The lace veil brushed against her lips every time Sasha breathed, soft as a whisper, but her heart was anything but soft.
It slammed against her ribs like it was trying to escape.
The church doors stood in front of her like a wall made of gold and judgment, tall enough to swallow every mistake Sasha had ever made, every secret Sasha had ever kept, and every tear Sasha had ever cried in silence, and right now, all Sasha could think about was the man waiting on the other side.
Him.
The name Sasha had never dared to say too loudly in her childhood.
The face Sasha had watched from a distance for years, smiling at someone else.
her sister's fiancé.
her first love.
her forever dream.
And today… somehow… he was going to be mine.
Sasha tightened her fingers around her father's arm as if he were the only thing keeping her from floating away, or collapsing right onto the marble floor, because her knees were shaking so badly that even the expensive satin of her gown couldn't hide it.
The wedding dress was heavy, the kind of heavy that reminded you how much it cost, how much it mattered, how much it was meant to impress people who didn't care about love, only power.
Sasha swallowed, her throat dry.
Her father's cologne filled her nose, sharp and suffocating.
Then his voice came, low and cruel, like a knife sliding out of its sheath.
"Don't embarrass her, Sasha."
Sasha didn't answer.
Sasha didn't dare.
Sasha slowly tilted her head up, just enough to catch the look on his face.
Cold.
Hard.
The same expression he had worn her whole life, as if Sasha was a stain he couldn't scrub off, no matter how much he tried.
Even today, even when Sasha stood dressed like a princess, he looked at her like Sasha was still nothing.
His fingers tightened around her arm, not affectionate, not protective, but warning.
"You will walk in there," he continued, his voice quieter now, "and you will smile. Understand?"
Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.
What was there to say?
Yes, Father, Sasha will smile while you sell her like property.
Instead, Sasha forced her head forward again and stared at the closed doors.
Behind them was her dream.
And behind her dream… was her doom.
A staff member in a black suit hurried toward her, holding a clipboard, her eyes wide with panic and excitement, the way people looked when they were part of something expensive.
"Miss Sasha," she said quickly, "we're about to begin. Thirty seconds."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice as if we were sharing secrets.
"Remember to lift your skirt slightly with each step. The aisle is long, and we don't want you tripping."
Sasha nodded.
Her hands trembled as Sasha adjusted her grip on the fabric, the jeweled rings on her fingers catching the light.
"Thank you," Sasha whispered.
Her voice sounded small, like it belonged to a different person.
The staff member smiled brightly, the kind of smile people practiced in mirrors, then stepped away.
Her father exhaled sharply beside her.
"Stop shaking," he muttered. "You're not a child."
Sasha wanted to laugh.
If he only knew how hard Sasha was trying not to fall apart.
Because this wasn't just a wedding.
This was a miracle dressed up as a nightmare.
Sasha had imagined this moment so many times that it should have felt familiar, like stepping into a memory, but instead it felt like stepping off a cliff.
In every dream Sasha ever had, Sasha walked down the aisle alone.
Sasha walked proudly.
Sasha walked freely.
There was no father gripping her arm like Sasha was a hostage, no threat hidden behind every breath.
And yet… the groom was always the same.
Always him.
Even when her dreams changed, even when the church became a garden, even when the dress became silk instead of lace, even when the music changed from violins to piano…
His face never changed.
His eyes never changed.
And now, reality had stolen him from her dreams and placed him right in front of her.
Sasha couldn't even believe it.
A small part of her kept waiting for someone to tap her shoulder and laugh.
Wake up, Sasha.
This is not for you.
Her father leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear.
"They will accept you," he murmured, voice dripping with certainty. "They have no choice anymore."
Her stomach twisted.
Sasha remembered the day he said those words, how his eyes had looked almost satisfied, like he enjoyed watching fear settle into her bones.
Sasha had asked him quietly, barely daring to breathe.
Will he agree? Will his family agree?
Her father's answer had been sharp.
"They'll agree because they have to."
That was when Sasha understood.
This marriage wasn't built on love.
It was built on desperation.
On survival.
On a deal too dirty to say out loud.
Still, her heart didn't care.
Her heart didn't care that it was wrong.
Her heart didn't care that he was never meant to be mine.
All her heart knew was that Sasha had wanted him since Sasha was young enough to believe love could fix anything.
And now, love had brought her here.
Or maybe it was misfortune wearing love's face.
The wedding coorVeronikator lifted her hand, counting down with her fingers.
"Three…"
Her breath caught.
"Two…"
Her pulse thundered.
"One…"
The doors began to open.
The sound of the hinges echoed like a final warning.
The music swelled instantly, loud and grand, filling the air as if the church itself was announcing her fate.
The light poured in.
Bright.
Blinding.
For a second, Sasha saw nothing but white and gold, like heaven had cracked open just to watch her suffer.
Camera flashes exploded like lightning.
Her father tugged her arm.
"Move."
Her heels hit the marble.
The first step felt unreal.
The second step felt worse.
The aisle stretched endlessly ahead, decorated with flowers so perfect they looked fake, but Sasha knew the guests were real.
Sasha couldn't see their faces clearly through the veil and the harsh lights, but Sasha could feel them.
Their stares.
Their whispers.
Their curiosity.
People who had ignored her existence her entire life were now watching her like Sasha was suddenly important.
Like Sasha mattered.
But Sasha knew the truth.
They weren't here for her.
They were here for what Sasha represented.
A replacement.
A sacrifice.
A solution.
The veil hid her expression, and Sasha was grateful for it because her smile felt forced, like it didn't belong on her face.
Her father leaned toward her again, his voice almost silent beneath the music.
"Smile wider."
Sasha obeyed.
Not because Sasha wanted to.
Because Sasha had always obeyed.
Her hands clutched her bouquet so tightly the stems dug into her palms, and the scent of roses rose into her nose, sweet and suffocating.
Sasha lifted her skirt slightly like the staff member told her, taking careful steps, but her legs were numb, her body moving on instinct alone.
The aisle was too long.
The church was too large.
The world was too loud.
And yet… Sasha kept walking.
Because at the end of the aisle, he was there.
Waiting.
her groom.
her dream.
her tragedy.
Even from this distance, Sasha could see his broad shoulders, his posture straight and commanding, the expensive suit hugging him perfectly like it had been tailored by angels.
The man Sasha had loved in silence.
The man Sasha had never been allowed to want.
The man who had once looked at her sister with warmth, Sasha had never received from anyone.
And now, he stood at the altar, waiting for her.
Her chest tightened.
Her eyes stung.
A name echoed in her mind, soft and trembling like a prayer.
Veronika.
her twin sister.
her other half.
The only person who had ever treated her like Sasha wasn't a mistake.
Sasha swallowed hard as tears threatened to spill beneath the veil.
This is for you.
Sasha forced her steps forward, the fabric of her gown brushing against the aisle like waves.
This is for you, Veronika.
Sasha could almost hear her voice in her head, gentle and warm.
Be brave, Sasha.
You deserve happiness, too.
Her throat tightened.
Sasha wanted to believe that.
Sasha wanted to believe that badly.
As Sasha walked, the lights grew harsher, the flashes brighter, the whispers louder, and her heart pounded harder until it felt like her ribs might crack.
Sasha kept smiling.
Even though her hands were cold.
Even though her lungs felt tight.
Even though every part of her was screaming that this wasn't right.
And yet… Sasha couldn't stop.
Because Sasha was almost there.
Almost close enough to see his face clearly.
Almost close enough to know if his eyes held disgust, anger, indifference…
Or something worse.
Sasha took another step.
Then another.
And with each one, the truth pressed heavier against her chest.
This wasn't a fairytale.
This was a deal sealed in lace and diamonds.
A wedding built on secrets.
A marriage built on bloodline and power.
And Sasha was walking straight into it, dressed like a bride, smiling like a fool, while her heart whispered the same words it had whispered her entire life.
Sasha loves you.
Even if Sasha shouldn't.
Even if it destroys her.
Even if the man of her dreams turns out to be the man who ruins her.
And when Sasha finally reached the altar…
Her father's grip loosened.
The music softened.
The entire church held its breath.
And Sasha lifted her gaze to meet the eyes of the man Sasha had loved for years.
The man Sasha was about to marry.
The Underworld King, whose name itself just makes countless gangs tremble in fear: Ivan Sergeyevich Orlov, aka simply called the Tsar.
Her hands trembled beneath the bouquet.
Sasha forced her lips to move before her emotions could betray her.
"Ivan," Sasha whispered.
His name tasted unfamiliar, like a word from a language Sasha used to speak fluently but abandoned for years.
Four years.
That was how long Sasha had stayed away.
Four years of running, pretending Sasha didn't remember the warmth of his voice, the way his eyes used to soften whenever he looked at her sister, the way Sasha used to stand behind doors and watch him laugh as if laughter was something only other people deserved.
He stared at her for a long moment, and Sasha couldn't tell if he was seeing her or seeing her.
Her body stiffened beneath the lace.
Then he lifted his hand toward her.
His palm was open, steady, patient, like he wasn't worried at all.
Like he knew Sasha would take it.
Her breath caught as Sasha slowly placed her hand in his.
The moment his fingers closed around mine, warmth rushed into her skin, spreading up her arm like a memory Sasha didn't want to admit Sasha missed.
His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles.
A simple gesture.
A dangerous one.
Because it felt intimate.
Too intimate.
Her pulse spiked.
Sasha wondered if he felt the tremble in her hand.
Sasha wondered if he could hear the screaming in her chest.
He leaned closer, his lips nearing her ear, and the scent of his cologne hit her, familiar enough to make her stomach twist.
Then his voice dropped, meant only for her.
"Welcome back."
Her eyes widened under the veil.
Her entire body froze.
Welcome back?
Not congratulations.
Not Veronika, you're finally here.
Welcome back.
That wasn't something you said to the woman who had been living here all along.
That was something you said to someone who had left.
Someone who had disappeared.
Someone like…
her.
her heart thudded painfully as Sasha stared at him, trying to find the answer in his expression, but his face remained calm, his eyes unreadable like ocean water at night.
He continued, soft and steady.
"You look extremely beautiful."
her lips parted slightly, and a shaky laugh almost escaped her, because what else was Sasha supposed to do when the man Sasha had loved for years was looking at her like he had known all along?
Like he wasn't fooled.
Like he was waiting.
The church suddenly felt too hot.
Too bright.
Too loud.
The guests were murmuring softly in the background, cameras flashing like lightning, but none of that mattered because all Sasha could hear was her own heartbeat pounding against the inside of her skull.
Sasha forced herself to speak, trying to keep her voice light, playful, normal.
"Even with the veil still on?" Sasha teased.
His lips curved, slow and controlled, the kind of smile that could ruin a woman's life without him even trying.
"Especially with the veil still on," he murmured, then his voice dipped lower, darker. "But I'd rather see your face properly."
Her breath stopped.
Sasha watched his hand rise toward her veil, his fingers careful as they touched the lace near her cheek.
Every movement he made was gentle, almost respectful, but the intimacy of it made her skin prickle.
The veil lifted.
The world sharpened instantly.
His face came into full view, close enough to steal the air from her lungs.
Ivan Orlov.
Blond hair neatly styled, the strands catching the light.
Ocean-blue eyes so clear they looked unreal, the kind of eyes that didn't belong to ordinary men.
His jaw was sharp, his lips perfectly shaped, and the white tuxedo he wore made him look like a prince in a fairytale that had forgotten how to be kind.
For a moment, Sasha couldn't blink.
Sasha just stared.
Because the last time Sasha saw him, she had been younger, weaker, and desperate enough to believe her love meant something even if it was never returned.
Now he looked older.
More dangerous.
Like the kind of man who could destroy someone with a single decision.
And he was mine.
No.
Not mine.
Not truly.
Sasha was just standing where her sister should have been.
Ivan's gaze swept over her face slowly, almost as if he was memorizing it, and then he smiled again, softer this time.
"You really do look wonderful," he said quietly. "Shall we?"
Her throat tightened.
The words should have made her happy.
They should have made her feel like Sasha was finally living her dream.
But instead, they made her stomach twist with guilt so sharp it almost hurt.
Because Sasha knew what he was seeing.
He was seeing Veronika's face.
Veronika's smile.
Veronika's beauty.
And behind that, hidden like a ghost behind glass…
was her.
Still, Sasha nodded.
"Yes," Sasha whispered.
His fingers tightened around mine again, and he guided her the final steps toward the priest.
The altar felt like a stage.
The entire church felt like an audience waiting for the main act to begin.
Sasha could sense eyes everywhere, watching the groom, watching the bride, watching the perfect twin face beneath the lifted veil.
If only they knew.
If only they knew the bride standing here wasn't the one they were celebrating.
The priest began speaking, his voice echoing warmly through the church, but the words blurred into meaningless sound because her mind was drowning in one thought.
This isn't real.
Ivan stood beside her, tall and composed, and Sasha could feel the heat of his body through the thin space between them.
Sasha kept staring forward, pretending Sasha wasn't terrified.
Pretending Sasha wasn't waiting for everything to collapse.
Then Ivan leaned closer again, his lips near her ear.
"It's your turn," he whispered.
Sasha blinked.
Her mind snapped back like a rope pulled too hard.
The priest was looking at her.
The guests were silent.
The entire church was waiting.
Her mouth went dry.
Sasha realized with horror that she hadn't heard half of what was said.
Sasha had been standing here like a doll, smiling like a liar.
Her lips moved before her brain could catch up.
"I do," Sasha blurted, louder than she meant to.
A few soft chuckles rippled through the crowd.
Heat rushed to her cheeks.
"I… I do," Sasha repeated, quieter this time, gripping Ivan's hand like it was the only thing keeping her from falling.
Ivan's thumb brushed over her fingers again, calming, reassuring, as if he was telling her without words that it was fine.
The priest smiled brightly, pleased, almost proud.
And then he spoke the words that made her heart stop.
"You may now kiss the bride."
The room seemed to tilt.
Her breath caught.
Her lips parted slightly in panic.
This wasn't part of her dreams.
Not like this.
Not in front of all these people.
Not with the weight of her sister's identity sitting on her shoulders like chains.
Ivan turned his head toward her slowly.
His eyes locked onto mine, and suddenly the church disappeared.
The guests disappeared.
Even the priest disappeared.
There was only him.
Only his gaze, sharp and unreadable, like he was searching her face for something that wasn't supposed to be there.
Then he leaned in.
Slowly.
Close enough that Sasha could feel his breath brush against her lips.
Close enough that her entire body stiffened.
His hand slid up, fingers resting lightly against her jaw, tilting her face toward him with quiet authority.
Her heart pounded violently.
This was the moment every girl dreamed about.
But all Sasha could feel was fear.
Fear that he would taste the lie on her lips.
Fear that he would pull away and whisper her real name in front of everyone.
Fear that he would realize that the woman he was about to kiss was not his bride.
His lips hovered just a breath away.