Serena's POV
I looked at my reflection in the mirror and sighed. They called me a bride but what kind of bride wore black?
They had changed me out of the white gown I wore, three women hovered around me like vultures dressing a corpse. The dress they had me wore was silk, expensive but heavy and suffocating, a perfect cage but beautiful. But fortunately for me I was no stranger to pretty cages so I wore it well, my head raised high. I stared at myself in the mirror, secretly applauding myself on how well my eyes concealed the chaos in my head.
My mind still couldn't catch up. Lorenzo is dead. Just three days ago. Dead and yet the marriage, my marriage was still happening. I was stunned when Damian introduced himself earlier if that could even be considered an introduction, it was more of a declaration. Damian Valeri, the more ruthless and rabid brother, yes I had heard rumors about him as well. They said unlike Lorenzo, Damian's first instinct was always violence, to fight with fire. And now I was going to marry him, because I had no choice.
"Widen your stance", one of the women said quietly. "The dress falls better"
I obeyed like a puppet, I had no choice.
One of them gently placed a silver necklace with large black diamonds on neck, it was stunning.
"There, done", another of them said.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror, decked in black, I had no choice.
A knock. One of the women opened the door. Damian stood there, flawless in a tailored black suit, his expression cold as ice.
He said two words.
"It's time"
And the events that fate may have predestined began to roll.
I followed him down the cold marble hallway, my heels muffled against the carpet, heart thudding with each step. He didn't offer his arm, didn't glance back to see if I was keeping up. Just walked like a man used to being followed.
Outside, the courtyard had been transformed into a funeral chapel. Thorned roses everywhere, crimson, wilting. A closed casket rested beneath a black canopy, the smell of incense hung to the air like ash.
Two events, one ceremony. The funeral of the man I was supposed to marry and the marriage of the girl who didn't have a choice. We stood in front of the priest, the words he spoke barely registered, just formalities, legalities, prayers. I repeated what I was told to repeat, I signed what was placed in front of me. And when I finally blinked, I read through the name in front of me.
Serena Rossi-Valeri.
A name I didn't choose, a man I didn't know, my intended groom a ghost.
The air was thick with whispers as they declared us husband and wife. I felt eyes on me, judging, analyzing, pitying. I looked around, people I didn't know stared back at me, not a single familiar face, none of my people. I looked forward, eyes landing on Damian. He didn't look at me once, not during the vows, not during the kiss that never came, not even when he slid the cold platinum band onto my finger. Instead, we turned, bride and groom, and walked side by side behind the coffin of my almost husband. The procession circled the garden, I kept my eyes forward, fist clenched as I reminded myself not to cry. This wasn't tears of grief, it was of rage trapped in my chest. But I couldn't afford to show any form of weakness, the game had changed now and I was on unfamiliar grounds.
At the burial site I stole a glance at Damian. His jaw was clenched, posture rigid. But just for a moment, a single crack split through his mask, his eyes flickered, not with tears but with something else. Pain? Regret? I couldn't tell. Then it was gone. Buried, like his brother.
Immediately after the ceremony, Damian and I were separated. He went on to carry out his duties I assumed while I was shepherded into the house by the woman who had led me earlier. She showed me to my room, if you could call it that. It was elegant sure, but it wasn't 'my room' in the sense. Cold walls, locked windows, a wardrobe full of black outfits but none of them mine, no personal effects.
The rest of the day went by in a blur, with the woman who later introduced herself as Madame Dorathy, the chief housekeeper, rattling off a list of things I should know about the house and it's occupants. Helpful information I'm sure but I wasn't paying attention to her, my mind was far away. There was a lot of people on the estate grounds, although I doubted they were all Valeri people, I couldn't tell for sure because for some reason Madame Dorathy didn't seem eager to have me outside the walls of my room.
That night, I laid in my bed staring wide eyed at the canopy of the princess style bed. Too exhausted to scream, too angry to sleep. That's when I heard it, a faint click that traveled far in the silent room.
I sat up and stared straight at the door. Faint, muffled voices traveled through the door, I listened closely, holding my breath. A man's voice, low but unmistakably Damian's.
"She's here. Let her have some time to herself. Just keep her distracted, we'll move when it's time"
Distracted?
My blood ran cold.
Move? What moves?
I tried to listen more but the voices faded away, like they were walking away until all there that was left was silence.
I bolted out of my bed, straight to the door. I tried the catch but it was locked.
No, I whispered.
I tried it again but it was the same. I shook the door desperately but nothing changed, it didn't give away.
I slid to the ground in defeat as I realized one thing;
I wasn't a guest.
I wasn't a wife.
I was property.