Chapter 2 : Midnight Vows
937 Words
The world outside the car windows blurred into streaks of gold and black as Nico’s town car sped away from the gala.
Aria pressed herself into the farthest corner of the back seat, her fingers clutching the edge of her dress so hard her knuckles turned white. Her chest rose and fell in ragged, uneven breaths.
Nico sat across from her, impossibly composed, one arm resting lazily across the back of the seat. In the dim light, his eyes looked almost black — bottomless and merciless, carefully watching her.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, her voice hoarse from screaming into a void no one had heard.
He tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating an insect. “To fulfill your promise,” he answered calmly.
“I never agreed to this,” she spat.
A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “You did the moment you stepped into that gala wearing your little golden gown, thinking you were untouchable.”
Her eyes stung. She turned to the window, the city lights flickering past like ghost fires.
Minutes stretched into an eternity before the car finally pulled up to a small, ivy-covered private chapel. A single lantern burned at the doorway, casting the steps in a gentle glow — a cruel illusion of warmth.
The ivory roses lining the pathway looked like tiny ghosts under the streetlights. Aria clenched the bouquet of roses she didn’t choose tightly, her breath shallow and sharp.
A priest stood waiting outside, holding a small leather-bound book, his face tight with discomfort.
Nico stepped out first, straightened his suit jacket, and turned to her, extending a hand as if they were stepping onto a red carpet.
She glared at him, refused the hand, and stepped out on her own.
His lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Good. Fight me. It makes this more interesting.”
She stumbled slightly on the uneven stone path, but forced herself upright, shoulders squared.
Inside, candles flickered along the aisle, illuminating rows of empty pews. There were no guests, no music, no flowers — just silence thick enough to choke her.
Nico walked her forward, his palm firm at her lower back, controlling every movement.
On the other side, cameras clicked rapidly. Guests whispered behind gloved hands: She’s been left? Did he really abandon her?
They weren’t here to celebrate love – they were here to witness a scandal more shocking than any tabloid rumor.
Richard’s message still glared at her, on her screen: I’m sorry. I can’t do this.
Her mother sat at the front pew, face pale and blotchy with tears, hands trembling violently over a lace handkerchief. When Aria’s eyes met hers, her mother nodded shakily – a fragile blessing, or a silent plea. Aria couldn’t tell.
The priest stood ready, shuffling his notes with trembling fingers, sweat glistening at his hairline. He avoided Aria’s eyes entirely, as if he, too, was complicit in this grotesque performance. He cleared his throat nervously. “Shall we begin?”
Aria opened her mouth to protest, but Nico’s hand slipped around her wrist, a bruising promise hidden behind that deceptively gentle grip.
“Do it,” Nico ordered the priest, his voice low and sharp.
The priest’s eyes darted between them before he began, words quivering in the hollow chapel.
“Dearly beloved… we are gathered here tonight to unite these two souls…”
Aria’s mind drifted, her vision swaying. She thought of her mother’s hospital bed, the beeping machines that never stopped. Thought of her father’s debts. Thought of Richard’s final text: I can’t do this.
Every promise she had ever believed in crumbled into ash in her throat.
Her gaze drifted to her discarded bouquet on the marble floor. White petals splayed out like fallen feathers, each one a dream she would never reclaim.
She felt the heat of Nico’s presence beside her, so close it felt like an invisible chain looped around her neck.
“Aria Moreau,” the priest said, “Do you take this man—”
She forced herself to meet Nico’s gaze. His eyes burned into her, dark and hungry, daring her to defy him.
Her lips trembled. “I… I do,” she whispered, each word falling from her mouth like a curse.
A flicker of triumph crossed his face.
“Do you, Nico Moretti—”
“I do,” he snapped, no hesitation, no warmth.
The priest hesitated, glancing at Aria as if waiting for a sign — a final plea, a refusal, a cry for help. But she stood frozen, her spirit curling inward, shattered.
“By the power vested in me… I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest finished.
Nico closed the space between them, pressing a harsh, possessive kiss to her lips. It wasn’t tender — it was a claim, a seal on the contract he had forced upon her.
When he finally pulled back, his hand stayed on her jaw, forcing her to look at him.
“Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Moretti,” he whispered, his breath ghosting against her ear. “I’ll enjoy breaking you.”
A shiver ran down her spine.
As Nico led her out of the chapel and back toward the waiting car, Aria turned her head once more, her eyes sweeping over the empty pews and cold candles.
A silent vow burned in her heart — if she ever found a way out, she would make him regret every stolen promise, every stolen breath.
But tonight, under the watchful glow of a single lantern, she belonged to him completely.
- Writer
