Chapter 5: The Wrong Bride

The gates disappeared behind us with a heavy metallic sound that seemed to travel through the entire car. I kept my attention on the estate ahead, refusing to let myself look back at the road we had just left behind. The Moretti property was larger than I had expected, surrounded by tall stone walls and thick trees that blocked most of the view from outside. Several buildings stood farther from the main house, each separated by carefully maintained paths and patches of dark green lawn. Security cameras were positioned along the walls, small enough to be overlooked by an ordinary visitor but obvious to anyone who knew where to look.

I counted six before the car reached the front steps.

There were probably more.

The vehicle stopped beneath a wide stone entrance, and one of the guards came forward to open my door. I stepped out slowly, gathering the front of my dress so that the hem would not catch beneath my shoes. The wedding gown suddenly felt ridiculous against the cold, imposing structure in front of me. I had spent the entire day dressed as a bride, surrounded by flowers, music, cameras, and people pretending this was the beginning of something beautiful.

Standing there, I felt like an intruder being delivered to a fortress.

Lucien came around the other side of the car.

He did not offer me his hand.

I was grateful.

The moment my shoes touched the stone steps, I heard a quiet voice behind me.

"Mrs. Moretti."

I turned.

A woman in her late fifties stood near the entrance. Her dark dress was perfectly pressed, her silver hair pulled into a neat bun, and her expression carried the careful neutrality of someone who had spent years learning when to speak and when silence was safer.

"Welcome home."

Home.

The word nearly made me laugh.

Instead, I gave her a polite smile. "Thank you."

Her eyes moved over me briefly before returning to Lucien.

"Everything is prepared."

"Good."

That was all he said.

He walked inside, and I followed.

The entrance hall was enormous. Marble flooring stretched beneath a chandelier large enough to belong in a hotel, while dark wooden walls framed several paintings that looked old enough to have their own history. The furniture was expensive without appearing comfortable. Everything had a place. Everything was clean. Everything seemed carefully controlled.

It reminded me of Lucien.

Nothing about him appeared accidental.

I stepped farther into the house, quietly taking in the corridors and staircases. Two hallways extended from the main entrance. One disappeared toward what looked like the private rooms, while the other led toward a wider section of the house where I could hear distant voices.

"Your room is upstairs," the woman said.

"My room?"

She hesitated.

Lucien answered before she could.

"Her room."

I looked at him.

"Not ours?"

The woman immediately became interested in the floor.

Lucien did not.

"No."

That surprised me.

He turned toward the staircase. "You will have your own room."

I followed him upward, trying not to show how relieved I was. Being forced into a marriage was already more than enough. Sharing a bedroom with a man I barely knew would have made the situation considerably worse.

As we reached the second floor, I noticed another guard positioned near the end of the hallway.

He was not looking at us.

He was watching the staircase.

Interesting.

Lucien stopped beside a set of double doors.

"This is yours."

I entered.

The room was large, decorated in shades of cream, charcoal, and muted gold. A balcony overlooked the grounds. There was a sitting area near the windows, a dressing room on the opposite side, and a bed large enough to make the entire space feel excessive.

Someone had placed fresh flowers on the table.

I walked toward them.

White roses.

I touched one of the petals, then withdrew my hand.

Sophia liked white roses.

My sister had always said they looked peaceful.

I had always thought they looked like flowers people bought when they wanted a room to appear peaceful.

"You remembered."

I turned.

Lucien stood near the doorway.

"Remember what?"

"The roses."

His expression did not change.

"I did not choose them."

"Then who did?"

"I will find out."

That answer made me look at him more carefully.

"You did not arrange the room?"

"No."

"Then why does everyone seem to know what I like?"

"They do not."

I glanced toward the flowers again.

"Someone does."

Silence settled between us.

Lucien stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

The sound was quiet.

Still, I noticed it.

My body reacted before my thoughts did. My shoulders became alert, my feet adjusting naturally beneath the dress. Years of training had taught me not to wait until danger became obvious.

Lucien noticed.

Of course he did.

"You are afraid of me?"

"No."

"Good."

"That was not an invitation to prove otherwise."

For the first time, he almost laughed.

Almost.

He walked toward the sitting area and removed his cuff links, placing them carefully on the table.

I watched the movement.

"You knew."

He stopped.

I folded my arms.

"You knew before the ceremony."

He did not ask what I meant.

That was enough to answer.

"How long?"

"Long enough."

"That is not an answer."

"It is the only one you are getting tonight."

I took a step toward him.

"You married the wrong woman."

"No."

The answer was immediate.

I frowned.

"You heard me."

"I did."

"I am not Sophia."

"I know."

The words landed between us with absolute calm.

No shock.

No hesitation.

No confusion.

I stood completely still.

For a moment, the room seemed strangely quiet despite the distant sounds coming from somewhere downstairs.

"You knew," I said.

Lucien looked at me.

"I knew before you reached the altar."

My fingers slowly curled against my arms.

"Then why did you let the wedding happen?"

"Because you walked toward me."

"I was forced."

"I know."

"You knew that too?"

"I know more than you think."

Anger rose through me, sharp and immediate. I crossed the room, stopping only a few feet away from him.

"Then explain something to me. If you knew I was not Sophia, why did you say nothing?"

"Would you have stopped?"

"Yes."

"No, you would not."

His certainty irritated me.

"You do not know me."

"I know enough."

"You saw me for a few hours."

"No."

The word was quiet.

He looked at me for several seconds before continuing.

"I saw you years ago."

My thoughts stalled.

"What?"

"Not here."

He walked toward the window and pulled the curtain aside slightly. The grounds below were illuminated by scattered lights, with guards moving between the buildings.

"You would not remember me."

"Try me."

"You were younger."

"So were you."

"I was watching someone else."

I waited.

He said nothing more.

"Who?"

Lucien released the curtain.

"That is not important."

"It is to me."

"Not yet."

I stared at him.

There was something about the way he spoke that made every answer feel like another locked door.

And I had spent my entire life opening locked doors.

"What did you see?"

"You."

The answer was so simple that I almost missed its meaning.

"Doing what?"

"Fighting."

I said nothing.

He continued.

"Underground ring. Years ago."

The room seemed to narrow around the words.

Nobody in my family knew about that part of my life.

At least, that was what I believed.

I had been young, angry, reckless, and determined to prove that I could survive without anyone protecting me. The fights had started as training and turned into something else. Money. Information. Contacts. Eventually, I learned that an underground ring was sometimes a better place to hear secrets than any office or police station.

I had never told Sophia everything.

I had never told my parents.

I had certainly never told Lucien Moretti.

"That is impossible."

"No."

"How did you know it was me?"

"You fought like someone who had nothing to lose."

My mouth went dry.

He turned from the window.

"I remembered your face."

I searched his expression for some sign that he was lying.

There was none.

"You have been watching me."

"I have been aware of you."

"That is a strange way to describe it."

"It is the accurate way."

"Why?"

He did not answer.

I stepped closer.

"Why were you watching me?"

"Because you were interesting."

"That is not enough."

"It was for me."

I stared at him, trying to understand the man standing in front of me.

He had known.

He had recognized me.

He had allowed me to marry him while knowing perfectly well that I was not the woman everyone believed I was.

And somehow, the most disturbing part was that he did not seem angry.

He seemed satisfied.

I turned away from him and walked toward the balcony doors. My reflection appeared faintly in the glass: white dress, veil still pinned into my hair, wedding ring catching the light.

A bride.

But not Sophia.

I touched the ring with my thumb.

"Does my family know?"

"No."

"Does anyone?"

"Cassian suspects. Rafael noticed."

I looked over my shoulder.

"And you?"

"I knew."

The room fell silent again.

I looked back at my reflection.

All this time, I had believed I was the one entering the Moretti house with a secret.

I was beginning to understand that Lucien had been keeping his own secrets long before I arrived.

"Why marry me?"

He did not answer immediately.

I turned around.

"Lucien."

His expression became unreadable.

"You came here looking for your sister."

"Yes."

"And you believe marrying me will help you find her."

"It will."

"Maybe."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Maybe?"

He walked toward the door.

I followed him with my eyes.

Before leaving, he stopped and looked back at me.

"You are searching for the wrong thing, Anastasia."

"What am I supposed to be searching for?"

His hand rested on the doorknob.

"The reason Sophia was supposed to become my wife."

Then he opened the door.

I took a step forward.

"Lucien."

He paused.

I waited for him to turn.

He did.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then he said, quietly enough that the words felt meant only for me,

"You are not her."

And this time, there was no doubt.

He had never wanted Sophia.

He had wanted me.