The smell of lilies was supposed to represent purity and new beginnings. To Seraphina Vance, it smelled like a funeral. Specifically, her own.
"Stop shaking, you useless girl! You're going to ruin the lace!"
Her mother's voice hissed like a viper.
Elena Vance didn't look at her daughter with love; she looked at her like a piece of faulty machinery that needed to work just long enough to close a deal.
With a sharp tug, the older woman tightened the corset of the three-hundred-thousand-dollar gown, forcing the air out of Seraphina's lungs in a painful gasp.
"Mother... I can't breathe," Seraphina whispered, her hands clutching the edge of the mahogany vanity.
"Then don't breathe! Just walk!" Elena snapped, her eyes frantic as she checked her diamond-encrusted watch.
"The ceremony starts in ten minutes. If Alexander Thorne walks out of that cathedral because the bride is missing, your father will be in handcuffs by dinner time. Do you want that? Do you want to see your father in prison?"
Seraphina went still. The guilt, heavy and familiar, settled in her chest.
This was the Vance family way. Everything was a transaction. For twenty-three years, Seraphina had been the "invisible" twin—the quiet one who stayed in the studio painting botanical illustrations while her sister, Selene, was groomed to be the socialite queen.
But Selene was gone. The "Golden Daughter" had eloped at dawn with a disgraced polo player, leaving nothing but a crumpled note and a family on the brink of absolute financial ruin.
The Vances had spent the dowry already. If the wedding didn't happen, the Thorne family would liquidate their assets.
"I look like her, but I'm not her," Seraphina said, her voice trembling as she looked at her reflection.
The woman in the mirror was a masterpiece of deception. The heavy makeup covered Seraphina's soft, observant eyes, replacing them with the sharp, smoky aesthetic Selene favoured.
The platinum blonde wig was styled in perfect, cascading waves. Under the thick, hand-stitched silk veil, no one would be able to tell the difference—not at a distance.
But Alexander Thorne was not a man who kept his distance.
"You will be her," her father, Julian Vance, said as he stepped into the room.
His face was pale, his tie slightly crooked.
"It's only for thirty days, Sera. Just until we find your sister and bring her back to her senses. Alexander is a cold man; he barely spent time with Selene during the engagement. He won't notice the difference if you keep your mouth shut and the lights low."
'He will know, Seraphina thought,' a chill running down her spine. A man like Alexander Thorne doesn't miss a single detail.
Alexander was known in the business world as "The Ice King." He had built Thorne Enterprises into a global empire by being more ruthless and more calculated than anyone else.
He didn't marry for love; he married because the Vance family owned a strip of coastal land his shipping empire needed.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the bridal suite creaked open.
The air in the room didn't just cool—it froze.
Seraphina didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The sheer weight of the presence entering the room was enough. It was the scent of expensive sandalwood, cold rain, and power.
Alexander Thorne stood in the doorway. He was a tall man, easily six-foot-three, with a frame that looked like it had been carved from granite.
His tuxedo was obsidian black, contrasting sharply with his pale, aristocratic features. His hair was dark and swept back, revealing a forehead that never seemed to wrinkle with doubt.
But it was his eyes that truly terrified Seraphina. They were piercing, stormy grey eyes that seemed to look through flesh and bone to see the secrets hidden beneath.
"Out," Alexander said.
His voice was a deep, resonant baritone that vibrated in Seraphina's very marrow. It wasn't a request.
"Alexander! We were just putting on the finishing touches," Elena said, her voice pitching up into a nervous, fake laugh.
"You know it's bad luck to see the bride before—"
"I said out," he repeated, his gaze never leaving the veiled figure sitting at the vanity.
Julian and Elena didn't argue. They cast one last warning look at Seraphina—a look that said Don't fail us—and scurried out of the room, closing the doors behind them.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Seraphina sat perfectly still, her heart hammering so hard she was certain he could see it vibrating against the silk of her bodice.
Through the haze of the veil, she watched him walk toward her.
His footsteps were rhythmic and heavy. Click. Click. Click.
He stopped directly behind her. In the mirror, he looked like a dark shadow looming over a white ghost. He didn't speak for a long time. He simply stood there, his presence suffocating her.
Then, he reached out.
Seraphina flinched instinctively as his gloved hand moved toward her head. He didn't pull back. Instead, his fingers grazed the edge of the veil, but he didn't lift it. He gripped her chin through the fabric, forcing her to tilt her head back to look at him.
"You're very quiet today, Selene," he murmured. There was no affection in his tone. Only a dangerous, low-level suspicion.
"Usually, by this point, you've complained about the flowers, the vintage of the champagne, and the size of the diamond on your finger."
Seraphina swallowed hard, her throat feeling like it was filled with sand. She had to speak. If she stayed silent, it was an admission of guilt. She tried to recall her sister's voice—high, breathy, and dripping with entitlement.
"I'm just... tired of the spectacle, Alexander," she whispered, keeping her voice low to hide the natural huskiness of her own tone.
"Can we just get this over with?"
Alexander's grip on her chin tightened just a fraction. It wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to let her know he was in control.
"Get it over with?" he repeated, a dark smirk playing on his lips.
"Six months ago, you threw a tantrum in my office because I suggested a private ceremony. You wanted the world to see you become a Thorne. And now, you're 'tired' of it?"
He leaned down, his face inches from hers. Even through the veil, she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"What are you playing at?" he asked, his voice dropping to a predatory whisper.
"I'm not playing anything," Seraphina said, her voice gaining a tiny bit of strength.
"It's my wedding day. I'm allowed to be nervous."
Alexander stared at her for a long beat. The silence stretched until Seraphina felt like she would snap.
Then, slowly, he released her chin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.
He didn't open it. He simply set it on the vanity with a heavy thud.
"The Thorne family legacy is built on two things: loyalty and transparency," he said, his voice cold as ice.
"I don't care about love, and I certainly don't care about your family's petty dramas. But if you think you can bring your secrets into my house, you're mistaken."
He turned toward the door, stopping only when his hand was on the brass handle.
"Walk down that aisle. Sign the papers. Become my wife," he commanded without looking back.
"But remember this, Selene. If I find out you're hiding something from me... There is no corner of this world where you will be safe from my reach."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Seraphina collapsed forward, her forehead resting against the cool glass of the vanity.
She was shaking violently now. She had survived the first five minutes, but she was now married—or about to be—to a man who didn't just want a wife. He wanted a subject.
She looked down at the velvet box he had left. With trembling fingers, she opened it.
Inside was a necklace—a single, blood-red ruby surrounded by black diamonds. It was beautiful, but to Seraphina, it looked like a collar.
She took a deep breath, stood up, and adjusted her veil. The "Invisible Twin" was gone. Today, she was a bride.
And tonight, she would have to share a bed with the man who had just promised to destroy her.