"Poor bride… she's been standing there for hours."
The whisper slid through the church like cold smoke, curling between the marble pillars and stained-glass saints that stared down without pity.
"It's humiliating," another woman murmured, voice dripping with sympathy that felt more like entertainment. "Imagine being abandoned on your wedding day."
A man chuckled softly, then lowered his voice. "Maybe the groom ditched her."
"Don't say that," someone hissed. "That's cruel…"
Cruel.
Funny how people only remembered that word when it wasn't their neck in the noose.
Chloe stood at the altar like a decorative sacrifice, wrapped in a white wedding dress so expensive it could've paid off a small country's debt. The fabric glittered under the chandeliers, the sequins catching light like little mocking stars.
Heavy. Suffocating.
The lace sleeves scratched her skin, the corset pressed into her ribs, and her heels… God, her heels were killing her. Her feet had gone numb nearly an hour ago, and now the pain had started climbing up her legs like a slow-burning fire.
But Chloe didn't move.
Because brides were supposed to look graceful.
Even when they were being sold.
Her fingers tightened and loosened over and over again, twisting the fabric of her gown until her knuckles whitened. She'd lost count of how many times she'd done it. A hundred? Two hundred?
Enough to leave her hands trembling.
The church was freezing, carved from white marble like a tomb pretending to be holy. And yet sweat trickled down her back, sticky and humiliating beneath the layers of silk.
Chloe didn't want to be here.
She didn't want this dress.
She didn't want this marriage.
And she definitely didn't want the groom.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to breathe evenly.
Today, she was supposed to become the wife of a man she had never met.
Not because she loved him.
Not because she chose him.
But because the world didn't care what she wanted.
This wasn't a wedding.
This was a transaction.
A contract marriage.
And her signature had been bought with the most valuable currency in the universe.
Fear.
A quiet murmur rose behind her again, growing restless.
"Where is he?"
"We've been waiting nearly three hours…"
"Shh… keep your voice down."
The last voice carried something sharp, something urgent. Not a warning out of politeness.
A warning for survival.
Chloe turned her head slightly, careful, subtle, like she was afraid the air itself might punish her.
Rows of men filled the church.
Not guests.
Not family.
Soldiers.
They wore black suits and expressionless faces, their bodies rigid like they were carved out of violence itself. Most of them had their hands hidden beneath their jackets.
Guns.
They didn't even bother pretending.
One man leaned toward another, whispering through clenched teeth.
"Has someone found him yet?"
"I sent my squad. He can't have gone far."
"He'd better show up soon," someone muttered darkly. "The boss is going to lose it."
The boss.
Even that title made her throat tighten.
Another man's voice followed, older, rougher, and full of disgust. "What kind of idiot skips his own wedding?"
A silence fell.
The air changed.
Not because someone had yelled.
But because someone had said something they weren't supposed to.
"Careful," the man beside him whispered quickly. "You want to die today?"
The old man scoffed anyway. "That kid is supposed to inherit everything? Rotten joke."
Her heart pounded harder.
Then another voice, softer but heavier, like a stone being dropped into water.
"If only his brother were still alive…"
That one didn't earn a scoff.
That one earned a sharp inhale.
Like, even the men with guns had limits to what they dared to say.
Chloe stared ahead again, forcing her eyes onto the altar, onto the priest, onto the cross hanging above him. The old priest looked like he was one breath away from collapsing. His face was pale, his hands trembling as he clutched the holy book.
He'd been standing as long as Chloe had.
His knees probably ached.
His soul definitely did.
She wondered what sin he'd committed to deserve being dragged into this nightmare.
Behind her, her grandmother's faint cough cut through the whispers.
Chloe turned her eyes toward her.
Granny sat in a wheelchair, wrapped in a thick shawl, her skin almost translucent beneath the harsh church lighting. A nurse stood behind her, hands clasped tight, face strained as if she was praying not to faint.
Her grandmother looked smaller than ever.
Fragile.
Like the wind could snap her in half.
And yet she was here.
Because she had no choice either.
The doctors couldn't tell her how long she had left. They used careful words, gentle phrases, as if kindness could soften reality.
But she didn't need a doctor to tell her the truth.
Time was running out.
That was why Chloe was standing at the altar in a dress she hated, marrying a man she didn't know, in a church that felt like a coffin.
Because the mafia had offered a deal.
And her grandmother's life was the collateral.
The priest cleared his throat shakily.
His voice came out thin, almost apologetic.
"U-um… perhaps we should postpone the ceremony until the groom arrives…"
For a split second, hope sparked inside her.
Postpone.
Cancel.
End this.
Then a voice thundered through the church like a gunshot.
"Shut up, old man!"
Every spine straightened.
Every whisper died.
Her blood turned to ice.
The man who spoke stepped forward from the front row.
He wasn't tall, not unusually.
But the way the room bent around him made him seem like a giant.
His suit was perfectly tailored, his hair slicked back, his face sharp with authority and fury. His eyes were cold, but his skin was flushed with rage, veins standing out on his neck.
And in his hand…
A gun.
A real gun.
Pointed directly at the priest's trembling face.
"I'll shoot you in the fucking face if you say postpone again," the man snarled.
The priest froze like a statue.
Her breath caught.
Her entire body locked up, as if the sound of his voice had turned her bones into glass.
Chloe stared at the weapon, her mind refusing to accept it.
This couldn't be real.
This had to be some horrible hallucination.
A nightmare her brain made up because it couldn't handle the truth.
But then the priest whimpered.
A sound of pure terror.
And reality slammed into her so hard her knees almost buckled.
This was real.
This was happening.
The man holding the gun turned slightly, and his gaze swept the church, daring anyone to challenge him.
No one did.
Because everyone knew who he was.
The monster who had forced this marriage into existence.
The man who had smiled at her while signing papers that would ruin her life.
The most influential mafia boss alive.
Ethan Cruz.
Chloe didn't even need to hear his last name to recognize it. The name alone was poison, famous even among ordinary people who had never seen the mafia up close.
Cruz.
A syndicate that didn't just break laws.
They erased them.
Rumor said the Cruz family had built their empire from blood and ash. That their founder had changed his name to Cruz and declared it a dynasty, branding the world like it belonged to him.
Rumor also said every member of the Cruz bloodline carried a wolf tattoo somewhere on their body.
A mark of ownership.
A mark of loyalty.
A mark that said: I bite before I speak.
Chloe didn't know if that part was true.
But she knew enough.
The Cruz syndicate ran tourism, healthcare, entertainment… all the clean industries that made them look like businessmen.
And beneath that?
Human trafficking.
Drugs.
Arms dealing.
Casinos.
Bodies disappearing without headlines.
No proof ever surfaced, of course.
Because proof didn't survive them.
The Cruz family lived above the law, and if the law ever dared to reach for them, it was the law that got broken.
And now…
Now Chloe was standing at the altar, waiting to marry the heir of that empire.
The son of the man currently threatening to murder a priest in a house of God.
Ethan Cruz's jaw clenched as he lowered the gun slightly, his voice simmering like boiling oil.
"My son will be here," he growled. "He will show up. He will marry her. And this wedding will happen."
The priest stumbled back like the gun had slapped him instead of the air. Both hands flew above his head in surrender, his holy book nearly slipping from his grip.
His lips trembled.
Then the sound came.
A broken sob.
He started crying openly, tears streaking down his wrinkled cheeks, and for a second Chloe wondered if he was about to faint… or wet himself.
Honestly, Chloe wouldn't blame him.
In fact, she was impressed he was still standing at all.
Chloe kept her eyes down and her mouth shut. In this church, words were dangerous. Breathing too loudly felt like a crime.
If Chloe wanted to leave here with her head still attached to her neck, silence was her only prayer.
Then the mafia boss roared again, voice shaking the marble walls.
"WHERE IS my SON?! WHERE'S Adam?!"
Adam.
So that was his name.
It was almost funny, in a sick, twisted way. Chloe was about to marry a man she had never met… and she hadn't even known what to call him until his father screamed it like a curse.
Not that it mattered.
Handsome or hideous.
Young or old.
Prince or beast.
A cage was still a cage, even if it came wrapped in gold.
Ethan Cruz spun around, his gun swinging with him, pointing at rows and rows of men dressed in black suits. They sat stiffly like shadows given human shape, their faces blank but their eyes alert.
The uniform of monsters.
And yet… they shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
Like children caught stealing.
No one wanted to be the one to deliver bad news.
One man, broad-shouldered and tense, stood up quickly. He looked like the type who had killed without blinking.
But even he swallowed nervously before speaking.
"B-Boss… I'm sure Master Adam is on his way. There's no need to worry."
Ethan's eyes snapped toward him.
"No need to worry?" he repeated, voice sharp enough to cut bone. "My son is late."
The man forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"He'll be here soon, boss. Just a little longer…"
Ethan grabbed him by the collar.
Hard.
The fabric strained under his fist as he yanked the man forward like he weighed nothing.
"Do you know where he is?" Ethan snarled. "Have you found him?! ANSWER ME!"
The man's face tightened. He didn't answer.
Because he couldn't.
Because he didn't know.
The room filled with suffocating silence, thick as smoke. Men avoided looking at their boss, avoided looking at her, avoided looking at anything that might draw attention.
Her heart pounded.
And deep inside, beneath all the fear… something dangerous bloomed.
Hope.
Adam hadn't been found.
Adam hadn't shown up.
Maybe he had run.
Maybe he had refused.
Maybe he hated this wedding as much as Chloe did.
The thought made her chest ache with relief.
Thank you, Adam Cruz.
Whoever you are… thank you for not coming.
If this marriage failed because the groom vanished, then it wouldn't be her fault.
It would be his.
And Chloe could go home.
Back to the countryside.
Back to the quiet mornings and her grandmother's frail smile.
Back to a life where her name wasn't tied to blood-stained wealth.
Chloe prayed harder than she ever had in her entire life.
She wasn't religious.
She barely believed in God.
But at that moment, Chloe would've offered her soul to anything listening.
Please.
Let him stay gone.
Let this end.
Then a voice shouted from the entrance.
"MASTER Adam HAS ARRIVED!"
The words hit her like a bullet.
Her lungs stopped working.
Her fingers went cold.
For a second, Chloe didn't understand what she'd heard.
Then Ethan Cruz's entire face transformed.
His rage vanished like it had never existed.
A grin spread across his lips, wide and triumphant.
"Perfect!" he boomed, clapping his hands together. "My Adam is finally here!"
Her stomach dropped.
Perfect.
For him.
For her, it felt like the world had just slammed shut.
Chloe turned around so fast her skirt flared out like a cloud of white feathers, the heavy dress fighting her as if it wanted to hold her in place.
The church doors began to open.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Dramatically.
Like the universe itself was savoring her doom.
The creaking sound echoed through the hall, and every head turned.
Every whisper died.
Every breath paused.
Chloe stared at the widening crack of darkness beyond the doorway, waiting for her future husband to step through.
And in her mind, the image formed before Chloe could stop it.
Old.
Ugly.
Cruel.
A man so undesirable that his father had to buy him a bride.
A man who couldn't find love even with billions at his feet.
Chloe braced herself.
The doors opened wider.
Ethan's voice rang out, delighted and proud.
"Adam!"
Then…
Adam entered.
Except he didn't walk.
Two men dressed entirely in black, faces hidden behind sunglasses, dragged him forward. They had his arms slung over their shoulders, holding him up like a fallen soldier.
At first, Chloe couldn't see his face clearly. His head hung low, blond hair spilling forward, hiding his expression.
But one thing was obvious.
He wasn't old.
He wasn't weak.
He was… huge.
Even hunched over, even half-collapsed, Adam was taller than both men supporting him. His body was built like something carved from stone, broad shoulders and long limbs that looked made for violence.
The two men hauled him down the aisle.
And then the smell hit.
Alcohol.
Strong.
Rotting.
Overwhelming.
It rolled through the church like poison gas, thick enough to make her nose burn.
her stomach twisted violently, and Chloe instinctively lifted her hand, fanning the air in front of her face.
He was drunk.
Not tipsy.
Not slightly buzzed.
Dead drunk.
Unconscious drunk.
As they came closer, Chloe saw more.
Adam's white suit jacket hung open, unbuttoned, revealing a bare chest.
A very defined bare chest.
His skin was pale under the lights, his muscles sharply outlined, his stomach tight with a clear six-pack that made it obvious he didn't live a lazy life.
Someone had dressed him while he was out.
White pants.
White blazer.
Black leather shoes.
No shirt.
No tie.
No dignity.
Just a beautiful, expensive disaster being dragged toward the altar like a corpse in designer clothing.
The whispers started again.
Soft.
Nervous.
Amused.
Chloe couldn't catch the words, but she could feel the judgment in the air.
This wasn't admiration.
This was an embarrassment.
And something else too…
Disdain.
Adam Cruz didn't seem universally respected.
He seemed… tolerated.
As the men stopped a few steps away, Adam's head lolled slightly to the side, blond hair falling back just enough for her to glimpse his face.
Sharp jaw.
Strong cheekbones.
Lips parted slightly as he breathed.
Even unconscious, he looked like the kind of man people stared at without meaning to.
Young.
Around her age.
And undeniably good-looking.
But her heart didn't flutter.
It didn't soften.
It didn't care.
A handsome cage was still a cage.
And this one reeked of alcohol.
Chloe stared at him, frozen, her hands clenched at her sides beneath the lace sleeves.
So this was her groom.
The heir of the Cruz syndicate.
Dragged into his own wedding like a prisoner.
The priest's voice trembled beside her.
"U-um…" he whispered, barely audible. "Is… is the groom even conscious?"
Chloe wanted to laugh.
Or scream.
Or collapse.
Instead, Chloe just stared at Adam's lifeless form and thought: This man is supposed to be her husband.
And somehow…
That felt even worse than him not showing up at all.