The city whispered her name.
The woman who killed a hundred men.
The bride who stopped a war.
They dressed her in red — not white.
Crimson silk clung to her body like spilled blood.
She stared at her reflection, barely recognizing herself.
Not a victim.
A sacrifice.
They dressed her in silence.
No laughter.
No joy.
No celebration.
Only the rustle of fabric and the quiet fear hiding behind every servant's eyes.
The gown was not white.
It was crimson.
A deep, dark red that clung to her body like dried blood. The color reminded her of everything she had lost — freedom, choice, peace.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
The woman staring back looked powerful.
Regal.
And utterly trapped.
"So this is how wars end," she whispered. "With a wedding."
Her hands curled into fists as memories flooded her mind — her childhood home, her mother's voice, her brother's laughter. All of it now rested on her shoulders.
If she failed today, they would die.
A knock sounded.
"They're ready," a maid said softly.
She rose.
Each step toward the hall felt heavier than the last.
The doors opened.
Music filled the air — slow, ceremonial, ominous.
Hundreds of eyes turned toward her.
Mafia leaders. Crime lords. Men who ruled cities with blood and silence.
And at the altar…
Him.
He stood in black, tailored perfection, expression unreadable. Power clung to him like a second skin.
For a brief moment, their eyes met.
Something flickered between them.
Not love.
Not hate.
Recognition.
She walked forward without trembling.
When she reached him, he leaned closer.
"You look like a queen," he murmured.
She replied quietly, "Queens are often sacrificed."
A muscle in his jaw tightened.
The officiant began.
Words blurred together — loyalty, unity, peace.
Lies dressed as promises.
When it was time for the vows, he spoke first.
"I vow to protect what is mine."
The words chilled her.
When it was her turn, she lifted her chin.
"I vow," she said steadily, "to survive you."
Gasps echoed faintly.
His lips curved slightly.
When the veil was lifted, his fingers brushed her cheek — slow, deliberate.
The kiss followed.
It was not gentle.
It was a collision.
Heat. Anger. Curiosity.
For one terrifying second, she forgot why she hated him.
When he pulled away, his voice dropped.
"You belong to me now."
She whispered back, "Only until I destroy you."
His smile deepened.