The halls had grown quiet. The music dimmed. The laughter that once filled every chandeliered corner of the Ashborne estate had begun to fade into silence.
Serene stood by the grand balcony, her hands clenched so tightly the skin of her knuckles had paled. Below, she could see the cars being packed. Her father, who had smiled so widely at the dinner table, was busy shaking hands with the guards. Her sisters took selfies at the mansion's entrance, their voices lilting with delight as if this place was a dream they'd stepped into.
But to her, it was still a gilded cage. Just prettier tonight.
She had hoped, foolishly, that someone might pull her aside. That maybe her mother would catch a glance of the stiffness in her spine, the weight in her silence. That maybe, just maybe, one of them would see she didn't belong in this madness. That she didn't want this.
But none of them did.
Instead, her mother whispered, "You're finally blessed," before brushing a stray hair behind Serene's ear like nothing was wrong. As if Serene hadn't been dragged into this twisted fairytale with blood-red strings she couldn't untie.
And Roman—oh, Roman stood behind her like a sentinel. His hand never once leaving her waist the entire time her family said their goodbyes. Every time she shifted, tried to move slightly away, his grip would tighten. A silent reminder. A quiet warning.
To the outside world, he looked like the perfect husband: attentive, protective, handsome in his dark, brooding way. To Serene, he was the iron lock on the doors she'd stopped trying to open.
The guests buzzed with praise.
"Such a loving man," one of the women from her hometown said.
"I never knew you'd land someone like him," whispered another. "He must really love you."
She almost laughed. Almost.
Lelo clung to her arm, possessive and smug, her bright eyes never leaving Serene's face. She kept leaning up to whisper things only Serene could hear. Things that chilled her to the bone.
"You're mine now, Mama."
"I'll never let anyone take you again."
"If you try to leave, Daddy will make them all disappear."
Her voice was sweet. Her grip was bruising.
When it was finally time for everyone to leave, Roman walked each guest out, shaking hands, nodding politely. All while keeping one eye—always—on Serene. He didn't let her out of his sight for even a second.
And when her father hugged her goodbye, Roman stood so close his shoulder brushed hers, making sure the hug didn't last too long. Making sure no one got too close. Making sure the world understood: she belonged to him now.
Her sisters waved from the car. Her mother blew a kiss. Her father smiled like a man proud of having sold his daughter to royalty.
And she stood there, in heels that ached, makeup she didn't choose, in a home that wasn't hers—watching the last people who could've saved her drive away.
She smiled.
Because what else was she supposed to do?
Inside, Roman whispered against her hair,
"Finally... it's just us."
And Serene's heart sank like a stone into black waters.