Chapter 2 The Dress and the Devil

Amira woke to the smell of coffee and roses.

For a second, she forgot where she was-her body wrapped in silk sheets, the air too quiet, the pillow too soft. Then it all came rushing back. The mansion. Elias. The deal.

The wedding.

She sat up, blinking against the sunlight pouring through sheer curtains. A silver tray sat on the dresser, untouched. Coffee. Croissants. A single red rose in a thin glass vase.

She didn't remember asking for any of it.

Before she could decide whether it was sweet or sinister, there was a knock.

"Come in," she called, tugging the robe tighter around her waist.

Lissa entered with her usual smirk, dressed in high-waisted trousers and a silk blouse that made her look like she ran both a fashion house and a mafia family. "Well, you're alive. Always a good start."

"You say that like it's optional."

"In this house, everything is optional. Except obedience."

Amira rolled her eyes. "That's comforting."

Lissa crossed her arms and nodded toward the tray. "He ordered breakfast for you. From his private chef. Don't worry-it's not poisoned. We save that for anniversaries."

Amira gave her a withering look.

Lissa smirked again. "Eat, get dressed. Your fitting is in an hour. Then hair, makeup, and a very small, very private wedding. No guests, no family. No escape."

Amira froze. "No guests?"

"Did you think he was throwing a garden party?"

"I thought maybe... I don't know. There'd be someone to witness it. Even a priest."

Lissa tilted her head. "This isn't a love story, darling. This is business. The kind that doesn't need witnesses."

**

The dress was a masterpiece-too perfect, too expensive, and exactly the kind of thing Amira would never choose. Off-shoulder, fitted bodice, a cascade of tulle that brushed the floor like clouds. She looked like she belonged in a painting, not a cage.

But the woman in the mirror wasn't her. She was a ghost of herself-polished, pale, perfect.

"Do you want to know something strange?" Lissa said from the corner, her arms folded as she watched.

"What?"

"You're the first woman he's ever done this for."

Amira raised an eyebrow. "You mean marry?"

Lissa nodded. "Most women don't get past dinner."

"Lucky them."

"Maybe." Lissa's voice softened. "Or maybe they never mattered."

The words unsettled Amira more than they should have.

**

Downstairs, Elias waited.

He stood in a black tailored suit, crisp and pristine. No tie. Just open collar and sharp control. A few people milled about-staff, most of them strangers. But one woman caught Amira's eye.

Tall, elegant, with ageless beauty and ice-blue eyes. She stood near the fireplace, a wine glass in hand and judgment on her face.

Elias noticed her gaze. "My mother. Victoria Blackthorne."

Of course.

The woman turned, her heels clicking like gunshots on marble. "So this is the girl."

Girl. Not bride. Not woman. Girl.

"Amira Donovan," Elias said. "This is Victoria."

Victoria looked her over, unimpressed. "She's very... plain."

Amira's mouth tightened. "Nice to meet you too."

Elias's eyes flicked to his mother, and for a moment, tension cut the air. But Victoria only smiled, sipping her wine. "I do hope you know what you're doing, Elias. This one looks like she has a soul."

With that, she turned and walked away.

Amira exhaled. "She's charming."

"She's dangerous," Elias corrected. "But harmless if ignored."

"Is that your strategy with women?"

"No," he said, stepping closer. "Just with threats."

Amira's skin tingled under his stare. "So which am I?"

His eyes darkened. "I haven't decided yet."

**

The ceremony was short. Brutal in its simplicity.

No vows. Just a signature.

He signed first. Then her.

A notary, faceless and efficient, sealed it.

The name changed on paper. Amira Blackthorne.

She didn't feel married.

She felt owned.

**

That night, dinner was served in the east dining room-a space meant for twenty, but set for two. Candles flickered. Silver gleamed.

Elias poured her wine without asking. "You didn't run. I expected you to try."

"I considered it," she said. "But I'd rather stab you when you least expect it."

A twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You have spirit. I admire that."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know you love your brother. Enough to sell your freedom. That tells me everything I need to know."

Amira's stomach knotted. "And what do you want from me, Elias? A good wife? A quiet doll? Someone to smile while you keep secrets and burn bridges?"

He looked at her for a long moment. "No. I don't need a wife. I need a weapon."

The words hung between them like thunder.

"What does that mean?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"It means," Elias said, sipping his wine, "you're not here to love me. You're here to protect me."

"From what?"

He didn't answer.

**

Later that night, Amira stood by her window again, watching the moon.

Somewhere below, Elias was working-or watching. He felt like a shadow in every room. A presence in her bones.

She didn't know what this was. A marriage. A game. A war.

But she wasn't going to wait to be told the rules.

If he wanted a weapon-he'd better be ready to bleed.

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