The dress felt more like a costume than anything sacred.
Lace clung to my skin, delicate and suffocating, as if sewn with invisible threads of fate. Every stitch reminded me that this wasn't a celebration it was a sentence.
A life traded for a debt.
My fingers trembled as I adjusted the veil over my face, the translucent fabric casting a soft blur over the mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back. Soft curls pinned high.
Lips painted a shade too soft for my intentions, a white dress for a woman who wasn't innocent.
But they didn't know that.
They saw the obedient daughter, the sacrificial virgin, the bride who would bend for power to pay off her father's mistakes.
They didn't see the blade hidden in my luggage or the bloodstained training that brought me here.
Today I was marrying the most dangerous man in the country not out of love, but for vengeance.
A knock sounded on the door, sharp and final.
"It's time," a female voice called from the hallway.
I inhaled once deep but steady,then I rose, spine straight, expression vacant, the assassin in me tucked neatly behind the veil of a decent bride.
The chapel was cold and cavernous, all stone walls and golden chandeliers that mocked the gravity of what was happening here.
Dante Moretti stood at the altar like a statue carved from shadows.
He didn't look at me as I walked toward him, His gaze stayed fixed on some invisible point in the distance, his jaw tight, his shoulders squared, He wore a black suit tailored so perfectly it looked like sin.
Whispers curled through the pews guests from both families, watching like spectators at a public execution, Some pitied me, Others smirked, All of them knew what kind of man Dante was.
Cold, cruel, Untouchable.
He'd built an empire on blood and silence He didn't take wives. He took control.
until now
My heels clicked against the marble floor, echoing louder than the priest's soft murmurs. Every step I took toward Dante was a step deeper into the belly of the beast.
He finally looked at me when I reached him.
And God his eyes were knives. Grey, piercing, empty, the kind of eyes that had seen too much, trusted too little, and killed without blinking.
His voice was colder than the air, "You're late."
I tilted my chin slightly, just enough to show I wasn't afraid,"You'll survive."
His lips twitched not a smile, not quite disdain, Just enough movement to confirm he didn't like me already.
Good, It would make this easier later.
The ceremony was short, Mercifully so, The priest read the vows with robotic detachment, and we repeated them with the enthusiasm of strangers forced into a pact.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," he said. "You may kiss the bride."
A pause.
Dante looked at me, unreadable.
Then he turned his face slightly and kissed the air beside my cheek, Barely brushing me, Not a real kiss, not even a courtesy. Just a dismissal.
The crowd clapped awkwardly, My mother wept behind me. His men stood silent, like shadows ready to strike if I stepped out of line.
I smiled softly, lowering my eyes like a good little wife.
But inside, I made my own vow.
I will kill you, Dante Moretti, Not today. Not tomorrow, But before our first anniversary, your empire will fall and your blood will be on my hands.
The reception was lavish but soulless. Guests dined under golden chandeliers, their laughter hollow, their smiles sharp-edged. Dante and I sat at the long table like mannequins, not speaking, not touching.
"Your family must be proud," he finally said, eyes never leaving his glass of wine
"They sold me to you like property," I replied, voice sugar-laced poison. "Proud isn't in the equation."
He turned his head toward me, slowly, "Careful, wife. That tongue of yours might cost you."
I met his gaze evenly, "So might yours."
Another twitch of the lips. Another almost-smile. "This isn't going to be easy, is it?
"No," I said softly "It isn't."
That night in the limousine, silence filled the space between us like smoke.
"I don't want a wife," Dante finally said, His voice was low, but lethal "This marriage is political, you'll keep up appearances, smile when I tell you, and stay out of my way."
I turned toward him, the motion slow and deliberate, "Then we understand each other, I don't want a husband either."
He stared at me long and cold.
Then he leaned closer, just enough to make my skin tense.
"There's something about you," he murmured, "Something I don't like."
I leaned in too, my voice barely a whisper. "Good, Keep it that way."
The rest of the ride was silent, But it wasn't peace it was more like a storm waiting to break.
We arrived at his estate a sprawling fortress of marble and steel, no warmth. No welcome, Just the unmistakable presence of wealth earned through blood.
Dante walked ahead without waiting for me, disappearing up the grand staircase, a butler guided me to a guest room, not the master bedroom.
So he really meant it no intimacy, no touch, no love.
Well
Fine by me.
But as I stood alone in the room, unzipping the dress, peeling off the mask I'd worn all day, I looked at my reflection again.
The assassin stared back this time.
Eyes sharp, heart steady, mind clear.
He doesn't want me close?
Perfect.
Because getting close was the only way to destroy him.
A soft knock came at my door.
I turned, heart tightening.
But it wasn't Dante.
It was a young maid, pale and trembling.
Her voice shook
"Miss... you should be careful tonight, the last woman who married him... didn't make it past her wedding week."