The bells tolled across the cathedral, each peal trembling in my chest like a heartbeat. The polished marble reflected the soft glow of chandeliers, gilded arches reaching toward heaven as if blessing the day. Guests filled every pew, jewels glittering, whispers fluttering like silk.
This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
I smoothed my shaking hands down the silk folds of my gown, the lace gloves damp with sweat. The bouquet of white roses trembled in my grip, petals brushing my lips like promises.
I told myself the nerves were normal. Every bride felt this way before stepping into forever. And soon, at the end of the aisle, Ethan would be waiting. My Ethan.
The man who kissed my knuckles when I doubted myself. Who promised to protect me from his powerful family's shadows. Who told me this day would belong to us, no matter what.
"Are you ready, Miss Cruz?" The wedding coordinator peeked around the carved doors, her smile professional, her voice hushed.
"Yes," I whispered, though my throat was tight.
The organ swelled, a glorious flood of sound. The heavy doors creaked open. Sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows, painting the aisle in a kaleidoscope of red and gold. Heads turned as I stepped forward.
Gasps. Flashes. Whispers.
I lifted my chin, veil fluttering with every shaky breath. My heels clicked against the marble, steady, steady, steady. The cathedral blurred at the edges, my entire focus locking on the tall figure at the altar. My groom.
Ethan.
His suit was cut to perfection, shoulders broad beneath black wool, hands clasped before him. The veil blurred his features, but I felt him. The way I always did, as if my heart recognized him before my eyes did.
A smile broke over my face, fragile but true. We made it, Ethan. We're finally here.
The priest's voice rose, solemn and sacred. "We gather here today to join these two souls in holy matrimony…"
The words washed over me, a blur of tradition and ritual. All I saw was him, all I heard was the drum of my pulse, all I felt was the weight of a promise.
The vows came. I repeated each line, voice shaking but firm. The ring slid onto his finger, warm against my trembling hands. His hand lingered on mine, steady, grounding.
Then, the words I had been waiting for: "You may now kiss the bride."
The guests erupted in applause. Camera flashes blinded me. My heart soared, dizzy with relief and joy as the figure before me reached up—
—and lifted my veil.
The world stopped.
It wasn't Ethan.
I froze, breath tearing from my lungs.
The man staring down at me had gray eyes, cold and unyielding, sharp enough to cut glass. His hair was darker, threaded with silver at the temples. His jaw was stronger, his mouth set in ruthless lines that had never once softened for me.
Damien Raine.
Not Ethan. Ethan's father.
My lips parted in horror, but no sound emerged. The roar of applause drowned my panic. Gasps spread through the crowd, but too many smiles remained—too many thought it was just passion, a twist, a surprise for the cameras.
Before I could step back, before I could speak, Damien's hand curled around the back of my neck, firm and possessive. And then—
His mouth crashed down on mine.
The kiss wasn't tender. It wasn't love. It was a claim.
Flashes ignited like fireworks, capturing the moment forever. I pushed weakly at his chest, but his hold tightened, commanding, unyielding. My knees trembled, heat scorching my lips even as my heart shrieked no.
When he finally pulled back, my veil tumbled to the marble floor, forgotten. My chest heaved, my pulse thundered.
I staggered, staring up at him. "No… this isn't possible."
Damien smiled. Not warmly. Not kindly. A slow, dangerous curve that spoke of power and inevitability.
Leaning close, he murmured against my ear, his breath hot and final:
"You are mine now, Alina."
The cheers roared again, oblivious to my horror. The cathedral spun. Faces blurred. I tried to find Ethan, desperate, frantic—but he was gone.
And in that instant, I realized the truth.
My vows had chained me.
Not to the man I loved.
But to his father.