The Wife in the Mirror

              CELESTE.

    I had heard people say that veils were meant to shield the bride from bad luck. In my case, however, it was to protect the world from the truth-my truth.

   I kept my chin lifted as I walked down the aisle, every step of my slippered feet measured, the heels silent on the antique marble floor. I was dressed like a woman in love; my gloved hands clutching a bouquet of winter roses, lips painted a soft shade of pink, veil trailing like smoke behind me, heart racing like the wind that coursed through my ears.

But my heart wasn’t racing from nerves or devotion. No.

It beat for one reason, and one reason only: the mission.

The estate chapel was cold, austere, and beautiful in a way that felt curated rather than sacred. Stone arches stretched high above, carved with ancient family crests. The pews were lined with powerful strangers: politicians, war profiteers, and quiet men in darker suits who didn’t belong to any nation’s government. There weren’t many of them, but each one could decide the fate of a continent with a signature or a bullet.

I catalogued their faces through the lace veil. Memorised expressions. Noted seating patterns.The older woman in gold beside the retired general- the grandmother, likely. She hadn’t looked at me once. The towering man near the front with the crooked tie- a security detail. Left-handed. Likely armed. The older man in a sharp tailored suit, with a sharper expression on his stoic face.

And then I saw him.

Darius Vale.

My groom.

My mark.

He stood at the altar like it belonged to him, arms folded behind his back, not a single muscle out of place in that fitted navy blue suit. He didn’t smile when I approached. His piercing eyes didn’t soften. He looked at me as if he could already see beneath the veil and knew I wasn’t the betrothed I claimed to be.

The rumours hadn’t done him justice. Darius was not simply “dangerous” or “brilliant.” No, this man radiated control like a second skin. Navy blue suit, no tie, collar slightly open like he refused to be bound even on his wedding day. His eyes were a brutal shade of hazel steel- not cold, but sharpened. The kind of eyes that saw everything and spoke very little, if anything.

Good. Let him look.

Let him think this was just a marriage to smooth political tensions after the death of my “father.” Let him believe I was another sacrifice for the legacy.

I would be the last person, the last thing he ever underestimated.

The priest began his litany of words. Oaths, tradition, and blessings that meant nothing to either one of us.

I let my gaze drift again. Two guards at each door, earpieces tucked in tight. They were barely blinking as they stood tall and menacing, their eyes trailing across the perimeter of the room. The balcony above was empty, but I caught a flicker of movement in the far-right shadows. A sniper, most likely. Watching both our families. Watching us both.

Darius’s inner circle surrounded him like marble statues. Loyal, unbending, and no doubt handpicked for this very display. I studied each face under lowered lashes, filing names to match with dossiers. The older woman in blue to the right- his aunt. Ruthless, if the reports were correct. Responsible for purging half their family in the last inheritance war. I had to smile.

These people didn’t believe in love.

Only strategy.

The priest paused. “Do you, Mira Lanford, take this man to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and health, to love, and to cherish, till death do you part, according to God’s holy will. Will you pledge to him, your faithfulness?”

Mira. That was the name I’d worn like silk and armour for over a year now. The real daughter of Senator Lanford was long dead. I’d watched her die. Watched her body burn in a ditch no one ever discovered. And I’d taken her place; through years, and years of surgery, training, voice coaching, and a dozen scars no one was supposed to see. I was now Mira Lanford.

“I do,” I said, with a softness I’d practised for months.

Darius’s gaze didn’t waver. Not once.

“And do you, Darius Vale, take this woman to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and health, to love, and to cherish, till death do you part, according to God’s holy will. Will you pledge to her your faithfulness?”

“I do,” he said, smooth as sin.

The priest gestured, and I stepped forward. Darius then took my hand. He was cool, firm, and completely in control as he slid the diamond-studded ring onto my finger. I did the same. A simple band of platinum. Sleek and unsentimental.

We didn’t kiss. That part had been agreed upon before the ceremony. There was to be no theatrics.

But the moment our hands dropped, he leaned closer. Just enough for only me to hear.

“I look forward to discovering what you’re made of,” he said softly. His breath brushed the shell of my ear like a secret.

I smiled sweetly beneath the veil. “I hope you’re not easily shocked.”

He chuckled once, a low, rich sound, and stepped back. Out of my reach once more.

The ceremony ended with quiet applause, shallow smiles, and not a single congratulations that felt genuine. We were escorted out through a back corridor toward the eastern wing of the estate, where the cameras weren’t allowed. The hallway was lined with old portraits and fresh floral arrangements, but nothing about it felt like a celebration.

When the doors shut behind us, I finally let my posture relax by one inch. Just enough to feel my spine again. Darius walked beside me, hands in his pockets, and I realised something with a sharp twist in my gut. He hadn’t looked away from me once. Not even during the vows. Not even when I pretended not to notice. He was watching me. Watching.

“You’re quieter than I expected,” I said lightly.

“Disappointed?”

“Surprised.”

He turned to me, not stopping. “Most people think they know who I am before they meet me. They read the headlines about me, shake my hand, and assume they’ve not only seen, but know the man.”

“And have they?”

He smirked. “Not yet.”

He stopped at the doors to what I assumed was the bridal suite. Before I could speak, he reached up and lifted the veil from my face. His touch was careful, deliberate.

Our eyes locked.

And in that split second, something shifted slightly. Barely- like the first crack across a frozen lake, but surely.

He saw something. But I didn’t think he knew what it was yet.

And that made him dangerous.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Vale,” he said softly.

I smiled. “Thank you… husband.”

But in my mind, I whispered the real words that my tongue could not afford to.

Enemy.

.