Chapter 2

The music is loud, the hall drowning in laughter and clinking glasses. Crystal chandeliers drip light onto endless rows of tables heavy with food and wine. Guests raise their glasses to us, their cheers sharp and hollow, like the sound of chains clashing together.

I sit beside Arsen at the long head table, my new husband. His arm rests casually on the chair behind me, his presence commanding, his smile flawless. He looks every bit the charming,

confident, untouchable. People swarm him,

offering toasts, handshakes, promises of loyalty. They look at me only as the bride, the prize, the proof that the war is over.

But when no one is watching, his hand tightens slightly on my waist. Not gentle. Not tender. A

reminder. A warning.

“You’re doing well,” he murmurs, leaning closer so his lips almost brush my temple. His voice is smooth as velvet, but the steel beneath it is sharp. “Keep smiling. They’re all watching.”

So I do. I raise my glass, I smile at their hollow compliments, I laugh at words I don’t even hear. Inside, I feel nothing but a rising panic.

Across the hall, my father watches proudly, his cold eyes glinting with victory. My mother sits beside him, unmoved, sipping her wine as though this is just another business deal. And maybe that’s all it is to them.

Hours pass in a blur of speeches, music, and dancing. My head aches, my feet burn, but the mask never slips. When the final toast is raised, the crowd erupts into applause, and the truth strikes me like a blade. There is no turning back.

Soon, it is time to leave.

The car ride to his estate is silent, except for the hum of the engine and the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Outside, the city lights blur into darkness. Arsen sits beside me, his hand resting loosely on my thigh. Not

affectionate possessive.

When we arrive, the mansion looms in the night, its windows glowing like watchful eyes. The air is heavy, the silence almost unbearable. Servants line the entrance, bowing as we pass, their faces expressionless.

Inside, the halls are grand and cold, filled with shadows. My footsteps echo against marble floors as I follow him upstairs, the long train of my gown dragging behind me. The closer we get to the bedroom, the more my chest tightens.

Finally, the doors close behind us. The room is vast, the bed impossibly large, draped in silk and velvet. The air feels suffocating.

Arsen turns to me, his smile gone now, his expression unreadable. He takes slow steps toward me, his eyes fixed on mine.

“You’re mine now,” he says simply, his voice low, steady, carrying no warmth. “Not your father’s. Not your mother’s. Mine.”

The words strike through me like chains tightening around my body. My breath catches, my hands clench at my sides, but I don’t move.

His hand reaches up, brushing the veil from my face, revealing me fully to him. His gaze lingers, dark and heavy, as if he is memorizing every

detail. For the first time, I see something flicker in his eyes not desire, not tenderness, but hunger. A hunger I don’t yet understand.

And I realize, with a cold shiver down my spine, that the real ceremony begins now.

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