The person who secretly spied on her was Mateo. He wanted to confront her and tell her to call it off, Because he knew some games had been played from behind the scenes. He hated that his crush was marrying his cold brother and into his family at that. But there was nothing he could do. So he turned and left .
It was a new day and the morning air was colder than usual, like even the weather disapproved of what was coming. Rose sat on the edge of her bed in the guest suite of the Salvadore estate. It was a luxurious room, soaked in soft golds and creams, with pretty curtains and furniture that cost almost or more than her yearly salary. But despite the extravagance, it didn't feel like home.
Outside, the estate buzzed with wedding preparations. Staff bustled through the halls, arranging floral displays, selecting menus, confirming guest lists. But inside Rose, everything was silent. Hollow.
The guest list was only to be made up of popular mafias. And the best secret agents who were part of the crime world. It was secret to outsiders but not within the crime empire.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Dante.
"Hey! Don't be late."
No good morning. No warmth. Just instructions. But she never cared anyway.
She didn't reply.
At precisely noon, Rose stood at the grand doors of the estate chapel, a structure that looked like it had been plucked out of a painting worth Two hundred thousand or more. Stained glass windows cast scattered colors across the polished marble floor. A soft organ melody played in the background.
Dante stood at the altar, already dressed in black slacks and a dark grey shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked like sin itself wrapped in elegance.
"You're late," he said as she approached.
"I'm not your secretary," Rose replied, lifting her chin. "And I'm not even your wife yet."
"Details," he murmured, glancing at the wedding planner.
The rehearsal commenced. They practiced walking the aisle, exchanged cold stares where vows would be, and posed where pictures would be taken. Rose did everything she was asked without complaint. Not because she wanted to, but because every step she took ensured Bella's safety and her future alongside that of her family.
After an hour, Dante dismissed the planner.
"Wait," he said as Rose turned to leave.
She paused. "What?"
He studied her for a moment. "You're way worse with attitudes more than I thought"
"Good."
"Not good. Interesting. Cold suits you."
"Don't get used to it. I'm only cold to people I don't like."
He stepped closer, and for a brief second, the tension between them changed. Not soft. Not romantic. But thick with something dangerous.
"You think this is hell," Dante said quietly. "But I assure you, being mine protects you from worse."
"I don't want your protection. If you're protecting me from hell I'd rather be in it"
He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear while smiling . "But you have it anyway."
She slapped his hand away.
He didn't flinch.
That night, Rose lay awake, the ceiling fan slicing shadows over her body. She was supposed to be planning her future, celebrating love, and picking honeymoon destinations. Instead, she was counting the days until she could find a way out of this twisted contract.
She got up, needing air, needing something to keep her from screaming. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she stepped outside into the moonlit garden.
The estate was silent. Rose sat by the fountain, running her fingers over the cool stone.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
The voice startled her. She turned.
A man stood at the edge of the hedges. Tall. Dark-haired. Slim in build but with a sharpness to his posture. He wore glasses and carried a book in one hand.
"Mateo?" Rose asked. "I've not seen you since I arrived."
He walked closer, offering a small smile. " Cuz you prolly didn't want to see me?"
He rhetorically asked while slightly smiling.
Rose narrowed her eyes." Maybe."
"I live in the East Wing." He sat on the fountain's edge beside her, setting the book down. "Prepared for your wedding?."
"Unfortunately."
He chuckled. "Rough day?"
"Rough year."
"I can imagine. Dante doesn't make it easy, yeah?."
She looked at him carefully. "Are you here to warn me? Threaten me? Guilt-trip me into loving the monster I'm marrying?"
He shook his head. "None of the above. I'm just here for the stars. But if you need someone to talk to, I'm a good listener."
Something in his voice disarmed her. There was no malice, no manipulation. Just… understanding.
So she talked. Not much. Just pieces. How she loved being a doctor. How Bella was the light of her life. How the deal with Dante felt like a trap lined with velvet.
When she finished, Mateo nodded.
"Sounds like you're brave. Or foolish."
"Maybe both."
"Either way," he said, rising, "if you ever need a friend in this house, look for the East Wing. My door's always open. I'm not very close with my brother any way."
He walked off into the shadows, and for the first time since signing that contract, Rose felt like maybe she wasn't entirely alone.
The wedding day came with golden sunlight and the scent of lilies.
Rose stood in front of the mirror again, dressed now fully in her bridal gown. Her veil was in place. Makeup soft and glowing. She looked like a woman stepping into a dream.
But dreams didn't feel like this. Her chest was tight. Her hands trembled. Her mind raced.
A knock came at the door.
It was her mother.
Rose's eyes widened. "What are you doing here?"
She smiled. "Thought you could use a friend."
Tears sprang into Rose's eyes, but she blinked them away. "Thank you mom."
Her mother held her hand. "You don't have to do this. Should we run?." Her mother asked while smiling
Rose let out a loud laugh. "You're such a funny mom . If it were just me, I might. But I won't risk you all."
A soft chime echoed through the halls. Time.
The chapel was full. Candles flickered along the aisles. High-profile guests whispered behind fans and masks of politeness. The press wasn't invited, but word would leak. It always did.
The only difference is they won't know whom he married.
Dante stood at the altar, his expression unreadable, a man used to controlling everything he saw.
Then the doors opened.
And Rose walked in.
The silence was deafening.
She didn't smile. She didn't tremble. She walked like a queen walking to her execution—dignified and without regret.
Dante's eyes met hers. Cold and piercing.
She met them head-on.
The vows were exchanged. Each word was a blade. Each promise, a bruise in disguise.
When the priest said, "You may now kiss the bride," Dante didn't hesitate. He leaned in.
Rose turned her head at the last second. His lips grazed her cheek.
Gasps echoed through the chapel.
Her father just tilted his head in guilt. While her mother couldn't even bear to look.
Dante's jaw clenched. But he said nothing.
They were pronounced husband and wife. Applause followed like thunder.
The reception was held in the ballroom. Crystal lights sparkled above tables with gold-rimmed plates and glasses of vintage wine. Music played, but no one danced.
Dante stood beside Rose the entire time, his arm around her waist, possessive.
He leaned in and whispered, "I hope you don't embarrass me again."
"You'll live." she said .
"Don't make a habit of it."
She raised her glass in a mock toast. "Here's to our beautiful arrangement."
Late that night, long after the guests had left and the staff had disappeared into the shadows, Dante escorted Rose to her new bedroom.
It was grand. Bigger than any space she'd ever lived in. But it felt like a tomb.
He stood at the door. "This is yours."
"Not sharing?" she asked, voice dripping sarcasm.
"I'm not cruel," he replied. "And I don't force what's not freely given."
She studied him. "Then why do this at all?"
His expression darkened. "Because control is better than chaos. And with you, I can have both."
He closed the door.
Rose sank onto the bed, veil crumpling beside her.
She was married.
To Dante Salvadore.
And yet, deep inside her, a fire sparked to life. Not love. Not hope. But determination.
This wasn't the end of her story.
It was only the beginning.