Hikky woke up to the faint scent of lavender and the soft rustle of the morning breeze seeping through the curtains. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then the realization hit her—today was her wedding day.
Her wedding.
To Dante Moretti.
The thought alone made her heart skip a beat. She turned on the bed, half expecting to see him beside her, but the space was empty—cold, yet carrying the lingering trace of his cologne. It still didn't feel real. She had fallen asleep beside her crush, the man every woman feared yet secretly desired. The man who, by evening, would become her husband.
"Is this really happening?" she whispered to herself, brushing her fingers over the wrinkled sheet where he had slept.
Hikky got up quickly and tidied the bed, her mind whirling between disbelief and a strange flutter of happiness. But the moment she stepped out of the room, that fragile warmth shattered.
Every maid in the hallway was standing there—lined up, eyes piercing through her like sharpened blades. Their faces were painted with scorn, lips curling into judgmental sneers.
Hikky froze, clutching the side of her dress nervously. Her gaze fell to the floor.
Then Maryann, one of the senior maids, stepped forward with venom dripping from her words.
"Shameless slut," she hissed. "So the rumors were true—you've been sleeping with our boss! You didn't even sleep in your chamber last night, did you?"
The others murmured in agreement, throwing hateful glances and stifled giggles her way.
"You think being his toy will save you?" Maryann continued, circling her like a vulture. "Wait until Lady B hears about this. You'll wish you were never born."
The words struck like daggers. Hikky's throat tightened, and tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to explain, to deny it—but what could she say when every word sounded like a lie even to her own ears?
Maryann scoffed. "I hate those crocodile tears," she spat, raising her hand to strike Hikky.
"Don't you dare."
The deep, commanding voice sliced through the corridor like thunder.
Every maid froze. Slowly, they turned—and there he was.
Dante Moretti.
Tall, composed, dressed in a black suit that commanded fear and desire in equal measure. His gaze was deadly calm as it landed on Maryann, who instantly fell to her knees.
"Sir—we didn't mean—" she stammered.
"What's your business," Dante interrupted icily, "with a woman wearing my engagement ring?"
His voice was soft but lethal, each word echoing authority. "You dared raise your hand against her? You dare play with fire in my house?"
"Forgive me, sir!" Maryann's voice trembled. "We—we didn't know—"
"You will be transferred to Lady B's quarters tonight," he said coldly. "Consider yourself lucky I'm in a forgiving mood."
The air seemed to still. Even the walls held their breath. Then Dante turned toward Hikky, his expression softening.
"Are you hurt?" he asked gently, his tone a stark contrast to the storm moments ago.
She shook her head, speechless.
"Good," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Go. The designers are waiting. You'll be fitted for your gown in thirty minutes."
---
Half an hour later, Hikky stood before the mirror, staring at her reflection.
Her dress wasn't white.
It was black—a silk gown that hugged her body, draped in an obsidian veil that concealed her face. The fabric shimmered under the dim lights, turning her into something both beautiful and tragic.
A bride dressed like a mourner.
She touched the veil, her chest tightening. "A wedding... that feels like a funeral," she whispered.
When she descended the staircase, Dante was waiting at the foot of it, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. His eyes met hers—dark, unreadable—and without a word, he offered his hand. She took it.
As they rode in silence to the chapel, Hikky's heart pounded with every turn of the wheels. The streets were empty, the sky clouded over, and even the wind seemed to mourn. When the car stopped, she saw it—the chapel.
Decorated in black roses.
Lit by silver candles.
Every guest dressed in shadowed hues.
Her father stood by the entrance, his face illuminated by the faint glow of candles. He smiled—a bittersweet, knowing smile—and took her trembling hand.
"Come, my daughter," he said softly. "It's time."
She walked the aisle slowly, every step echoing through the hollow silence. The scent of incense and burning wax filled the air. At the altar stood Dante, tall and calm, his gaze never leaving her.
When the priest began the vows, Hikky felt her breath falter. The world around her blurred; all she could see was Dante—her mysterious, unreadable husband-to-be.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest declared.
And then—
Bang!
A gunshot tore through the chapel.
The sound echoed like thunder.
The candles flickered.
The black roses trembled.
And Hikky froze—her hand still clasped in Dante's—as chaos erupted around them.