The chandeliers of the Mackwood Grand Hall glittered like a thousand frozen stars, casting reflections across champagne glasses and whispered envy. Tonight was meant to be perfection—the merging of two dynasties, the Dashtons and the Mackwoods. Every guest had come to witness elegance in motion, to see Alioni Mackwood—the ethereal curator with snow-pale skin and silver curls—officially become Mrs. Jacob Dashton.

But perfection shattered with a single breath.

Jacob cleared his throat at the podium, hands trembling just slightly behind the gleam of confidence. “I have… an announcement,” he said, his golden voice smooth but hollow. The murmurs began before the words even settled. Alioni stood beside him, hands folded, her face unreadable behind her translucent glasses.

Then he said it.

“I can’t continue this engagement. I’ve realized… my heart belongs to someone else.”

The ballroom gasped. Cameras flashed. Somewhere in the crowd, Monica Mackwood—draped in sequins and false innocence—pretended to cover her mouth in shock.

And Alioni?

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even sigh. Clearly she is over the piece of trash standing in front of her.

Instead, she tilted her head slightly, as if observing an art piece that failed to impress. Her lips curved—barely—a ghost of a smile. Then she turned to Jacob and said softly, “If that’s your choice, then by all means… proceed.” deep down she was barely thinking about Jacob and how he just embarrassed himself.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Jacob faltered, expecting tears, outrage, something. Instead, he found nothing—just calm, polished indifference that made him look like the fool he was.

Across the room, Elias Mackwood’s jaw clenched. His broad shoulders stiffened, his eyes narrowing like a blade drawn too slow. Every inch of him radiated fury restrained by civility. His hand tightened around his glass until it cracked, shards biting into his palm.

He wanted—needed—to drag Jacob out by the collar and throw him straight through the ceiling.

But then he saw Alioni’s steady posture, the way she didn’t flinch even as the crowd devoured her humiliation like wine. So he stayed still, silent—but his eyes promised violence.

Their father, Reginald, was red with embarrassment. Their stepmother, Eveline, whispered something sharp under her breath. Monica lowered her gaze demurely, pretending to look guilty—but the faint curl at the corner of her mouth betrayed her satisfaction.

Alioni took one quiet step forward, her white gown gliding across the marble floor. “Then let this be settled,” she said, voice steady. “Congratulations, Jacob. I hope you find peace where I could not.”

And with that, she turned away.

The applause that followed was hesitant, confused, and hollow.

Then, before the echoes could fade, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom burst open.

The chandeliers trembled. Guests screamed.

A dozen armed men in black entered, weapons gleaming under crystal light. And at the top of the grand staircase, his presence consuming the room like shadow meeting fire, stood Maltavious Monroe—the Mafia King himself.

“Good evening,” he said coolly, golden eyes sweeping over the chaos. “I believe the Mackwoods owe me a debt.”

Gasps rippled through the room. Alioni slowly turned, her expression still eerily calm. Elias instinctively stepped in front of her, though he didn’t understand why.

Maltavious descended the stairs with the ease of a predator who already owned the room. “And I’ve decided,” he said, his gaze locking on Alioni, “that I’ll collect it… in the form of an engagement.”

The world fell silent again.

Only this time, Alioni didn’t look away.

She met his stare without fear, her composure as breathtaking as it was dangerous.

And somewhere deep within the stunned hush of that ballroom, two worlds—refinement and ruin—collided.

The night the Mackwoods fell was the night Alioni Mackwood’s storybegan.

The afternoon sun filtered through the tall museum windows, painting the marble floors with sheets of amber light. Dust motes floated like soft gold flakes in the air as Alioni Mackwood moved gracefully through the main exhibition hall, clipboard in hand.

“Place the Roman urns in the eastern wing,” she said softly to her staff, her voice calm but authoritative. “They’ll reflect the morning light better there.”

Workers nodded and hurried to obey. Alioni’s presence always carried a stillness that made people lower their voices. Even surrounded by chaos—crates being opened, art being cataloged—she was composed, deliberate, untouchable.

She adjusted her ethereal glasses, studying a glass sculpture that had just arrived from Venice, unaware that someone had quietly entered through the side door.

The faint scent of dark roast coffee drifted through the air.

“Still working miracles, I see,” a familiar voice murmured.

Alioni looked up—and her composure softened instantly. Elias Mackwood stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, his shirt sleeves rolled to the forearms, two steaming cups balanced on a silver tray. His hair caught the sunlight, and for a fleeting moment, he looked like he belonged in one of her galleries—timeless, quietly powerful, and heartbreakingly human.

“You’re early,” Alioni said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Elias smirked faintly. “You always forget to eat before these events. I figured I’d bring something before you go overboard with your work.”

Alioni’s fingers brushed his as she took a cup. The contact was brief but electric. Her heart fluttered, though her face betrayed nothing.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Elias studied her for a moment—the soft blush that rose to her cheeks, the way she looked down when she spoke, the light trembling in her hands despite her poised demeanor. Without a word, he gestured toward the back hallway.

They moved together through the quiet corridors until they reached Alioni’s private office—a sanctuary of glass, books, and paintings.

Elias shut the door behind them. The muffled hum of museum life faded into silence.

He set the tray down on her desk, his movements slow and deliberate. Then he turned to face her.

For a long moment, they simply stood there, the air thick with unspoken familiarity.

“You look tense,” he said finally, stepping closer.

Alioni’s lips parted in a soft sigh. “I have to host tonight’s party. It’s important for the museum’s donors. And Jacob—”

Elias’s expression darkened instantly. “Don’t say his name right now. He's a piece of garbage that shouldn't be brought up.”

Her eyes lifted to meet his—and something inside her unraveled. The distance between them disappeared in a heartbeat. Elias’s one  hand came to rest at the small of her back,the other through Alioni's hair,  Alioni leans in, instinctively, her fingers brushing the edge of his collar.

For a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. There was no Dashton scandal, no prying eyes, no perfect façades—just the two of them, breathing the same trembling air.

Then he pulled her closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Alioni.”

Her breath caught. “I never do.”

And with that, their restraint shattered.

Their lips met—slow at first, hesitant, then deep and consuming. The kind of kiss that silences every doubt, every fear, every boundary. Elias’s hands framed her face, thumbs grazing her jaw, while Alioni melted against him, her fingers gripping his shirt as though afraid to let go.

Both cups of coffee are left untouched on the coffee table.

Their tongues touch each other through the kiss, panting and breathing.

For a heartbeat, time didn’t move.

When they finally parted, their foreheads rested together, their breaths uneven.

Elias whispered, “If tonight gets messy—just know I'll happily take you out of the building.”

Alioni smiled faintly, tracing her finger along the edge of his jaw. “You know I trust you .”

And outside her office door, the evening sun began to sink—signaling the last few quiet hours before the storm that would change everything.

Elias looks at his phone and notices a text message on his phone, the message was from they're step mother, Vanessa, telling to come to the family estate and get ready for the party. He sighs deeply, then puts his phone back in his pocket.

"I guess we gotta head back to get ready, I swear I don't understand why we even need the damn party" he said, a slight groan of disgust rising in his voice.

"Well we don't have a choice, let's just get tonight over with." Alioni said as she slowly lets go of Elias.

They both grab their coffee and they're belongs, then they walk out of the office, already on their way out.

Later that evening, the Mackwood estate glowed beneath the late evening sun, its golden light spilling through the ivory curtains of Alioni’s bedroom. The air smelled faintly of jasmine perfume and pressed silk.

Alioni stood in front of the floor-length mirror, fastening a diamond earring. Her reflection looked like a painting—graceful, luminous, untouchable. The long-sleeved mermaid gown hugged her frame perfectly, shimmering faintly under the chandelier. Its high collar framed her neck like a crown, and her soft curls fell like silver ribbons down her back.

For a moment, even she had to admit—she looked ethereal.

She adjusted her glasses slightly, studying herself without pride or vanity. She simply existed, poised in her quiet beauty.

Then the door creaked open.

“Wow,” came the sing-song voice. “You actually look... radiant tonight.”

Monica.

She stepped inside without knocking, her perfume overpowering the floral scent in the room. She wore a tight, glittering gold dress—too flashy, too loud, as though she’d dressed to outshine the bride-to-be. Her honey-brown curls framed a perfectly painted smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Thank you,” Alioni said softly, turning back to her mirror.

Monica leaned against the vanity, crossing her arms. “I mean it, sister. You’re breathtaking. I didn’t even know you owned something like this.”

The words sounded like praise, but the undertone sliced like glass.

Alioni didn’t respond. She knew better than to dignify Monica’s performances. Silence always irritated her more than insults ever could.

Monica’s reflection smirked behind her. “Jacob is going to faint when he sees you. Though, between us, I always thought he liked a bit more... personality.”

Alioni adjusted a diamond hairpin without looking at her. “And yet, he proposed to me,” she said calmly.

Monica’s smile faltered for half a second.

Before she could snap back, the door opened again—and Elias stepped in, his presence filling the room like a storm breaking through still air.

“Everything alright here?” His voice was low, steady, but his eyes told a different story.

“Of course,” Monica said sweetly, turning toward him. “Just sisterly bonding.”

Elias’s gaze flicked over her dress, then back to Alioni. “That’s one word for it.”

Monica gave a mock gasp. “You wound me, Elias. You always assume the worst of me.”

He arched his brow. “Because it keeps proving me right.”

Monica’s smile sharpened. “You know, for someone who pretends to be civilized, you’re quite the—”

“—truth-teller?” he cut in smoothly.

“Asshole,” she finished with a laugh that didn’t sound like laughter at all.

Elias smiled faintly, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Alioni sighed softly. “Both of you, please.”

Elias turned to her then, his expression softening instantly. “You look…” He stopped himself, searching for words. “Perfect.”

A quiet warmth spread through her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Monica rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, “God, get a room.”

Elias’s eyes snapped toward her, his tone suddenly darker. “Leave.”

Monica scoffed, straightening. “Fine. Try not to drool on her gown.” She strutted out, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

When the door shut, the tension dissolved.

Elias stepped closer to Alioni, adjusting a strand of her hair that had fallen out of place. His fingers lingered a second too long. “Ignore her,” he said softly. “She doesn’t deserve your attention.”

Alioni gave a small nod, her eyes flickering up to meet his in the mirror. “I stopped giving her my energy years ago.”

He smirked. “Good. Save it for tonight. You’ll need it.”

She turned to face him fully, her expression calm, almost serene. “I’m not afraid, Elias.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s what scares me.”

They stood there for a moment, the air between them heavy with everything they couldn’t say. Outside, the first cars began to arrive, their headlights flashing through the window.

Elias glanced toward the sound, jaw tightening. “It’s starting.”

Alioni reached for her clutch and slipped her arm through his. “Then let’s get it over with.”

He hesitated before opening the door, his voice low and sincere. “Whatever happens out there, don’t forget—”

“I know,” she interrupted softly. “You’re here.”

And with that, they left the room together—two figures walking into a night that would shatter the world they thought they knew.

The chandeliers of the Mackwood ballroom glittered brighter than ever, casting warm, golden light over the sea of luxury. Violin music floated gently through the air, mingling with laughter, perfume, and the faint sound of champagne being poured.

Alioni stood at the top of the grand staircase, poised like a sculpture come to life. Her white gown shimmered as she descended arm-in-arm with Elias, who looked every bit the perfect escort—tall, composed, and unreadable.

Their entrance was effortless, commanding.

Every head turned.

Every whisper hushed.

To the untrained eye, they looked like an elegant sibling pair walking into their family’s grand event. But to Elias, every step beside her was a battle.

He could feel her warmth through the delicate fabric at his arm. Her scent—soft jasmine and ivory—clouded his senses. He hid it well, his expression smooth, his voice quiet as he bent close and murmured, “Steady pace, sunshine. They’re all watching.”

She gave a small, teasing glance up at him. “You’re the one breathing too fast.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “Because you’re wearing that.”

Alioni smiled faintly. “It’s just a dress.”

“It’s a declaration of war,” he muttered under his breath, earning a soft, amused exhale from her.

They reached the bottom of the stairs where the crowd waited. The family’s public faces came alive—Vanessa greeted donors with rehearsed warmth, Reginald shaking hands with other magnates, Monica already posing for photos she hadn’t been invited to take.

Elias released Alioni’s arm as the butler announced the arrival of the Dashton family.

The grand doors opened. In stepped Jacob Dashton, every inch the golden boy—his hair perfectly slicked back, his smile practiced, his arm looped with his mother’s. His father followed behind, a cold gleam in his eyes, and his younger sister Charlotte fluttered behind them like a sequined shadow.

The Mackwoods approached to greet them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dashton, what a pleasure,” Reginald said, shaking hands with polished ease.

Edward Dashton returned the gesture. “A strong union between two families of prestige—it’s an evening to remember.”

Alioni bowed her head slightly, voice soft. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Dashton.”

Claudia smiled too sweetly. “My dear, you look divine. Doesn’t she, Jacob?”

Jacob hesitated. His eyes lingered—too long—on Monica, who stood just behind Alioni, smiling coyly. His lips curved faintly. “Yes… she looks beautiful.”

Elias noticed.

He noticed the subtle glance Jacob and Monica exchanged, the quick, secret smirk she gave him in return, and the way Alioni’s face remained perfectly serene through it all.

It made something dark stir in him.

Something primal.

He wanted to grab Jacob by the collar and remind him exactly whose arm Alioni had arrived on tonight.

Instead, he stepped closer—his tone low, steady, and dangerously calm. “Jacob. Try to keep your eyes where they belong.”

Jacob’s polite smile faltered. “Excuse me?”

Elias tilted his head slightly. “You heard me.”

Monica cut in smoothly, resting a manicured hand on Jacob’s sleeve. “Relax, Elias. We’re just talking.”

Elias turned his gaze on her, voice dropping another octave. “Then talk with your mouth, not your eyes.”

Her own mask cracked for a heartbeat, irritation flashing before she forced another grin. “Still the same charming big brother I remember.”

“Still the same problem I never wanted,” he replied, without missing a beat.

Reginald cleared his throat sharply, the sound of authority slicing through the tension. “Elias.”

Elias stepped back, his face smoothing again, though his eyes still burned faintly gold under the chandelier light.

Alioni reached for his arm gently, whispering, “Let it go.”

He looked down at her, and just like that, his expression softened. “For you,” he murmured.

Across the ballroom, the Dashtons mingled with the Mackwoods, glasses clinking, laughter forced. The photographers circled. The orchestra swelled.

It was a picture of perfection.

And yet, behind every polished smile, every false pleasantry, the fault lines were beginning to form—tiny cracks beneath the weight of what none of them could see coming.

For tonight, Alioni was still the bride.

The ballroom sparkled with gold light and hollow laughter. Champagne flowed like water, and for a fleeting moment, it almost felt as if the evening might stay perfect.

Almost.

Then Jacob Dashton cleared his throat, tapping his glass with a silver spoon. The sound echoed like the prelude to disaster.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, stepping up onto the platform. His voice carried across the room, smooth but shaky. “I’d like everyone’s attention, please.”

Alioni turned toward him slowly, standing in the center of the marble floor, her gown trailing behind her like spilled light. The chatter died down. The music stilled. Even the chandeliers seemed to wait.

Jacob smiled nervously. “Tonight was meant to celebrate a new beginning. And it still is.”

Elias, standing just a few feet behind Alioni, tensed immediately. He’d seen that look before—the fake confidence, the flickering guilt in Jacob’s eyes.

Jacob continued, “But I’ve realized… I can’t continue this engagement. My heart belongs to someone else.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Alioni blinked once. Then twice. Her face remained calm—almost bored—as all eyes turned to her.

Monica gasped dramatically from the side of the room, pressing a hand to her chest as if she were surprised. It was so fake, Elias nearly laughed.

Then Jacob said the words that would stain every headline by morning.

“I’ve decided to end my engagement to Alioni Mackwood… and marry Monica Mackwood instead.”

The collective gasp from the guests nearly shook the chandeliers. Claudia Dashton’s hand shot to her pearls. Reginald Mackwood’s jaw locked so tight his temples twitched. Vanessa tried to fake composure, though her forced smile wobbled.

And Elias—Elias looked like he wanted to commit murder.

He stepped closer behind Alioni, his jaw clenched, eyes blazing.

Alioni, however, didn’t so much as blink an eye. She stood still in the middle of the ballroom, her fingers resting gently on the folds of her gown, her expression unreadable.

Then, after a long, suffocating pause, she spoke—softly, but her voice carried through the room like a blade.

“So…” she said, tilting her head slightly. “How long have you two been sleeping together?”

The silence that followed cracked into stunned laughter and whispers. Jacob froze, his mouth falling open. Monica flushed bright red.

“W-what are you talking about?” Monica stammered.

Alioni raised a brow. “Please. I don't wanna hear it. You’ve been whispering behind corners for months. I’m just shocked you waited until the party to make your little announcement. And not only that but you had the audacity.”

Gasps scattered through the crowd. Some guests turned away, pretending not to stare.

Elias smirked faintly behind her, watching Jacob’s face pale.

Alioni continued, calm as ever. “Honestly, I should thank you. At least now I know I’m not marrying this sorry excuse for a man and his bite sized ego.”

Jacob’s jaw tightened. “Alioni, that’s enough—”

“No,” she interrupted, stepping forward, her voice slicing through the noise. “Enough was when both our families arranged this fiasco and called it love. I'm surprised it lasted this long.”

She turned to the nearest table, picked up a pen from the decorative guestbook, and walked right up to the platform. “If you’re going to humiliate me,” she said, “let’s make it official.”

A waiter, frozen in confusion, handed over a stack of legal documents—the annulment papers meant for emergencies. Without hesitation, Alioni flipped through the pages, found her line, and signed with elegant precision.

She clicked the pen closed, handed it back, then—before anyone could move—drove her knee upward, hard.

Jacob folded instantly, gasping in pain. The crowd screamed. Champagne flutes shattered.

Alioni smoothed her gown, looked down at him with icy disdain, and murmured, “Consider us even, You down-dirty peacock.”

Monica rushed to Jacob’s side, shrieking, “You Bitch!”

Elias was already moving.

In one swift motion, he grabbed Jacob by the collar, yanked him up, and punched him square in the gut. The crack echoed through the ballroom.

Jacob hit the floor again, clutching his stomach.

Monica turned, furious—only to meet the back of Elias’s hand as he slapped her across the face.

“Don’t you ever talk to her like that again,” he snarled. “You fake, conniving piece of—” he bit off the rest, his chest heaving.

Gasps erupted everywhere. Cameras clicked. Claudia Dashton fainted dramatically.

Vanessa screamed, “Elias, stop this!”

“Too late,” he growled, glaring at both Monica and Jacob, his voice venomous. “You wanted a show? Here it is.”

Alioni stood perfectly still amid the chaos, the embodiment of serenity while everyone else lost control. Her gaze flicked briefly to Elias—fierce, loyal, unrestrained—and a small, knowing smirk ghosted across her lips.

For the first time all night, she looked alive.

Moments later, The ballroom was still reeling from the scandal.

Broken glass littered the marble floor, guests whispered in frightened tones, and the Dashtons’ perfect image lay in shambles.

Then—

Bang.

The heavy oak doors burst open, slamming against the walls. Gasps filled the air as a dozen armed men in black tactical suits stormed in, their weapons gleaming beneath the crystal chandeliers.

Screams rippled through the crowd. Women clutched their pearls, men froze mid-step.

Elias reacted instantly. He stepped in front of Alioni, one arm outstretched, his body forming a human shield between her and the intruders.

His voice dropped to a growl. “Stay behind me.”

Alioni didn’t argue. Her expression didn’t waver. The chaos around her seemed to move in slow motion—the guests pushing back, guards fumbling, music cutting off mid-note.

Then the crowd parted as if by instinct.

At the top of the grand staircase stood a man who seemed carved from shadow and fire. Maltavious Monroe.

His presence was magnetic—towering, broad, and impossibly composed. His long dreadlocks fell over his shoulders like a dark mane, his goatee framing a smirk that sent a chill through the room. Dressed in a black velvet suit with a gold chain glinting at his collar, he moved with the unhurried grace of a man who feared nothing.

He descended each step with measured confidence, the sound of his boots echoing like a drumbeat of dominance.

“Good evening,” Maltavious said, his voice smooth and low, rolling through the hall like smoke. “Apologies for the intrusion. But I believe the Mackwood family owes me something.”

Reginald Mackwood straightened, trying to sound authoritative. “I don’t know who you think you are—”

Maltavious raised a brow, cutting him off effortlessly. “I know exactly who you are, Mr. Mackwood. A man who made promises to the Monroe Empire and failed to deliver.”

Gasps spread through the room. The Monroe Empire—whispered in fear among businessmen and politicians alike—wasn’t supposed to be real. Yet here he was.

Maltavious stepped onto the main floor, flanked by his men. “Your family’s debts have gone unpaid for years. I don’t like being lied to, and I don’t like being robbed. So I’ve decided to collect in a way that benefits us both.”

He looked between the two daughters—first at Monica, trembling behind her father, and then at Alioni, who stood tall and calm beside Elias.

His golden eyes lingered on her.

“The Mackwoods owe me loyalty,” he continued. “And what better symbol of loyalty than an engagement?”

Murmurs erupted. Vanessa gasped. Monica stiffened, half-smiling in disbelief.

Maltavious reached into his coat and pulled out a sleek black folder. Inside: an engagement contract, marked with the Monroe seal in crimson wax. “Here are the terms,” he said, opening it casually. “Your family’s safety, in exchange for one of your daughters becoming my fiancée. Effective immediately.”

“You can’t be serious—” Reginald started.

Maltavious snapped his fingers.

Instantly, his men raised their weapons—every gun aimed at both families. The sound of cocked triggers cut the protests short.

Monica screamed. Vanessa clutched her pearls. Jacob ducked behind his father.

Alioni didn’t move.

Maltavious’s gaze found her again, that smirk deepening. “Of course,” he said smoothly, “I’ll let the lady choose. Two options.”

He took a slow step closer until he was standing only a breath away, his towering frame casting her in shadow. “Option one: I take one of your family’s assets by force. Option two: you marry me willingly, and your family walks out of here untouched.”

The silence was suffocating.

Elias turned to her, voice low and desperate. “Alioni, don’t—”

She looked up at Maltavious, her calm expression never breaking. “If I sign, you leave them alone?”

Maltavious’s eyes glinted. “Every last one of them.”

Elias’s hand tightened into a fist. “You don’t owe him anything.”

Alioni’s lips curved faintly—half smile, half resignation. “No, but I owe it to myself to end this farce of a family once and for all.”

Then she reached out, took the pen from Maltavious’s hand, and without hesitation, signed her name in sweeping, elegant strokes.

The click of the pen echoed through the hall.

Maltavious smiled,  slow and satisfied. “Welcome to the Monroe Empire, Miss Mackwood.”

He closed the folder, tucking it beneath his arm.

Elias’s rage simmered, but Alioni met his eyes briefly—her expression calm, steady, and almost defiant.

The Mafia King turned to his men. “Lower your weapons.”

The guns dropped instantly.

Then Maltavious looked back at Alioni, his tone low, almost teasing. “I’ll send a car for you tomorrow. We’ll begin preparations immediately.”

He started to walk away, his coat trailing behind him like smoke, before pausing at the doorway. “Oh, and one more thing…”

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes locked on her. “You wear white beautifully. Keep it ready.”

And with that, he left the Mackwood estate in silence and ruin—leaving behind two humiliated families, one shattered man, one enraged brother…

…and a woman whose calm acceptance had just changed her fate forever.