"She wore stillness like a dress, stitched with threads of surrender."_Unknown
The days blurred into silk and sequins.
Maeve barely had time to breathe, let alone think. She was being dragged from one fitting to another — measured, poked, turned, tucked, twirled. Dresses in hues of ivory and moonlight swirled around her. Hands flitted over her body like she was a mannequin on display, not a person tethered to a life she had never asked for.
She had colored her hair again, using a cheap box dye she had found under her bed. Pale blonde with midnight blue tips spilling down her shoulders like a silent rebellion. The soft streaks of blue looked like the bruises left behind by fate, like shadows of everything she had lost. A last act of control in a life spiraling beyond her will.
Inside, her mind hadn't caught up.
Even now, with the ring still snug around her finger and every corner of the house buzzing with celebration, Maeve could barely fathom how she — the forgotten shadow — had somehow become the bride-to-be of the most wanted bachelor in the country.
---
In his world,
The news had spread faster than wildfire.
From glittering parlors of the elite to the blood-dusted corners of the underground, whispers carried his name like a pulse — Levi Gazdanov was getting married.
And not to some heiress of legacy.
Not to the daughter of a rival empire or a corporate jewel wrapped in power.
No, he was marrying a nobody.
The backlash had been swift.
Confused board members.
Stunned allies.
Enemies who thought it was a move veiled in strategy.
But in the solitude of his high-walled estate, Levi sat in his study, perfectly still.
His curtain of black hair was slightly tousled, a wave hanging lazily near his cheekbone. His thinly rimmed glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose, casting a shadow over his unreadable eyes. Documents lay open before him, untouched.
Anton stepped in, his chestnut hair slightly windblown from the calls he had taken outdoors, away from Levi's earshot. His eyes — darker than his boss's — were tense.
"They won't stop calling," Anton sighed. "Your partners, your rivals, even the ones who owe you their lives — they are all demanding to know if this is true."
Levi didn't look up. "Then tell them it is."
"They're asking if you'll explain—"
"Explain?" Levi cut in quietly, tapping his finger once against the table. "I owe no explanations. If anyone wishes to contest my decisions, they know where to find me."
Anton blinked. "So... no public statement?"
Levi pushed his glasses higher and finally looked up. The sheer weight in his gaze made Anton stop fidgeting.
"There is nothing more to say. "
---
A day to the wedding
Maeve stared at her reflection like she was staring at someone else's life.
The final fitting had been done — the bodice snug, the embroidery intricate, the train cascading like liquid snow. Her hair had been set and styled, coiled and pinned, the blue tips softening near the ends. Someone had said she looked ethereal. She didn't feel it.
As the tailor fastened the last hook, she looked at Maeve's reflection in the mirror and sighed with admiration.
"You must feel like you're on top of the world, huh?" the woman smiled. "Not every girl gets to marry a man of such caliber."
Maeve held her gaze, then gave a tight smile and a gentle nod.
Inside, her heart remained quiet. Not content. Not joyous. Just quiet — like a room no one walked into anymore.
---
That night, the house was unusually still. No buzzing celebrations. No calls. No fitting reminders. Like the world decided too dread with her.
She sat at the edge of her small bed, hands resting on her lap, bare feet against the cold floor. She had already washed off the layers of makeup. All that remained was the girl beneath the façade — hollow-eyed and soul-weary.
For the first time in days, she whispered a prayer.
Not for love.
Not for escape.
Just… a sliver of peace.
"I don't know if You see me, but if You do… I'm scared." She whispered.
There was no answer. But there was something — a tiny flicker, almost invisible — the soft hush of stillness that felt just a little warmer.
She tucked herself under the sheets. Eyes fluttering shut.
Tomorrow, she would become someone's wife.
Not by fate. Not by dream. But by design.
And still, her heart beat — quietly, but stubbornly.
---