Chapter Two: The Vows
667 Words
The chapel was silent.
Amira stood at the back, veil drawn over her face, heart thundering in her chest like it wanted to escape. The dress clung tightly to her body, making it hard to breathe. Her fingers clenched around the bouquet so tightly that the stems dug into her palms, but she couldn’t feel the pain. All she could think was that this was wrong.
She had dreamed of walking down an aisle before, but not like this. Not to him. Not to the man who hadn’t said a single kind word since he stepped into her life.
The doors remained closed. A woman came to adjust her veil. A man checked her train. No one looked her in the eyes.
Then the doors opened.
Warm light spilled across the floor as the organ music began. Everyone in the hall turned.
She stepped forward.
Each footstep echoed. Her heels clicked against marble. The room was a blur of flowers, expensive suits, curious stares. Some people smiled politely. Others whispered. None of them knew what was happening behind the polished smiles.
At the end of the aisle, Lucien Moretti waited.
He stood tall in a black suit, tie straight, hands folded in front of him. He didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. He looked at her like a man about to make a deal, not a vow.
Her feet moved, but her mind screamed.
When she reached the altar, no one asked if she was sure. No one asked if she wanted this.
Lucien didn’t offer his hand.
She stood beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, but there was a wall between them. Invisible, cold, and impossible to climb.
The priest began the ceremony, his voice calm, practiced, distant.
Lucien didn’t flinch. His gaze stayed forward, locked on something far away.
Amira’s hands trembled. Her bouquet felt heavier with every word spoken.
She glanced at Lucien. His jaw was tight. His expression unreadable.
This wasn’t a wedding. It was a transaction.
And she was the price.
Do you, Lucien Moretti, take Amira Valenti to be your lawfully wedded wife
Yes
His answer came sharp and immediate. No emotion. No pause.
The priest turned to her.
Do you, Amira Valenti, take Lucien Moretti
She didn’t speak. Not at first. Her throat was dry. Her vision blurred.
She thought of her mother, sitting somewhere in the crowd, hiding the truth behind perfect makeup.
She thought of her father, silent and firm, trading her future for power.
She thought of Daniel, the man who disappeared and left her here.
And then she looked at Lucien.
This man had stepped into the fire without blinking. Had claimed her like it meant nothing.
Yes
The word was quiet, but it echoed through the chapel.
The priest nodded.
By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.
Lucien turned.
He didn’t lift her veil gently. He didn’t look at her with softness or pride.
He pulled it back with one hand, leaned in, and pressed his lips to hers.
Cold. Controlled. Like checking off a box.
She didn’t kiss him back.
It was over in seconds.
The guests clapped. Cameras flashed. But Amira felt nothing.
Lucien stepped back. His eyes met hers for a moment. She saw no joy. No regret. Only certainty.
She had been chosen. Not loved.
He offered his arm. She took it.
Together, they walked back down the aisle as husband and wife.
People cheered around them. Called her beautiful. Called them perfect.
But her heart was quiet.
Outside the chapel, black cars waited.
Lucien opened the door for her.
She paused, just for a second, looking up at the man who now owned her name.
Why did you do this
His voice was calm.
Because I don’t leave unfinished business.
She got into the car.
Lucien followed.
As the door closed behind them, she realized the vows were done, but the war had just begun.
- Writer
