Isabella's POV
The marble aisle beneath my heels felt colder than I expected.
Each step echoed through the cathedral like a countdown to my execution, sharp and final. The scent of white roses filled the air—Dominic's choice, of course. Everything about this wedding was his choice. His design. His revenge. I kept my chin high as hundreds of elite guests watched me walk toward the man who once kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him alive. Now he looked at me like I was the reason he nearly died.
Dominic Volkov stood at the altar in a perfectly tailored black suit, his posture straight, his expression carved from stone. The chandeliers above us scattered gold light across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the icy calm in his gray eyes.
Five years had changed him.
The warmth I used to see in those eyes had frozen into something merciless. My father tightened his grip on my arm as he walked beside me. I could feel the faint tremor in his fingers. Whether it was guilt or fear, I didn't know anymore. Maybe both. I forced myself not to look at him. If I looked at him, I might remember why I agreed to this marriage in the first place… and my resolve might crack.
The whispers from the guests followed me like ghosts. "That's the woman who destroyed the Volkov empire."
"Why would he marry her?"
"Revenge"
The last word lingered in the air like smoke. They weren't wrong, Dominic wasn't marrying me out of love. He was marrying me to own me.
When we reached the altar, my father released my arm. I felt his hesitation, the unspoken apology hanging between us, but I didn't turn to meet his eyes. I couldn't afford weakness today. Dominic extended his hand toward me.
The same hand that once held my face so gently I thought I might shatter beneath it. I placed my hand in his anyway. His fingers closed around mine, firm and unyielding. The touch sent a sharp pulse through my chest—familiar, dangerous, and deeply unwanted.
He leaned slightly closer, just enough for only me to hear him. "You look nervous," he murmured. His voice was smooth, controlled, and terrifyingly calm.
"I'm not," I replied softly.
"Liar."
The priest cleared his throat, signaling the ceremony to begin. I barely heard the opening words. My attention was trapped in the quiet storm standing inches from me. Dominic didn't look at me as the vows began. His gaze remained fixed ahead, as if this ceremony was nothing more than another business negotiation.
Which, in truth, it was. When the priest reached the vow exchange, Dominic finally turned toward me. His expression remained unreadable, but his eyes burned with something far more dangerous than hatred. They burned with memory.
"I, Dominic Volkov," he began, his voice echoing confidently through the cathedral, "take Isabella Moretti as my lawfully wedded wife… under the terms agreed upon by both parties."
A ripple of confused murmurs spread through the guests. The priest hesitated slightly, clearly surprised by Dominic's phrasing, but Dominic simply reached into his jacket and removed a sleek black folder.
My pulse quickened. He opened it slowly, deliberately, before handing a stack of papers to the priest. "Please read the additional vows," Dominic said calmly.
The priest adjusted his glasses, scanning the document. His brows furrowed slightly before he cleared his throat.
"Both parties agree this marriage shall function as a contractual union for a period of three years, during which Isabella Moretti will fulfill all social, public, and domestic duties expected of Mrs. Volkov…"
Gasps echoed through the cathedral.
My stomach twisted, but I kept my expression steady. I had read every word of that contract before signing it. I had memorized every humiliating clause.
"…In return, Dominic Volkov agrees to provide financial protection to the Moretti family and settle all outstanding debts associated with the Moretti estate."
The words hit me like a blade sliding carefully between my ribs. Protection! Such a beautiful word for ownership. Dominic watched me closely as the priest continued reading the conditions. His gaze searched my face, waiting for a crack, a sign of regret, a moment of weakness.
I gave him nothing.
"Do you accept these vows?" the priest asked me carefully. The entire room fell silent.
I swallowed, forcing air into lungs that suddenly felt too tight.
"I accept," I said.
My voice didn't shake. I refused to give Dominic that satisfaction. A faint smile ghosted across his lips, but it carried no warmth. Only victory. "Do you, Dominic Volkov, accept these vows?" the priest asked.
"I do," he answered instantly, his gaze never leaving mine.
The priest nodded slowly, clearly unsettled but continuing the ceremony. "You may exchange rings." Dominic slid the ring onto my finger with slow precision. The diamond caught the chandelier light, sparkling like a beautiful lie.
When I placed his ring on his finger, my hand brushed against his pulse. It was steady. Controlled. Completely unaffected. Of course it was.
Dominic leaned closer as the priest prepared to pronounce us husband and wife. His breath brushed my ear, sending unwanted chills down my spine.
"You once wanted my empire," he whispered.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs. "Now you'll live inside it as my prisoner." The priest's voice cut through the moment. "I now pronounce you husband and wife." The applause began, hesitant at first, then louder as cameras flashed around us. The world saw a billionaire wedding.
They didn't see the cage closing around me.
Dominic placed his hand on my waist, pulling me closer with possessive ease. To the audience, it looked romantic.
To me, it felt like a warning.
"Smile," he murmured. I forced my lips into a soft curve. Dominic studied my face, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if searching for the girl he once knew. The girl who loved him without fear.
She was still there. Hidden beneath years of secrets, sacrifice, and silence. And she was the reason I stood here now. Dominic tilted my chin upward, his touch almost gentle. The gesture confused me for half a heartbeat before his lips brushed against mine.
The kiss was brief. Cold. Controlled. A performance for the watching world. But as he pulled away, his grip on my waist tightened just enough to hurt. "You'll learn," he said quietly, his voice laced with promise and danger, "that marrying me was the worst mistake of your life."
I met his gaze steadily, ignoring the ache blooming in my chest.
Maybe it would be.
Or maybe… It would be the only way to save him.