Chapter five

Violet

As I walk down the aisle, my arm tuck in my father's, the hall stretches before me like a dream I can’t wake from. I scan the of faces of everyone here, some familiar, some not. A few of my family members offer warm, slightly nervous, smiles. My mother is already crying, tears of joy stream down her delicate cheeks. Layla catches my eye and winks, while my aunties flash that “you hit the jackpot” look, the same one they couldn’t stop talking about earlier when they visited my suite, gushing about fate and fortune.

But beyond them, the mood shifts, cold stares, tight jaws, unsmiling lips, faces of indifference and disapproval. My husband’s family, I assume, none of them bothering to mask their disdain. They look as though they’ve been dragged into a nightmare they want to be no part of.

My father leans in, his voice low and steady, “ The only one you should be looking at right now is your husband. No one else matters.”

I give a small nod and lift my gaze to the altar. And then i see him,

Time stopped,

There he stands, towering, Imposing and effortlessly magnificent. If the Greek gods ever walked among men, this is what they’d look like. He must be 6’4, shoulders broad and posture regal, like a man who commands every room he steps into. His raven black hair is slicked back with not a strand out of place. His face God, his face is carved with the kind of symmetry sculptors spend lifetimes chasing. A jawline sharp enough to draw blood. Full lips curled into a smirk that’s as condescending as it is hypnotic.

But it’s his eyes,Icy blue, emotionless and predatory, they study me like a puzzle, calculating as though I was a threat. This man doesn’t just walk in power, he breathes it, wears it like a second skin. From his custom white Italian suit to his million dollar watch, everything about him screams dangerous elegance. He looks like someone who could end a man’s life and return to dinner without so much as a smudge on his cuff.

I shiver.

This is who my father is giving me to. A man whose presence commands obedience and fear.

If I could run, I would, but running isn’t an option. Not with guards stationed at every entrance, outside and in, armed to the teeth. There are more men with guns here than there are guests.

Step by step, I make my way to him, climbing the altar, forcing my trembling legs to carry me forward. I stop before him, lift my chin, and look him dead in the eyes. If he sees fear in me, I won’t let him think it owns me. I won't give him that satisfaction.

The priest begins to speak, but all I hear is my erratic heartbeat.

We didn’t look away from each other.

Then, without a flicker of emotion, he leans in slightly, his voice just low enough for me to hear,

“I can smell your fear, Purple, I could put a bullet right between your eyes, in front of your entire perfect little family, and not a single soul in this room would stop me. So drop the act.”

His words scared me to my bones, but I don’t flinch.

Not because I’m brave.

Because I refuse to let him know I’m not, “Well, my name is Violet, not Purple. And if you’re going to shoot me, then do it now and save us both a lifetime of misery.”

He raises a brow at me, lips curling slightly but not in amusement, not in admiration, but in warning. I see that he certainly is not bluffing. This man is chaos wrapped in suite.

But before either of us can speak again, the priest’s voice cuts in sharply, harsh and cold,

“Do you, Violet Adams, take Stefan Alexander Rossi as your lawfully wedded husband to obey him, cherish him, in health, in sorrow, in death?”

I swallow, my heart feels like it’s clawing its way out of my chest. I turn my head slightly, catching sight of my mother’s glassy eyes, my father’s unreadable expression. There’s no way out now. This isn’t a wedding. It’s a surrender dressed in Purple dress.

So I say it.

“Yes… I do.”

The priest turns to him,

“Do you, Stefan Alexander Rossi, take Violet Adams to be your lawfully wedded wife? To protect, provide, until death parts you?”

There’s no pause. No hesitation.

“Yes, I do.”

His voice rolls through the hall like thunder, confidant and Deadly. And then he smirks at me.

The priest lifts his hands. “Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

But the kiss never comes.

Before I can even process what’s happening, a sound tears through the hall, gunshots, dozens of it, screams erupt around us. The flower arrangements explode into clouds of petals and broken glass, Chaos.

The priest ducks, no, he fires a gun hidden beneath his robes.The man who married us is shooting!

The guests scramble, some pulling weapons from beneath their chairs. This wasn’t just a wedding.

Before I can run, Stefan grabs my wrist but someone suddenly steps in front of us. Before I could process what is happening……

BOOM.