Wedded To The Underworld

The wedding night

Zia

I went to sit on the edge of the bed, the silence of our wedding night pressing in around me.

The bridal suite was breathtaking — white roses scattered across the bed, candles flickering in crystal holders — a mockery of romance.

It felt like walking into a stranger’s dream.

I groaned, laying flat on the bed. This wasn't what I had pictured.

I was waiting for Lucien.

But... He hadn’t come.

Not to the bedroom. Not to me.

My fingers curled into tight fists.

Breathe, Zia. You've got this.

Still, somewhere deep inside my chest—beneath the nerves and the bitterness—was a flicker of curiosity. I’d heard so much about Lucien Saint. Revered the moments I caught glimpses of him when he'd come over to Don Giovanni's estate. I heard that he was cold-blooded. Sharp as a knife. Feared even by men twice his age. And yet, for all his darkness, I couldn’t stop wondering…

What kind of man runs from his own bride?

I glanced at the door.

Would he come tonight?

A knock came, and I clutched the hem of my gown, the heavy silk dragging behind me like a funeral shroud.

I opened the door to find the maid, who welcomed me and directed me to the room I immediately entered.

"Ma'am, is there anything you'd like me to do for you?" She said, keeping her head low.

"What's your name?" I asked the young lady, no older than twenty-two. She had delicate features, wide, pale brown eyes framed by thick lashes, a small, perfectly sculpted mouth, and skin as smooth as porcelain. Her dark hair tumbled in neat loose waves down her back.

She wore the Saint family's custom uniform — a sleek black dress with pearl buttons and white cuffs. There was a gentleness to her, a soft-spoken kindness that set her apart from the hard-edged staff who served the Saints out of fear, not loyalty.

"Liliana Bellini, ma'am, but Ana's just fine." She said in a quiet tone.

"Nice to meet you, Ana." I smile.

“Ma’am, I’ve been instructed by Don Giovanni to be your personal maid. Please, call on me for anything,” she added, her voice full of earnestness.

I could tell she took this job to heart.

And I couldn't blame her — Don Giovanni had personally chosen Liliana to attend to me, instructing her to treat me "like a queen."

I nodded. "Sure." Then I asked, “Is he home?”

She shook her head.

“Do you have any idea where he is?”

"No, ma'am.” Ana said softly.

"Thank you, and please stop with the ma'am and look at me when you're talking to me. You bowing throws me off." I said softly.

She smiles a small smile. "Yes ma— Yes Zia." Then she turns and leaves.

I sat alone in the bridal suite. The air was thick with rose petals and whispered regrets. Every shadow seemed to mock my solitude.

Minutes turned to hours.

The candles burned low.

I couldn't sleep. The clock struck two in the morning when I heard it— the soft click of a door creaking open, followed by delicate footsteps pulling me from my thoughts, and I looked up, expecting to see him— I didn't.

Was he opening another door? Why? Was he drunk? Or with someone else? My eyes widened. My thoughts spiraled.

My heart seized with both desperation and resolve. I rose from the bed, my bare feet silent against the marble floor as I caught him going into the room at the end of the hall.

Was he going to sleep there?

When I was a girl, I once dreamed of my wedding night. Of whispered vows, of being wanted. I never imagined my husband going into another room.

Every instinct screamed at me to turn back. But my feet moved on their own, drawn forward like a moth to the flame.

I knocked. No reply. I knocked again.

Nothing.

Then the heavy oak door to Lucien’s bedroom creaked open under my trembling hand.

He sat on the bed, undressing. So he did hear me. Just chose to ignore me.

"Hi" I said, my voice coming out softer than I intended.

He continuously ignored me. I stood there watching him until and when he removed his shirt. My entire face heated up. I gulped.

"Are you going to keep staring at me while I go completely naked?"

His voice

Low. Velvet over gravel. Smooth and cruel all at once.

It wasn’t meant to comfort—it was meant to cut. Cold and unbothered, like I was little more than a shadow in his doorway. But the moment it hit me, something inside shifted.

My breath stalled. Heat coiled low in my stomach, uninvited and unexplainable.

Damn!

My body reacted before my mind could catch up. That the sound of his voice—careless, disdainful—sent a shiver skating down my spine, lifting nerves I didn’t want to feel. I tried to will it away, but it was too late.

That voice… it didn’t ask permission.

It settled under my skin, deep in places it had no business reaching.

And maybe that’s what scared me most. Not his cruelty. Not the words themselves.

But the way my body wanted the man who wielded them.

"You've been acting like I don't exist?"

"Do you?"

Something inside me cracked.

My hands fisted at my sides. Then he shocked me when he stood up and slowly strode towards me stopping inches away from my face.

I caught his scent, strong, almost overpowering—and there was something else beneath it. A floral perfume, not the one I wore, and definitely not one I recognized. It wasn’t familiar, but it stood out in a way that made my stomach tighten.

“Lucien,” I murmured, the words slipping out before I could stop myself. "It's our wedding night?"

"So?" he shrugged.

"Why were you out so late?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Yeah, I did.

"Yes. And also, why are you about to sleep here?"

He blinked slowly, his lips curling into something that might have been a smirk, but it lacked humor. “To avoid spending the night with you,” he said, his voice slurred but sharp with a kind of bitterness I hadn’t expected.

My breath caught in my throat. The weight of his words hit me harder than the scent of him or the perfume I couldn’t place.

I forced a laugh, though it came out more hollow than I intended. “That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes flickered to mine. “I didn’t want to... pretend, little lamb,” he said mockingly. Then he got serious again. "You know the basis of this marriage. I wouldn't want to spell it out for you."

I felt the sting of his words. It wasn’t the rejection that hurt—it was the realization that I wasn’t even worth pretending for.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to steady myself.

“I see,” I said quietly, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “I’ll let you sleep, then.”

He turned his back and walked towards the bed.

I exited his room as I walked quietly back to mine.

Yeah, mine. I just figured. It was my room and not our room.

"This is what gratitude looks like," I said to myself as I remembered Don Giovanni.

Love was never part of the bargain. Neither was happiness.

But perhaps, over time, Lucien would see I wasn’t a burden. I wasn’t weak. And maybe—just maybe—I could become more than a pawn in his empire.

Or maybe... I’d break trying.