"Not every vow is sacred. Some are shackles—velvet-lined and sealed with a kiss."_Unknown
The hall was quiet.
Not the silence of emptiness, but the poised hush of formality. It was nothing like the grand affairs the world expected from the Gazdanov empire. Only a few close family friends and selected dignitaries filled the cream-and-marble chapel. No flashing lights, no headlines, no extravagance. The luxury was understated. Intentionally.
Soft ivory roses climbed along white-gold pillars. Chandeliers rained pale light down upon the aisle, scattered with petals as fragile as the truth behind the ceremony. The organ played softly in the background—elegant, subdued, expectant.
Levi stood alone at the altar, black tux tailored sharply around his lean frame, his hair combed back, slightly sleeked. His hands were clasped behind his back, his face unreadable.
He was calm. Detached. Focused.
Because this wasn't about love.
It was about leverage. Power. Legacy.
Anton knew.
He was the only one Levi trusted enough to know about his father's will—the clause that bound him. A wife. That was all. A simple requirement. No specifics about love or lineage or status. Just a marriage contract. A formality. A checkbox.
And Maeve… she was convenient.
Unremarkable to the world. Easy to overlook. Just how Levi needed her to be.
Yet…
The moment the grand chapel doors cracked open, and the music shifted, Levi felt it—
a flicker of awareness.
Of change.
Of finality.
---
Maeve stood just beyond the doors, framed by shadows and light.
Her muted gray eyes were blank, lifeless and ethereal beneath the soft veil cascading over her hair—an unspoken defiance dyed into the strands. Her skin was pale, untouched by blush. A ghost bride, more spirit than girl.
And her dress…
It was beautiful. But soft.
A whisper of lace and chiffon.
The bodice hugged her delicately, embroidered with glassy floral threads that caught the light like morning frost. The sleeves were sheer, kissing her arms like breath. The skirt floated behind her, not flared, but flowing—almost hesitant to touch the earth. A dress meant for a soul who'd learned how to walk unseen. Simple. Elegant. Devastating in its quiet.
Uncle Archie stood beside her, his mouth drawn in that way it did before he spoke cruelty with a smile.
"You hold the fate of this family now," he hissed under his breath, adjusting the veil. "Don't embarrass me. Don't ruin this. If you do… I'll make sure your death is quieter than your life's ever been. Are we clear?"
Maeve didn't nod. She didn't cry. She didn't even blink.
She had known this kind of threat since she was a child. It no longer burned.
The music swelled.
The doors opened.
And Maeve stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, the ghost bride in a world of gold. Her face bore a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes—painted on like everything else in her life.
Levi watched her come.
His eyes didn't widen. His expression didn't shift.
But something in the stillness of his gaze flickered.
Not recognition.
Not desire.
Just… curiosity.
Like he was watching something delicate with teeth.
Her steps were perfectly poised, her body moving like she'd been rehearsed into grace. But her heart—her heart was thundering in her chest like a warning drum, echoing louder than the music, louder than the guests' collective breaths.
She reached him.
Their eyes met.
And Levi Gazdanov, calculating heir of a criminal empire, looked at her—piercing her with eyes that looked like it could see beyond her physical appearance, like it could see the innermost part of her soul. not her dress, not her face—but her, through her, past the mask.
Most would've crumbled under that kind of gaze.
Maeve didn't.
She never did.
Her walls, forged when she was ten.
Not even fire could melt them now.
The vows were spoken. Mechanically. Carefully.
The room quieted for the kiss—the final seal.
Levi leaned forward, brushed her lips with his, cold and slow, the kiss of a pact, not passion.
And just like that, the cage shut—beautiful, gold-plated, and inescapable.
They were husband and wife.
King and pawn.
Warden and prisoner.
And no one clapped louder than the ones who would gain the most.
---
He took her hand as they turned to face the guests. Applause erupted like distant thunder—unenthusiastic, forced, and hollow. The priest announced them husband and wife. Linda dabbed at her eyes dramatically, though they remained dry. Katie and Kelly watched in defeat and disgust.
They walked out into the open air, now joined by title and chain. Levi's grip on her hand was firm but not tight. He led her down the marble steps with measured pace.
Outside, cameras waited, but not many. The wedding was intentionally muted, kept out of headlines. He preferred shadows.
Maeve kept her smile as they left the chapel and stepped into a luxury black car waiting at the end of the lane. The door opened. She stepped in. He followed.
Inside the vehicle, silence.
She finally looked at him, as though seeing her new fate with full clarity.
"Thank you for not inviting more," she said softly.
Levi turned to her. His gaze lingered on the tips of her midnight blue hair.
"You did that yourself?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Looks like night after snowfall."
A pause.
Then he looked out the window.
"It suits you."
---
In the manor, Linda beamed with pride. Archie had already begun calling people. Katie laughed loudly with a champagne glass, her tears vanished like smoke. Kelly drank in silence, but the twitch in her jaw betrayed her.
The bride sat in silence.
And the groom held secrets.
A vow made not to love, but to unlock a kingdom.
---