Someone was going to die today.
I didn't know if it would be me.
or the man waiting at the end of the aisle.
The silence inside the grand hall was unbearable. Not peaceful. Not holy. Not the kind that comes before vows and happy tears.
This silence was heavy. Suffocating.
It felt like the entire world was watching me walk toward my own destruction.
My heels clicked against the marble floor,sharp, echoing, final. Each step sounded like a countdown. Chandeliers glittered above me like frozen stars. Wealth surrounded me in obscene amounts gold-lined walls, powerful guests dressed in perfection, guards standing like statues.
None of it mattered.
Because at the end of the aisle stood Luca Devereux.
My husband.
My enemy.
My prison.
My fingers tightened around the bouquet until the white roses bent under the pressure. White. Pure. Peaceful.
There was nothing pure about this marriage.
Nothing peaceful about the way my heart slammed violently against my ribs like a trapped animal begging to escape.
I hated him.
I hated the way he stood so calm, so controlled as if this wedding was just another business deal he had already won. His black suit fit him like sin itself. Dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead. His sharp jaw was tense. His eyes unreadable.
Cold.
Always cold.
Whispers followed me like ghosts.
"That's the Whitmore girl"
"She's beautiful"
"Poor thing"
I lifted my chin.
Yes. Poor thing.
Because I had no choice.
My father's company had collapsed. Debt had swallowed our name whole. Pride. Legacy. Future.
And the only lifeline thrown to us came from the Devereux empire a marriage contract signed in ink that felt like blood.
I agreed for one reason.
Survival.
When I finally reached Luca, the air changed.
He didn't smile.
Didn't soften.
Didn't even pretend.
His eyes met mine dark, intense, terrifyingly alive.
And for one horrifying second,
Something inside me responded.
A pull.
Deep. Primal. Dangerous.
I looked away first.
The priest's voice began, but the words sounded distant like I was underwater.
"Do you, Luca Devereux, take Aria Whitmore"
"I do."
He didn't hesitate.
Didn't blink.
His voice was smooth. Commanding. The kind that could silence rooms and make powerful men obey without question.
My stomach twisted.
Then it was my turn.
"Do you, Aria Whitmore, take Luca Devereux"
I hesitated.
Only for a second.
But Luca noticed.
Of course he did.
He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear.
"Say yes," he murmured. "Or your father loses everything by morning."
Rage exploded inside me.
My head snapped toward him.
"I do."
The words tasted like poison.
Applause erupted. Cameras flashed. A lifetime sealed in a single moment.
Then his hand wrapped around my wrist.
Not painful.
But firm.
Possessive.
Electric heat shot up my arm so suddenly I nearly gasped.
His gaze darkened
not with victory.
With recognition.
As if he had just discovered something priceless
and terrifying.
"Welcome to my world, wife," he said quietly.
Thunder rolled across the sky.
And somewhere far beyond the city
I heard wolves howl.
But what made my blood run cold wasn't the sound.
It was the realization that one of them was calling to me.