The Orada Sea was silent the morning of the wedding.
No birdsong. No wind. Just a suffocating stillness, as if the world held its breath waiting for me to break. I stood at the balcony railing, staring at the slate-gray water below—so different from the sun-dappled Mediterranean of my childhood. This is where Amara Veyron dies, I thought, tracing the scar on my wrist. Today, she becomes a ghost in ivory silk.
Marcella arrived at dawn, not with tears, but with a crisp envelope. She didn't hug me. Didn't ask if I'd slept. Just thrust it into my hands, her silver-blonde hair coiled like a spring ready to snap. "The library is secured," she stated, tapping the contract. "Your mother's collection stays intact—as long as you play the part. My cut is mine. The library is yours."
A flicker of relief cut through the dread. Mama's books are safe. But the cost? My life.
The Transformation (A.K.A. How to Erase a Woman in 45 Minutes)
1. The Wig Ceremony
Marcella pinned the platinum monstrosity to my head, tugging strands until tears pricked my eyes. "Selene's hair never frayed," she scolded, dabbing bleach-stained roots with foundation. "You're a Veyron now. Act like one."
2. The Gown Suffocation
The ivory dress arrived—"reshaped for plumpness," per Grandma's orders. As the maids laced me in, the bodice dug into my ribs like a vise. "Breathe shallow," Marcella advised, adjusting the neckline. "Drevane heirs require strong lungs. Weak daughters are discarded."
3. The Final Warning
She held up a mirror. "Smile. Now." I forced Selene's vacant grin. "Good. Now imagine Cassian's disappointment if you breathe wrong." She snapped the mirror shut. "Remember: you saved the library. Don't ruin it now."
The Aisle Walk (Or: How to Feel Like a Corpse in Sunlight)
The ceremony was held in Drevane Hall's glass chapel—a cage of crystal overlooking the Orada's hungry waves. As the string quartet played something cold and precise, I walked alone down the aisle. No father. No sister. Just the echo of my footsteps on marble.
The library is safe, I chanted like a mantra. Mama's books live.
Then I saw them.
The Smiles.
• Grandma Drevane in the front row, monocle gleaming as she watched me approach. Her lips curved in a smile that didn't touch her eyes—the smile of a woman who'd just won a high-stakes chess match. She gave Cassian a subtle nod. The trust amendment is signed. The bloodline is secured.
• Marcella in the second row, not dabbing tears, but checking her diamond-studded watch. Her smile was sharp, satisfied—the smile of a woman who'd just cashed a check. My private cut is secured, I realized. The library is Amara's burden. Not hers.
• Julian beside Cassian, smirking as he adjusted his cufflinks. He sees a blonde placeholder, I thought bitterly. Temporary. Replaceable.
• Clarisse in the back, her face calm. But her ink-stained pinky tapped her thigh—once, twice—a silent warning: This isn't a wedding. It's a cage.
Cassian stood at the altar, impossibly still. Storm-gray eyes locked on me. Not on the wig. Not on the gown. On me. For a heartbeat, his gaze dropped to my wrist—to the scar hidden under lace—and something flickered in his face. Recognition? Regret?
Then the officiant began.
The Vows (A.K.A. The Transaction)
"Do you, Selene Veyron, take Cassian Drevane as your lawfully wedded husband?"
"I do." My voice was Selene's—a breathy nothing. Inside, Amara whispered: The library lives.
"Do you, Cassian Drevane, take Selene Veyron as your lawfully wedded wife?"
Cassian didn't look at the officiant. He looked at me. His voice, when it came, was low and lethal: "I do."
The officiant slid the ring onto my finger—a band of platinum so heavy it felt like a shackle. "You may now kiss the bride."
Cassian stepped forward. His lips met mine—a hard, claiming kiss that tasted like salt and surrender. No whispers. No secrets. Just cold precision.
The families erupted in applause. Grandma beamed, already texting her lawyer. Marcella shot me a look—sharp as a scalpel—that said: "You did your job. Don't overstep." Julian clapped Cassian's shoulder like he'd won a trophy.
But Cassian didn't release me. His hand slid to the small of my back, fingers pressing just above the gown's waistline. Not possessive. Not gentle. A silent reminder: You belong to me now.
The Reception (A.K.A. The Bidding War)
Grandma Drevane swept toward us the moment the kiss ended, monocle flashing like a weapon. "Enough ceremony!" she declared, linking arms with Cassian. "The Riviera villa is booked. The trust amendment expires Tuesday. You leave for your honeymoon tonight."
Tonight? My blood turned to ice.
Marcella stepped forward, all practiced grace. "What a generous offer, Grandma. But surely the bride needs time to—"
"Nonsense!" Grandma cut her off, waving a dismissive hand. "Healthy brides conceive faster when they're occupied." She patted my cheek like I was livestock. "The sooner she's settled in Cassian's bed, the sooner we have heirs. The sooner the trust is safe."
Cassian didn't react. Didn't flinch. Just stared at me with those storm-gray eyes, his thumb tracing slow circles on my lower back. His silent message was clear: This isn't about love. It's about leverage.
Julian leaned in, voice dripping with faux concern. "Don't worry, Selene. Cassian's very thorough when it comes to... duties."
Clarisse materialized beside me, placing a gentle hand on my arm. "The Riviera is lovely this time of year," she murmured, her ink-stained pinky brushing my wrist. A silent promise: I see you. I know this is hell.
Grandma clapped her hands. "The car leaves in one hour. Be packed." She turned to Cassian, monocle gleaming. "Don't keep the trust waiting, my dear. The clock is ticking."