No title. Not even my name. Just a sentence delivered like a death sentence.
I stood because there was no other option.
The chapel smelled like money and power.
Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like ice. Men in black lined the walls. The pews were mostly empty. The press wasn't allowed. Family wasn't invited. This wasn't a wedding.
It was a deal.
And at the center of it all—Lucien Blackthorn.
Standing at the altar in a tailored black suit, he looked like he owned the world and hated every part of it. Sharp jaw. Unreadable eyes. A smirk that looked like it knew every secret I didn't.
He didn't look at me as I walked down the aisle.He didn't smile.He didn't offer a hand.
He just stood there like he was marrying a ghost.
Good, I thought. I already feel dead anyway.
The priest began the vows.
Lucien didn't flinch. He didn't even blink when the words "love, honor, protect" were said.
When it was time for the rings, he slid a plain gold band onto my finger like he was tagging property. His hands were warm. Too warm for a man with such a cold reputation.
Then it was my turn.
My fingers trembled.
"Do you, Ayla Monroe, take—"
"She does," Lucien said, cutting off the priest.
Everyone froze.
I looked up. His gaze was locked on me now. Cold. Hard. Dominant.
"The faster this is done, the safer she'll be."
The priest stumbled over the rest of the ceremony.
"I now pronounce you... husband and wife."
No kiss. No applause. Just silence — thick and suffocating.
Lucien leaned in slightly, voice low in my ear.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Blackthorn. You just became the most valuable pawn on the board."
The ride to the mansion was silent. The car smelled like leather and cologne. I sat stiffly, hands in my lap, watching the city blur past.
"Why me?" I asked finally.
Lucien didn't look away from the window.
"Because I needed a wife.""That doesn't answer the question.""It wasn't a question," he replied, voice like silk and knives.
The estate loomed like a prison dressed in gold. Marble floors. Vaulted ceilings. Security everywhere.
"This is where you'll live," he said.
No. This is where I'll survive.
He turned to face me, finally giving me his full attention.
"You'll stay in the east wing. You'll not leave without my permission. You'll do exactly what I say, when I say it. And Ayla—"
He stepped closer.
"If you so much as breathe in the direction of the west wing... I will know."
"What's in the west wing?"
His eyes glittered.
"The reason you're still alive."
I lay awake that night in a room made of silk and secrets.
My fingers toyed with the ring on my hand, the gold already starting to feel like iron.
Somewhere beneath this mansion was a truth Lucien Blackthorn didn't want me to find.
And I wasn't his wife.
I was a shield.
A distraction.
A girl sold into a war she didn't start.
But I wouldn't be a pawn forever.
I would find out why he married me.
I would find out who wanted me dead.
And if I had to burn this entire empire to the ground to survive—
So be it.