Alice pov
Last night was a rehearsal. A fancy show in which they trotted me out like someone else's trophy, all velvet and diamonds, smiling for men with dripping bloody hands and cigars. They called it a pre-wedding dinner. I call it what it is: a mafia auction. They stared at me the way hunters would stare at their captive prey, just before they were going to mount it or skin it alive.
But now? Now was the genuine article.
In front of the three-way mirror, ringed by women who pretended to be stylists but were probably stand-by assassins, stood the wedding dress ensnared around me like a second skin—glinting lace that could cut a throat with one stroke, smooth satin that could constrict as a noose. They went with white, of course. I laugh at how predictable they are. Purity. Unity. New beginning.
All lies.
Beginnings never occurred in Jermin's empire.
Something is on my eyes courtesy of the makeup artist, and I feel the touch. A gentle smile of the lady, though I don't think smooth here. All the items in this house possess the sharpest edge, even the light.
As if the door knock wanted to clear out the room, I could effortlessly deduce who it was. The air became charged.
He walked in without the trouble of being asked in.
Jermin Hunt.
A suit made of the same cloth as death. Black. Regal. Seared with a ghastly arrogance.
His eyes ran over me, balancing me out as a masterpiece and a flaw.
"You look. obedient."
My slow, beautiful, deadly smile flickered in front of him in the mirror.
"I'm wearing what you wanted me to, aren't I?"
He followed me, putting his hands on my shoulders. I did not flinch this time.
I want him to think I am settled. Tamed.
"Obey the rules," he whispers into my ear, "and you'll be safe."
I look back at him. My mouth barely moves. "I didn't come here to play safe."
His smile never reached his eyes. It never does. He left as though he'd never been there, and the echo of his boots remained on the floor.
A few minutes later, I am being led down a poetic marble staircase. The corridor is cathedral-wide, draped in glass and gold. From every darkened corner, underworld patrons have gathered, with masks of civility, cologne that can't hide the stench of rot.
Noah is present, seated in the front pew, wide-eyed and tiny in his doll suit. My heart winces, but I'm not permitted to go out for him. Not yet. Not today.
Jermin stands before the altar like a king beside a guillotine. The priest, bought and bound, spoke the holy words with the emptiness of one who has seen so many sins throughout life that the eyes no longer even water.
Everyone's eyes are on me as I walk up to Jermin. All the whispers about me. Not in awe-more in judgment. Livestock is being critiqued all around me.
When will she snap?
I smiled.
Let them be in awe.
My fingers slide into Jermin's when I touch him. Warm, solid hand. Possessive. He says nothing, but I can feel it in the way he holds me firm, like I'm a ribbon that would come untied at any moment.
Vows said. More akin to agreements signed. "To have and to hold" sounds suspiciously like "to claim and control."
Gold heavy, I felt the ring like a shackle come down over my finger.
Then he drew back the veil.
And kissed me.
Curt, polite applause from the crowd. But my ears are still ringing with the rhythm of blood and the scream that lived in my throat.
The kiss was sudden. Rehearsed. A waltz between two players who knew the steps and hated the ending.
As we walked away from the crowd, I saw his mother. That serpent in diamonds. A slow inclination of her head towards him. Approval. But I saw it- the flash of doubt.
She knows I'm deadly.
Good.
Let her be afraid. Let her whisper tales in whispers to her son. Let them wonder when the knife will drop.
The crystal and piano contaminate the reception. We dance beneath chandeliers worth more than some countries. With Jermin in command, always.
"You're beautiful," he says into my ear.
"I know," I say.
His grip on my arm tightens.
We toast glasses of contaminated smiles. We cut the cake with knives capable of being turned into weapons. We pose before flash cameras that are equivalent to shining spotlights on our lie.
He kisses my temple. Cameras snap. My skin crawls with revulsion.
By the time the night is almost over, the room will be half-empty. And then there will be the moment I've been waiting for.
The honeymoon suite.
He walks down the hallway that I had memorised days ago. I had counted each step and each exit route. The room is a palace unto itself. Gold-framed mirrors, a bed that could swallow me whole.
He closes the door behind him. "We are married now."
I sit at the end of the bed. "So it seems."
He comes over to me slowly, as if I'm something he'd like to open.
I give him a hard look. "Do you want me to pretend to want this?"
He hesitates.
Then shrugs. "Better pretend than nothing."
I move in towards him, placing a hand on his chest. "Then let's both pretend."
And for an hour, we performed the oldest play in history.
But I'm lightyears away in my head.
I'm thinking about the contract. The estate. The empire that I've just joined.
I'm thinking about the woman who killed my father.
I'm thinking about the kid who calls me Mom.
And I smile in the dark.
Because I didn't come here to be a wife.
I became the last Hunt standing.
Let the contract bind me.
Let the c
rown smother me.
I will wear it proudly.
Until it is mine alone.