Chapter 1 The Wedding Night

The veil itched.

It clung to Aura's skin like the last thread of freedom being dragged from her bones. She resisted the urge to scratch, to tear it away, but her fingers remained curled around the cold bouquet of white lilies-flowers she hadn't chosen for a ceremony she'd never wanted.

The chapel was silent, but the silence wasn't sacred-it was suffocating. Low candlelight flickered along the marble walls, casting soft shadows on the altar. It smelled of polished wood, old books, and something sterile-formality, perhaps. There was no music, no joy. Just Dante Moretti, standing beside her like a statue carved from vengeance and ice.

He hadn't looked at her once. Not when she entered on her father's arm, not when they'd faced the priest, not even when the word forever was spoken aloud.

Aura tried to steady her breathing.

Every instinct screamed to run. But where would she go? The Morettis didn't offer second chances. This wasn't a marriage-it was a transaction. And she was the collateral.

She barely heard the priest. The vows passed in a haze, words merging into one indistinct murmur. Something about honor, obedience, and eternal unity. The words sounded almost cruel in this context.

Then came the ring. A thick band of gold, heavy with meaning and intent, slid onto her finger by Dante's unfeeling hand. He said the words as though he were reciting a contract clause, not a lifelong promise.

"You may kiss the bride."

Silence.

Dante turned his head, gaze locked briefly on hers. Aura flinched inwardly at the coldness in his eyes. No warmth. No curiosity. Just calculation. He leaned forward and pressed the barest whisper of a kiss to her lips-emotionless, mechanical, brief.

Then he turned away.

The priest gave a stiff nod. The small gathering of guests-silent men in bespoke suits and diamond-draped women who all seemed to know something Aura didn't-clapped twice. Maybe three times. Then the moment was over.

She was Mrs. Dante Moretti now.

The ride to the mansion was steeped in silence. The car, long and sleek like a predator lying in wait, glided through the dark countryside. Aura sat stiffly across from Dante in the back seat. His posture was relaxed, but distant. He stared out the window, hand resting on his knee, a picture of self-contained authority. Not once did he speak. Not once did he ask how she was.

Not that he cared.

When the gates of the Moretti estate opened, Aura's stomach tightened. Iron wrought and towering, they looked less like a welcome and more like the mouth of a beast. Beyond them, the mansion sprawled like something out of a gothic tale-stone and glass and shadow, with narrow windows that watched more than they let in light.

She followed him through the grand doors, heels clicking like drumbeats against the polished floor. The interior was all sharp lines and subtle menace-marble, black oak, golden accents that glimmered under the chandelier's light. Staff lined the hallway. They bowed slightly as Dante passed. No one met her eyes.

At the grand staircase, he paused, finally turning toward her.

"There are rules," he said, voice like crushed velvet-low, firm, absolute. "You will be briefed tomorrow. For tonight, your room is in the west wing. Second floor. End of the hall. You don't need a key. It only locks from the outside."

His tone was calm, but the implication sat like iron in her chest.

Aura nodded once, because she didn't trust her voice.

"Do not wander," he added. "And do not mistake silence for safety."

She opened her mouth, just barely. But there was nothing to say. Nothing that wouldn't fall uselessly at his feet.

Without another word, Dante turned and disappeared up the other staircase, the one leading to the east wing.

Aura stood frozen for a moment. It wasn't that she'd expected affection-this wasn't that kind of story. But the sheer coldness, the transactionality of it all... it burned.

A maid stepped forward, silent, and gestured for her to follow. The hallway leading to her room was dimly lit, paintings of old men with cruel eyes peering down from the walls. Each door they passed was shut tightly.

When they reached the last one, the maid opened it without a word. Aura stepped inside.

The room was beautiful. Too beautiful. A four-poster bed with ivory sheets, a gilded mirror, soft rugs underfoot. It was more suite than bedroom-but it still felt like a cage. Everything she could ever want, except freedom.

As the door shut behind her, the silence settled again. This time, deeper.

She peeled off the gloves. Unfastened the buttons of her gown. Each motion felt like shedding someone else's skin. The veil, finally removed, drifted to the floor like discarded innocence.

Aura moved to the window. Beyond it, night sprawled out endlessly. She could just see the tops of the wrought-iron gates in the distance, guards in black pacing like shadows. Freedom was out there-but unreachable.

She sat on the edge of the bed. The sheets were cold. Like everything else here.

Her hands trembled slightly, and she clenched them in her lap.

How had it come to this?

How had her life become something she watched happen to her?

Her father's voice echoed in her mind-"It's done. This marriage saves us all. Be smart, Aura. You're not a child anymore."

She hadn't felt like a child. Not until now.

In this room.

In this house.

With this man.

The chandelier light dimmed on its own, automated. Another quiet control.

Aura lay back slowly, eyes fixed on the ceiling, mind spinning like a storm trapped in a glass jar.

She was married.

To a man who hadn't smiled once.

To a life she hadn't chosen.

To a future she no longer recognized.

And as the cold air curled around her like invisible fingers, Aura understood with aching clarity-

She hadn't just walked into a marriage.

She'd stepped into a prison.

And Dante Moretti held the key.

Aura turned on her side, pulling the sheets over her body, willing herself to sleep.

Then-a soft click.

She froze.

The door. It had just locked... from the outside.

And from somewhere in the hallway, just beyond the heavy wood, a low voice murmured:

"She won't last the week."