Chapter 1
Elara's POV
Today is my wedding.
The thought doesn't feel real. It just… sits there in my head, heavy and cold, like something I picked up by mistake and can't put down.
Today, my life stops being mine.
Today, I marry a monster.
I stare at my reflection for a long time, longer than necessary. The girl in the mirror looks calm. Composed. Almost… pretty.
That's funny.
Because inside, everything feels like it's collapsing.
Will I even be alive tomorrow?
The question slips in so quietly it almost scares me. My fingers tighten around the edge of the dressing table. I don't recognize my own thoughts anymore.
Why is this happening to me?
All my life, I fought for the smallest things. Studying wasn't easy. Nothing was. I remember staying up nights, forcing myself to focus, to push through, to prove I could be more than just… someone's daughter.
Going to college felt like winning a war. I had to beg, argue, cry—God, I almost destroyed myself just to step into a classroom.
And now?
Now all of it feels useless.
Because in the end, I still got handed over like I meant nothing.
My parents didn't even hesitate.
They're marrying me into a family that hates us. Not dislike—hate. The kind that doesn't fade with time. The kind that waits.
What were they thinking?
Aren't they afraid?
Or… do they just not care?
My throat tightens. I swallow it down quickly.
No. Don't cry. Not now.
I bet they're all the same. That family. Cold. Cruel. Waiting for the right moment to make me regret breathing.
Maybe this marriage isn't a deal.
Maybe it's punishment.
I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't notice the knock until the door opens.
My mother, Margaret Whitmore, walks in, soft steps, gentle smile. Like everything is normal. Like this is just another happy day.
"God, you look so beautiful," she says, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. "Your husband is going to fall head over heels for you."
I almost laugh.
Husband?
I don't even know the man.
And fall for me? Please.
I look away before she can see the sarcasm in my eyes.
I'm sure he already has women more beautiful than me.
Women he chose.
Women who weren't forced into his life.
The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Before I can say anything, my father, Charles Whitmore, walks in. His presence fills the room instantly—cold, firm, final.
"Come," he says, like this is just another meeting on his schedule. "It's almost time."
That's it.
No hesitation. No emotion.
Just time.
I nod because what else am I supposed to do?
...
The hall is already filled when I step in.
People. So many people.
Soft music plays in the background, something slow and elegant. The air smells like flowers—too many flowers. Roses, lilies… it's suffocating.
Everyone is dressed perfectly. Smiling. Whispering.
Watching.
I can feel their eyes on me as I walk down the aisle.
Each step feels heavier than the last.
My hands are cold. My heart won't stop racing.
Don't trip. Don't fall. Just walk.
At the end of the aisle… he's there.
Waiting.
For me.
I don't look at him directly. I can't. Not yet.
I only catch a glimpse—
Tall. Still. Dressed in black.
Not nervous. Not restless.
Just… calm.
Like this means nothing to him.
Unlike me.
But then—
A low murmur spreads through the hall.
It's subtle. Quiet. But I hear it.
"—that's him…"
"Sebastian Devereux…"
"Everyone knows what he did…"
"Shh—keep your voice down…"
My steps falter for half a second.
My heart skips.
I don't want to listen.
But I can't stop.
"…he shot a man in the head during a meeting… didn't even stand up…"
"…the body was gone before anyone could react…"
"…no one questioned him…"
A cold shiver crawls up my spine.
I remember something now—something I once overheard.
A servant whispering in fear.
'If he decides you're a problem… you won't even see it coming.'
My fingers curl slightly.
I finally look up properly.
Sebastian Devereux.
So this is him.
The man people lower their voices for.
The man who kills without hesitation.
The man no one dares to cross.
And I'm supposed to stand beside him… like this is normal?
My chest tightens painfully.
For a second, I can't breathe.
What if one day… I become the problem?
The thought hits harder than anything else.
And suddenly—
I'm not just nervous.
I'm scared.
...
I stop beside him, my breath uneven. The priest starts speaking, but his voice fades into the background.
I can't focus.
All I can think is—
This is it.
No turning back.
No escape.
"Do you take—"
"Yes."
His voice cuts through everything.
Deep. Steady. Certain.
He didn't even wait.
My fingers twitch slightly.
The priest turns to me. Everyone is looking now. Waiting.
My throat feels dry.
Say it.
Just say it.
I open my mouth.
"…Yes."
The word barely comes out.
But it's enough.
That's all it takes.
A single word… and my life is no longer mine.
....
The ring feels cold as it slides onto my finger.
Heavy.
Permanent.
When I finally gather the courage to look up at him properly, our eyes meet for the first time.
And for a second—
Just a second—
Something shifts.
His gaze is unreadable. Dark. Sharp.
Not warm. Not kind.
But not careless either.
It feels like he's… studying me.
Like I'm something he doesn't fully understand yet.
My breath catches.
Then just as quickly, it's gone.
His expression turns blank again.
The moment disappears.
Maybe I imagined it.
...
Applause fills the hall.
People smiling. Celebrating.
As if something beautiful just happened.
I stand there, frozen, the sound echoing around me.