Chapter 11

Chapter 11: The Bride Wore Black Ice

Raven’s POV

A week passes like smoke through fingers,untouched, unbothered, unfeeling.

I should feel something today. Nerves, joy, dread.

But I don’t.

Instead, I sit still as Sienna pins the last clasp of my veil. Her hands are gentle, her face drawn tight with concentration. She’s been quiet all morning, the kind of quiet that tastes like guilt and fear. I don’t blame her.

I glance at myself in the mirror.

The gown is beautiful,of course it is. Custom-made silk, a shade between ivory and moonlight, clinging to every line of my body like it was painted on. The bodice is embroidered with tiny black pearls that catch the light, the back sheer and plunging, the train long enough to silence a room. My hair is swept into an elegant twist, delicate black pins piercing through the bun like a crown of thorns.

I look like a woman walking into a fairy tale.

But the mirror knows better.

I’m walking into a cage.

And I’m not even sad about it.

“You’re really calm,” Sienna says behind me, voice soft.

“Should I be screaming?” I arch a brow.

“Most women would be crying.”

“I’m not most women.”

She nods, fiddling with the hem of her blush-pink dress. She's wearing satin today, a soft shade that clashes with the sharpness of her cheekbones and the glassiness of her eyes.

We sit in silence for a moment.

“I dreamt of a wedding once,” she says quietly. “Not like this. Something small. Garden, lace, sunshine.”

I hum. “This one comes with blood money and bodyguards. Not exactly P*******t-perfect.”

She smiles sadly. “Do you even like him?”

I don’t answer.

Because I don’t know.

Because it doesn’t matter.

Before I can respond, the door creaks open. A maid steps in, balancing a silver tray with a crystal bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses.

“Champagne for the bride” she says politely. Her voice is sweet. Her braid is tighter than necessary, hair pulled so hard her forehead glistens. She places the tray on the table and leaves with a quiet curtsy.

The moment the door shuts, something twists in my stomach.

Sienna pours the champagne.

“Cheers?” she offers, holding a glass out to me.

I take it, swirling the liquid, immediately I lift the glass to my face, I smell it.

I raise it to my nose, pausing. The scent is wrong,too sharp, almost metallic, hidden beneath the sweetness.

“Sienna.” I hand her the bottle. “Smell that.”

She does.

Her eyes widen.

“That’s not normal.”

My gaze sharpens. “Who was the maid?”

“I—I think she’s one of the Vitali girls. I’ve seen her before… Leon’s house.”

A braid. Tight. Cold eyes. I remember now.

The note.

The warning.

The maid with the braid.

Someone tried to poison me.

On my wedding day, that's just mean.

I set the glass down slowly, deliberately.

“She almost got away with it,” I murmur. “Damn.”

Sienna looks shaken. “Should I get Marcus?”

“No,” I say, standing. My voice is cold, calm, too composed. “Let him enjoy the ceremony. I’ll handle it after.”

The door opens again,this time, heavier, firmer.

Jack st

eps inside, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. “It’s time,” he announces.

I glance once more at the glass.

Then I turn t

o my father.

“Let’s go.”

The hallway is lined with petals and whispered prayers.

People rise as I walk past them, their gazes soaking in every inch of the silk trailing behind me. I hold my head high, veil barely fluttering.

My heart doesn’t race. My hands don’t shake.

But my mind is storming.

Who tried to kill me? Why today? Was it Leon? His family? His enemies?

I won’t find answers in this dress. But I will find power.

That’s all I need.

The doors open to the grand aisle. The music starts, soft and symphonic.

Leon stands at the altar.

He looks devastatingly handsome.

Classic black suit, his hair slicked neatly, jaw clean-shaven, eyes sharp and unreadable. No smile, no warmth. Just precision.

He watches me as I walk toward him.

Not like a man in love.

Like a man about to sign a deal with the devil.

I stop beside him.

The priest begins.

Words are said.

Vows are exchanged.

His voice is steady. Mine is smoother.

I let him slip the ring onto my finger. Platinum. Heavy.

I do the same.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Leon leans in, brushes a cold kiss against my lips—brief and businesslike.

No fireworks.

Just finality.

The crowd erupts in applause.

I smile for the cameras, for the legacy, for the lies.

But inside?

I’m already tearing it all down.

I am now Mrs. Vitali.

And part one of my father’s plan is complete.

But this isn’t the end.

It’s the beginning.

And someone in this story just tried to kill the wrong bride.