The dress was a masterpiece of contradiction.
White silk flowed like water down Scarlett's body, but black lace crawled up from the hem like creeping vines, twisting into roses that bloomed across her ribs, her waist, her chest.
The bodice was structured, boned with steel that held her upright even when her legs threatened to give out. The train pooled behind her like spilled ink.
She looked like a bride walking to her own funeral.
The diamond necklace sat heavy and cold against her throat—a collar of ice and fire that probably cost more than most people's houses. The matching earrings pulled at her lobes. Everything was too much, too heavy, too expensive. A costume for a role she never auditioned for.
Mrs. Chen had wept when she'd finished pinning Scarlett's hair—an elaborate updo woven with tiny crystals that caught the light like stars. "You look beautiful, Miss Scarlett," she'd whispered, dabbing at her eyes.
Scarlett had felt nothing at all.
Now, standing at the end of the cathedral's long aisle, she felt everything.
The cathedral was smaller than she'd expected—intimate, almost.
Not the grand spectacle she'd imagined. No hundreds of guests, no press, no crowds. Just Sylus's men, dressed in black suits that made them look like an army of shadows.
They lined the pews on both sides, silent and still as statues. Watching. Waiting.
Like ghosts at a funeral.
The priest stood at the altar, an older man with trembling hands and sweat beading on his forehead. He kept glancing nervously at Sylus, then away, then back again.
Clearly, whatever amount of money he'd been paid to perform this ceremony, it wasn't enough.
He looked like he was conducting a funeral for his own soul.
And there, at the end of the aisle, stood the dragon himself.
Sylus had dressed in all black—a three-piece suit so dark it seemed to absorb light. His silver hair was swept back, showing the sharp angles of his face. No tie, just the top button of his shirt undone, giving him an air of dangerous casualness. Like he was too powerful to bother with formality.
His red eyes locked onto her the moment she appeared.
The expression on his face made Scarlett's breath catch. Not triumph, though she'd expected that. Not possession, though she'd feared it. Instead, he looked... awed.
Like he was watching a miracle unfold. Like she was the answer to every prayer he'd ever spoken.
It made her want to run.
But there was nowhere to go. Guards at every exit. His men filling every pew. And somewhere out there, her parents still lived under the weight of his threats.
So Scarlett walked.
Each step felt like walking through water. The red roses in her hands—real, perfect, their thorns carefully removed—felt like a cruel joke. Red for blood. Red for rage. Red for the passion everyone expected her to feel for the man waiting at the altar.
She glared at him with every step. Let her fury show on her face because it was all she had left. All she could control.
Sylus's smile widened slightly. He looked... satisfied. Pleased, even. Like her anger was exactly what he'd wanted to see.
When she finally reached him, standing close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, he leaned down slightly.
"You look exquisite, kitten," he murmured, voice pitched for her ears alone.
"Like a warrior going into battle."
"This is a battle," she whispered back.
"I know." Something flickered in his eyes—was it sadness? "And you're winning."
Before she could process what that meant, he turned to the priest and nodded.
"Begin."
The priest cleared his throat, voice shaking. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—"
"Skip to the vows," Sylus interrupted, not unkindly. "We don't need the preamble."
"Of course, of course." The priest fumbled with his book. "Do you, Sylus Qin, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?"
"I do." No hesitation. The words rang out clear and strong, echoing in the cathedral's vaulted ceiling. "I vow to protect you, Scarlett, with everything I am. To keep you safe from every threat, every danger, even if you hate me for it." His red eyes bore into hers with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
"I vow to wait for you, however long it takes. To never force what you're not willing to give. To earn what cannot be bought or taken."
His voice dropped lower, almost rough.
"I vow that you are mine, and I am yours, until the stars burn out and time itself ends."
The cathedral was silent. Even his men seemed to be holding their breath.
The priest turned to Scarlett, swallowing hard. "And do you—"
"She does," Sylus said softly, but his eyes had gone hard. Warning. When Scarlett opened her mouth to protest, he gave her a look that made her blood run cold. A reminder of what hung in the balance. Of who would pay if she refused.
Scarlett's hands tightened on her bouquet until the stems bit into her palms.
"Yes," she forced out through clenched teeth. Not "I do"—she couldn't make herself say those words.
Just yes. Flat. Angry. Trapped.
But apparently it was enough.
"Then by the power vested in me," the priest said quickly, eager to be done, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may—"
Sylus didn't wait for permission.
He moved like liquid shadow, one hand coming up to cup Scarlett's face with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, a whisper of touch that made her shiver despite herself. She wanted to pull away, to slap his hand from her face, but she was frozen. Trapped by the inevitability of this moment.
"Breathe, sweetie," he murmured, so quiet only she could hear. "It's just a kiss."
Then he leaned down, closing the distance between them.
His lips were surprisingly soft against hers. Warm and careful, nothing like the brutal claiming she'd expected. He kissed her the way someone might kiss something precious and fragile—reverently, like he was afraid she might break. Like this moment mattered more than anything in the world.
It was Scarlett's first kiss.
She'd imagined it a thousand times growing up—a sweet moment with someone she loved, someone who loved her back.
Somewhere romantic, under stars or cherry blossoms or in the rain like in the movies. Someone who made her heart race and her stomach flutter and all those things the romance novels promised.
Not this.
Not with a monster in a cathedral full of ghosts, while her parents' lives hung in the balance and her freedom bled away with every passing second.
But her traitorous body didn't know that. Her lips were too soft against his, her breath hitching in a way that had nothing to do with fear. And when he pulled back, just slightly, his red eyes searching hers for something she couldn't name—
She hated how her heart stuttered in her chest.
Hated him.
Hated this.
Hated that her first kiss had been stolen by a dragon who looked at her like she was his entire world.
Sylus straightened slowly, his hand falling away from her face. For just a moment, his mask slipped. She saw raw emotion there—longing, pain, desperate hope. But then it was gone, replaced by that satisfied smile.
"You're mine now, Mrs. Qin," he said, loud enough for his men to hear.
Scarlett clutched her bouquet so hard one of the stems cracked. "In name only."
"For now."
He turned to his men, dismissing her reply. "We're done here. Clear the venue."
That was it. No reception, no celebration, no cake cutting or first dance or any of the things that were supposed to come after a wedding. His men filed out silently, efficiently, like a well-oiled machine.
The priest practically ran for the door, clutching his payment.
Within minutes, the cathedral was empty except for the two of them.
Sylus looked down at her, something unreadable in his expression.
"I have business to attend to. Some... complications that require my immediate attention." He reached out, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Scarlett flinched, but he didn't pull back. "You're free to explore the mansion. The gardens. Anywhere on the estate. My men have been instructed to accommodate you."
"Accommodate me?" She let out a bitter laugh. "You mean follow me. Watch me. Make sure I don't try to escape."
"Yes," he said simply. No point in pretending otherwise. "But you'll be comfortable. Safe." He paused, jaw tightening.
"I'll be in my office until late. Don't wait up."
Then he was gone, striding down the aisle with that predatory grace, leaving her alone in the cathedral in her black and white dress. Married and abandoned in the same breath.
Scarlett stood there for a long moment, breathing hard, trying to process what had just happened.
She was married. To Sylus Qin.
Crime lord. Dragon. Monster.Her husband.
The word tasted like poison.
.
.
.
.
.
Back in her room—she still thought of it as hers, not theirs, never theirs—Scarlett stripped off the wedding dress with shaking hands. Left it in a heap on the floor like a shed skin. She pulled on jeans and a soft sweater, something normal and real and hers.
Then she did the only thing she could think of: she started walking.
The mansion was even bigger than she'd realized. Hallways branched off into more hallways, rooms opened into more rooms.
A library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
A music room with a grand piano.
A gym that looked like it belonged in a professional training facility.
An indoor pool that gleamed like a turquoise jewel.
All of it beautiful. All of it empty.
And everywhere she went, they followed.
Three bodyguards, silent as shadows.
They kept their distance—maybe ten feet back—but she felt them like a physical presence.
Watching. Waiting.
One was tall and broad, built like a tank. Another was leaner, quicker-looking, with sharp eyes that missed nothing. The third was somewhere in between, but he carried something that made Scarlett do a double-take.
A cup holder with bubble tea.
And a box from the patisserie she used to pass every day on her way to work, the one that made the macarons she could only afford on special occasions.
She stopped walking. Turned to face them. All three stopped immediately, maintaining that careful distance.
"What is that?" she asked, pointing at the box.
The one carrying it—he had kind eyes, she noticed, incongruous in a face so clearly built for violence—held it up slightly.
"Mr. Sylus said you like macarons, ma'am. Rose flavor, specifically. And the bubble tea is your usual order. Jasmine milk tea, thirty percent sugar, light ice."
Scarlett's stomach twisted. "How does he know that?"
The guard said nothing, but the answer was obvious. Sylus had been watching her long before he'd walked into her apartment. Learning her habits. Her preferences. Preparing his cage with all her favorite things.
"I don't want them," she said flatly.
"Respectfully, ma'am, you barely ate breakfast. Or lunch yesterday. Or dinner the night before." The guard's voice was gentle, professional. "Mr. Sylus asked us to make sure you have access to things you enjoy."
"What I'd enjoy is being left alone."
"Unfortunately, that's not possible."
Scarlett wanted to scream. To throw something. To run until her lungs gave out. Instead, she turned back around and kept walking. Behind her, three sets of footsteps followed at their careful distance. One of them still carrying treats she'd loved in her old life.
Her old life.
Three days ago, but it felt like years. Like she'd been someone else entirely. A girl who went to work, came home to a shabby apartment, stole macarons as tiny celebrations when she could afford them.
Free and poor and happy in a way she hadn't even realized.
Now she was rich and trapped and married to a monster.
She found herself in the gardens eventually. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. The grounds were immaculate—perfectly trimmed hedges, flowering plants she couldn't name, stone pathways that wound between sculptures and fountains. Beautiful and lifeless as everything else in this place.
Scarlett sat on a bench near a fountain, staring at the water. Behind her, the three guards took up positions. Close enough to intervene if needed. Far enough to give the illusion of privacy.
After a few minutes, the one with the macarons approached. Set the box and bubble tea on the bench beside her, then retreated without a word.
Scarlett stared at them. Her stomach growled—she really hadn't eaten much. Pride warred with hunger and, eventually, hunger won. She opened the box.
Six perfect macarons, each one a delicate rose pink. Her favorite.
She bit into one and tasted home. Tasted freedom. Tasted everything she'd lost.
And sitting in her gilded prison, wearing the ring that marked her as his, Scarlett finally let herself cry. Silent tears that tasted like salt and rage and grief for a life that was gone.
The guards pretended not to notice.
Above, in a window on the third floor, red eyes watched her through the gathering darkness. Sylus stood alone in his office, one hand pressed against the glass, watching his bride weep in the garden.
He'd waited a thousand years for her.
He could wait a little longer.
Even if it killed him.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.