Chapter 5 The grand cathedral

The grand cathedral was suffocating in its opulence-vaulted ceilings, towering stained-glass windows, and gold chandeliers casting a warm, deceitful glow over the sea of high society that had gathered to witness the unholy union of two empires.

Every eye was on Seraphina as she stepped onto the pristine marble aisle, her father's arm a heavy weight around hers. The air smelled of expensive perfume, aged whiskey, and the silent judgments of the elite.

She held her chin high, her face carved into the perfect mask of indifference.

If she was walking into a trap, she would do it with grace.

At the end of the aisle, Killian Hawthorne stood waiting-impossibly composed in his tailored black tuxedo, the crisp white shirt emphasizing the sharp lines of his jaw. His hands were tucked neatly into his pockets, his expression unreadable.

But his eyes.

They traced over her, slow and measured, dark with something she refused to name.

Seraphina met his gaze without flinching, a silent challenge burning between them.

This was not love.

This was war.

The murmurs of the crowd faded as she reached the altar. Her father released her hand, and Killian stepped forward, his fingers curling possessively around hers. His touch was cool, firm, a silent declaration.

She hated that her skin tingled where he touched her.

The officiant began speaking, but Seraphina barely heard him. She was too focused on the man before her, on the way he held himself-confident, untouchable, as if this marriage was merely another business merger, a checkmate in a game only he could win.

"Do you, Killian Hawthorne, take Seraphina Aldridge to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Silence stretched for a second too long.

Then, a slow smirk curved his lips.

"I do."

Seraphina's pulse pounded, but she kept her face unreadable.

The officiant turned to her. "And do you, Seraphina Aldridge, take Killian Hawthorne-"

"I do," she cut in, voice smooth, unwavering.

There was no hesitation.

Because hesitation meant weakness. And she refused to give him that.

A muscle in Killian's jaw twitched, almost imperceptibly.

Interesting.

The priest spoke again, but Seraphina barely registered the words. The next thing she knew, Killian was reaching for her hand, sliding a heavy platinum band onto her finger.

His grip tightened, as if daring her to resist.

She didn't.

Instead, she took his own hand, slipping his wedding ring onto his finger with the same deliberate slowness.

The moment stretched.

And then-

"You may kiss the bride."

A hush fell over the crowd.

Killian's fingers brushed against her jaw, tilting her face up. His touch was deceptively gentle, but his eyes-those cold, calculating eyes-were anything but.

Seraphina didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

And then his lips claimed hers.

It was not soft. It was not sweet.

It was possession.

A statement.

A warning.

Heat flared through her, but she refused to yield. Instead, she dug her nails into his wrist, a silent reminder that she was not his to control.

He pulled back, amusement flickering in his gaze.

And just like that, it was done.

She was Seraphina Hawthorne now.

A bride. A prisoner. A queen in a kingdom she never asked for.

But if Killian thought she would play the role of the obedient wife, he was sorely mistaken.

Because this was just the beginning.

And in this game, she had every intention of making sure she was the one who walked away victorious.

The reception was a blur of champagne toasts and empty pleasantries, of congratulations that dripped with insincerity. Seraphina smiled where expected, laughed at all the right moments, and danced with Killian beneath the watchful eyes of the city's elite.

But beneath the surface, the tension crackled.

Every glance. Every touch.

Every unspoken promise of war.

By the time the last guest departed, Seraphina was exhausted. Not physically-but mentally, emotionally.

And she still had one final battle to fight tonight.

The honeymoon suite was as extravagant as expected. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glittering city, a grand fireplace crackled in the corner, and an enormous bed sat in the center, draped in silk sheets that looked far too inviting.

She stepped inside, the long train of her gown trailing behind her like a ghost.

The door clicked shut.

She turned-only to find Killian already unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up with slow precision.

Her throat tightened.

He looked every inch the predator she knew he was.

Seraphina folded her arms. "Don't bother. I'm not playing the role of the dutiful wife tonight."

Killian let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he poured himself a drink. "You act as if I expected you to."

Her eyes narrowed. "Didn't you?"

He took a slow sip of whiskey before setting the glass down. Then, he stepped closer, invading her space like he had every right to be there.

"I have no interest in forcing what should be given willingly," he murmured. "And you, my darling wife, are far too proud to give me anything freely."

Seraphina's pulse skittered, but she kept her expression unreadable. "Good. Then we understand each other."

He smirked. "Oh, we understand each other perfectly."

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, Killian reached for the top button of her gown.

Her breath caught.

She slapped his hand away.

His smirk deepened. "Relax, sweetheart. I was just helping."

"I don't need your help."

"Of course not," he mused, stepping back. "But you should get changed. It's a long night, and I imagine sleeping in that dress isn't particularly comfortable."

Her jaw clenched.

With a sharp exhale, she turned her back to him and unfastened the intricate buttons herself.

She could feel his gaze on her the entire time.

When she finally stepped out of the gown and into the silk robe laid out for her, she turned to find him watching her with a quiet sort of amusement.

"What?" she snapped.

Killian simply smirked, downing the rest of his whiskey before heading toward the bed.

"Nothing at all, Mrs. Hawthorne."

And with that, he climbed into bed, leaving her standing there, fists clenched, heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

Seraphina exhaled, forcing herself to shake off the weight of the moment.

This was a game. A battle of wills.

And she would win.

She climbed into bed, as far away from him as possible.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them moved.

But the war between them was just beginning.