TWO GROOMS, ONE BRIDE

“Do you take them, Lena?”

The priest’s voice shook as he said it. Them. Not him.

Every whisper in the grand hall died. The silence pressed down, thick and heavy.

Lena froze.

Her fingers trembled around the bouquet. Her lips parted, but no word came out.

She looked up and saw them.

Two men. Two brothers.

Two grooms.

Damian Blackwell stood on her left tall, dark, and sharp as a blade. His jaw was tight, his black suit perfect, his cold eyes locked on her like a hunter watching prey.

Beside him stood Darius Blackwell his younger brother wearing gray instead of black, softer in looks, calmer in energy. His lips carried a faint smile, not cruel, not mocking, but something that almost looked like pity.

Two opposites.

One storm.

Lena could hear the crowd behind her start to whisper.

“Both of them? Is this real?”

“The Blackwell brothers… sharing a bride?”

“Poor girl. She looks terrified.”

Lena’s chest rose and fell too fast. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She was terrified.

She wanted to run, to scream, to disappear but she couldn’t.

The Blackwells were not ordinary men.

They owned half the city the hotels, the companies, the media. They were power itself.

And she, Lena Carter, had no one. No family. No power. Nothing to fight with.

“Miss Carter,” the priest said again, his hands shaking as he held the paper. “Do you take Damian and Darius Blackwell as your lawful husbands?”

Lena swallowed. The room tilted.

Her hands were cold.

Her throat was dry.

She looked at Damian. His stare was pure command no mercy, no warmth.

Then her eyes met Darius’s. His expression was softer, filled with something like sadness. A silent apology.

He didn’t speak, but his gaze said it all I know you’re scared.

Tears burned the back of her eyes.

“I… I do,” Lena whispered.

The words barely left her lips, but they were enough.

Enough to end her freedom. Enough to change everything.

Damian’s mouth curved slightly not a smile, but something sharper.

Darius looked down, guilt flickering through his eyes.

The priest signed the papers with a trembling hand.

And just like that, it was done.

Lena Carter was gone.

Lena Blackwell was born.

One bride. Two masters.

The guests clapped some politely, some nervously while whispers filled the hall again.

To them, it was scandal.

To Lena, it was a sentence.

Damian stepped forward first, taking her hand. His touch was firm, cold, possessive.

Darius followed, his fingers brushing hers lightly gentle, hesitant, almost kind.

The cameras flashed.

The room filled with fake smiles.

But Lena could barely breathe.

She told herself not to cry.

Not here. Not in front of them.

But the truth was she already felt like a prisoner.

…

It started months ago.

Lena Carter had always been unlucky.

Her parents died when she was twelve. She had no one to love her, no home that felt safe. By eighteen, she was working at a small diner, serving coffee to people who barely looked at her.

Life was just work, eat, sleep and survive.

Until they walked in.

The first time she saw Damian and Darius Blackwell, she didn’t even know who they were.

Two men in expensive suits, sitting in the corner booth, their presence so strong it made her nervous.

When she spilled coffee on their table, she apologized a thousand times. Her cheeks were red, her voice shaking.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she whispered, grabbing napkins. “I’ll clean it…”

Damian caught her wrist before she could. His fingers were firm.

“Careful,” he said, his tone low and commanding. “You could burn yourself.”

The heat from his touch made her heart race. She looked up and met eyes that were darker than night.

Something dangerous hid behind that calm expression.

Then Darius spoke, voice softer. “Let her go, Damian. You’re scaring her.”

His tone was warm.

His smile was small, almost kind.

He handed her his handkerchief. “It’s fine, miss. Don’t worry.”

She thanked him and ran back to the counter not knowing that from that moment, her life had already been marked.

Because the Blackwell brothers wanted her. Both of them.

For different reasons.

Damian saw her fear and wanted to own it.

Darius saw her innocence and wanted to protect it.

But neither could let her go.

They made a pact.

They would both have her.

Not one after another together.

…

Weeks later, Lena’s manager handed her an envelope. It had the Blackwell seal.

She thought it was about her job. Maybe an offer for catering.

But when she opened it her hands shook.

Inside was a contract.

A marriage contract.

Her eyes ran over the words.

Her name. Damian’s name. Darius’s name.

Two signatures waiting for hers.

Two husbands. One bride.

Her body went cold.

She thought it was a cruel joke.

But then a man in a black suit appeared Damian’s assistant telling her that both brothers were waiting for her answer.

She wanted to refuse. She wanted to scream. But how do you refuse the richest, most feared men in the city?

She had no one to call, nowhere to hide.

Her life could be destroyed with one phone call.

And so, with tears burning her cheeks, she signed.

Her name became her chain.

…

The Wedding Night

Hours after the vows, the mansion grew silent.

The guests were gone.

The lights dimmed.

Lena sat on the edge of a bed too big for her, wearing a white gown that now felt like a costume.

Candles glowed around the room. The scent of roses filled the air too sweet, too heavy.

She couldn’t stop shaking.

Her hands gripped the bedsheet.

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest.

The door opened.

Damian entered first. His black tie hung loose, his shirt slightly undone. His presence filled the room sharp, powerful, cold.

Behind him came Darius, his steps slower, his expression calmer, almost regretful.

Lena’s breath caught.

Her whole body froze.

Damian’s eyes locked on her.

“You are ours now, Lena,” he said, his deep voice echoing through the room. “There is no going back.”

Darius stopped beside him. “Damian,” he said quietly, “give her a moment. She’s scared.”

Damian shot him a look cold, hard. “She belongs to us. She must understand that.”

Lena looked between them. Two men. Two forces.

One dark. One light.

One ready to break her.

One trying not to.

“Please,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

Darius took a step closer, kneeling in front of her. His tone softened. “Because you changed something in us,” he said. “We both saw you that day and neither of us could forget.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “That’s not love,” she said. “It’s control.”

Darius’s jaw tightened. He looked down, guilt shadowing his face. “Maybe. But I promise I’ll never hurt you.”

Before she could reply, Damian reached out, lifting her chin with his finger. His touch was firm, almost harsh, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“Look at us when we speak to you,” Damian said, his voice like steel. “We didn’t bring you here to run. We brought you here to belong.”

Lena’s tears fell silently. Her heart beat fast, her breath uneven.

Darius stood slowly, his hand brushing her hair away from her face. “Breathe,” he whispered. “You’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

Damian turned to him, his tone sharp. “She’ll learn through obedience, not comfort.”

“Or through trust,” Darius countered, eyes on his brother. “She doesn’t need to be afraid.”

For a brief second, silence filled the room a war of wills between the brothers.

Then Damian stepped closer, his shadow falling over Lena.

“Fear,” he said quietly, his lips inches from hers, “is where obedience begins.”

Lena’s breath broke. Her body trembled.

And the candlelight flickered as the door closed behind them.

Damian’s gaze stayed on her dark, commanding.

Darius’s stayed soft pained, protective.

Both watching her.

Both claiming her.

And in that silence, Lena understood one truth she had stepped into a world where love and power wore the same face.

Damian leaned down, his breath hot against her ear.

“Tonight,” he said, his tone low and final,

“you will remember who owns you.”