The morning air was crisp and biting when Selina opened her eyes. For a moment, she didn't move.
Today was the day.
Today, she would marry a man who would rather be anywhere else.
She sat up slowly, but her body betrayed her instantly — the swelling of her chest, the morning sickness, the dizziness that made her feel untethered. With each passing day it grew harder to pretend she was just another blushing bride.
Margaret was already bustling around the room, her hands steady but her smile brittle. The dress hung from the wardrobe door — ivory silk, delicate lace, now perfectly altered by her sister to fit a life Selina was never meant for.
"Come on," Margaret said softly, with that sweet careful voice Selina had loved since she was small. "Let's get you ready."
Selina nodded, wordless.
The dress didn't fit perfectly anymore. The fabric strained against her chest, pulling uncomfortably with every breath. The skirt brushed the floor, a little too long now that she had abandoned her beloved high heels — the dizziness had stolen even that small vanity from her.
Margaret knelt to adjust the hem, muttering under her breath about tripping hazards and stubborn brides.
"You look beautiful," she said, rising and smoothing Selina's veil into place.
Selina caught her sister's reflection in the mirror — the worry, the tight pull of her mouth — and forced a smile.
"I'm fine," Selina tried to comfort Margaret. "From now on, I'll always be fine."
Margaret didn't argue. She simply squeezed Selina's hand once, hard, and whispered, "And if you're not, just come home. I'll find a way. Always."
Selina smiled at her sister's reflection. She knew Margaret meant every word. Selina hadn't had a good childhood — her parents absent on their best days. But Margaret had fought to give her scraps of safety and happiness, piecing together a home from love alone.
Margaret was her home.
The venue the Blackwells chose was stunning — old stone and stained glass, all solemn beauty and heavy history. A picture-perfect scene, if you didn't look too closely.
Selina walked down the aisle on her father's arm, each step echoing louder in her ears than the music.
She looked through the sheer veil — not at the guests, not at the flowers, but only at the man waiting at the altar.
Dark suit. Straight spine. Clenched jaw.
Damon looked perfect.
For a man waiting for his execution.
This was the theme of the day she supposed.
Picture perfect wedding.
A perfect bride.
A perfect groom.
On the surface at least.
Underneath, the wedding was a desperate patchwork — an engagement party turned shotgun ceremony, a bride swapped at the last second, a groom forced into a cage.
Their eyes met briefly — green colliding with stormy blue — and then, just as quickly, Damon looked away.
Selina didn't falter. She couldn't.
She had to look perfect.
The whole town gossiped about this last minute wedding and the bride exchange. Selina Vale didn't have the luxury of being less than perfect.
She could not afford a single crack in her mask.
The ceremony passed in a blur. Vows spoken, rings exchanged. Her veil lifted by the groom.
When Damon kissed her, his lips barely brushed hers before he pulled away, stiff and cold.
There were cheers.
Whispers.
Flashing camera bulbs.
Selina smiled for the cameras, danced with her new husband, a smiling, elegant figure in white and a stoic yet elegant figure in black. They paint the perfect picture.
The rest of the day went similarly.
Formal photographs. Polite congratulations. Children ran wild between the tables, laughter echoing. Glasses clinked, violins played.
A perfect day — if you measured only the surfaces.
Edgar's sharp gaze never left his son. Isobel offered Selina a smile. She was polite and the symbol of elegance. She probably had plenty less-than-positive thoughts on her new daughter-in-law. And yet she never showed any signs of displeasure on the outside.
Aunt Catie cackled behind her hand, whispering poison into the ears of anyone who would listen. Yet even she couldn't crack the facade they had built.
Selina said all the right things.
Smiled at the appropriate moments.
Accepted congratulations with grace.
Margaret slipped her hand into Selina's and squeezed. "Do you need to sit down," Margaret whispered. Selina nodded once, she was exhausted. "Just hold on, it will all be over soon." Margaret said softy while she guided her to a chair with quiet strength. Margaret might think everything will be over soon but Selina knew better. The end of this wedding wasn't the end. It was only the beginning.
Tonight, she would talk to Damon. She would tell him everything. She would ask for his help. Offer him a deal — survival, protection, an alliance. Selina couldn't predict what his reaction would be. Rationally he should accept her deal. After all it was a deal close to what he proposed to Margaret. And yet Damon had an unpredictable side she couldn't get a grip on.
Night fell.
Selina stood at the threshold of the master bedroom, her hand resting on the door handle.
She took a deep breath — steeling herself for the confrontation that would decide her future.
The door swung open with a soft groan.
The room was vast, grand, and empty. The candlelight flickered against polished floors. A heavy silence pressed down.
She crossed the room slowly, the hem of her dress whispering against the polished wooden floor.
The bed was perfectly made, untouched.
At the center, propped neatly against a pillow, lay a white envelope.
Selina's breath caught in her throat. Damon was nowhere to be seen.
The candlelight flickered, throwing long shadows across the room.
Selina unfolded the letter with trembling fingers. And as she read the first lines, something inside her finally snapped.
Outside, the city lights sparkled like scattered stars in the darkness of the night. The full moon cast a silver path across the gently rippling sea, creating a delicate dance of light on the water's surface. You could see the beauty of the night through the window glass. However, there was another reflection on the window.
In the soft, flickering glow of candlelight, a young woman stood in the middle of a spacious room, dressed in a wedding gown. The sheer fabric of her veil gently touched the floor, while crimson rose petals lay scattered across the room. In the warm light, her silhouette appeared fragile.
On one side, the vast sea; on the other, a luxurious room. And between them, the woman's reflection blurred, shifting—at times merging with the city lights, at others dissolving into the candle's glow.
She didn't know which image she belonged to.
Did it even matter?
Either way, she was alone.
The room's silence, broken only by the sound of her own breathing, seemed to agree with her.
The heavy wedding dress, slightly too tight around her chest and a little too long for her—even with the high heels she wore—clung to her skin, suffocating and foreign, as if it belonged to someone else.
The young bride stood beside the bed, a letter in her hands. The candles burned low, their golden light flickering across the grand bedroom that wasn't hers, in a house that wasn't hers. She read the letter her newly wedded husband had left on the bed, with a ring on her finger that—she had just realized—would never truly be hers either.
Damon was gone.
She had expected him to be distant, cold even. But she hadn't expected this. In hindsight, maybe she should have.
On the neatly made bed, untouched by either of them, lay an envelope with a stack of crisp banknotes inside. Her stomach twisted. When she had walked into the empty room and seen the letter next to the envelope, she hadn't needed to open it to know what it was.
She forced herself to sit on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling slightly as she picked up the envelope. First, she counted how much money was in it. Then, she read the letter one last time.
---
Selina,
By the time you read this, I'll be gone.
I trust you to be reasonable about this. I've left you enough money to start a new life for yourself—away from both of our families. Take the money and leave quietly.
You know why I agreed to this marriage in the first place, but you should also know I never had any intention of doing anything more. I have my own life in Berlin, a life that differs a great deal from yours. A life that has no place for you.
Let's not make this harder than it needs to be for either of us.
Don't go to my father. That will only make things worse. You should start living your own life.
Don't look for me.
—Damon
---
The paper crumpled in her grip.
For a moment, Selina just sat there, staring at the letter.
This was it, then.
She had expected bone-chilling coldness. She had expected the burning heat of his fury. But she had not expected to be discarded like this—like a problem he had paid to disappear.
To be completely honest, it could work… if only what he had left was enough.
Her fingers curled into fists.
This was it then. The end of the road.
She should be crying, shouldn't she? Shouldn't this be the moment where she broke down?
But instead, something else settled inside her—a sharp, bitter sort of clarity.
She reached for the money.
He wanted her to leave. Away from his family. Away from her family, too. Somewhere no one knew who she was so he wouldn't get in trouble with his father.
Well, too bad. So sad.
She wasn't going to do what he said.
The image of the frail woman reflected on the window changed into a new one. One that had a determined look in her eyes.
She would find him. And when she did—he would find a place for her in his life, whether he wanted to or not.
She wasn't done with him yet.