Vows and Veils

Two Weeks Later...

The bells tolled like a warning as Amira stood frozen at the foot of the cathedral steps.

Her bouquet shook in her hands, thorns biting into her palms. The sharp sting was the only thing keeping her upright while the world screamed around her.

 “Amira! Over here!”

“Miss Westwood, smile for the cameras!”

“Is it true this marriage is a business deal?”

Flashes exploded like lightning, searing her eyes, her skin, her very soul.

They didn’t see a bride.

They saw a headline. A scandal wrapped in white silk.

Beside her, Giselle’s hand slid over her arm, light and deceptively tender.

“Chin up, darling,” she whispered through a flawless smile. “Remember—this isn’t about love. It’s about power.”

Amira forced her lips into a curve, even as nausea churned in her stomach. She climbed the marble steps with Giselle at her back, feeling like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

The cathedral doors opened. The crowd turned as one. Gasps rippled like wind through leaves.

And at the altar, Leon Mercer waited.

Tall. Imposing. His black suit tailored within an inch of perfection. His dark glasses caught the light, hiding his eyes, while a silver-tipped cane rested casually at his side.

To everyone else, he looked like a tragic, powerful figure.

To Amira, he looked like a locked door—and she’d just been thrown inside without the key.

Her steps faltered.

Giselle’s subtle push urged her forward.

Breathe, Amira told herself. Walk. Just walk.

The ceremony blurred past her, a whirlwind of flashes and whispers.

Leon spoke his vows first, his voice deep, smooth, and terrifyingly calm.

 “I vow to protect this union,” he said, each word precise, unshakable. “Against enemies. Against ruin. Against anyone who dares to threaten it.”

The crowd sighed, enchanted.

But to Amira, his words sounded less like a promise and more like a warning.

When it was her turn, her throat tightened.

“I do,” she managed, her voice a whisper swallowed by the vaulted ceiling.

Behind her, Giselle exhaled in satisfaction. Victory.

Leon’s hand brushed hers as he slid the ring into place. His grip was warm. Steady.

Too steady.

Almost… practiced.

A flicker of unease passed through her, but she forced it down.

The priest’s final words rang out, and applause thundered through the cathedral.

The flashes came again, blinding, relentless.

To the world, they were the perfect couple.

To Amira, it felt like a cage snapping shut.

The ballroom glittered with wealth and deception.

Golden chandeliers bathed everything in a glow that felt like a lie. Guests laughed too loudly. Glasses clinked. Behind every smile lurked a sharpened knife.

Amira moved through the crowd like a ghost, laughing, smiling, nodding—none of it real.

Her ribs ached beneath the suffocating corset. Her face burned from holding the mask in place.

Leon was across the room, surrounded by powerful men and women. Though blind, he seemed to anticipate every approach, turning smoothly toward voices a beat before they spoke.

The others saw grace.

Amira saw something she couldn’t name.

Her pulse quickened.

You’re imagining things, she told herself fiercely. He’s just careful. Controlled. That’s all.

A waiter stumbled behind Leon.

The tray tilted.

A crystal wine glass slid toward the edge.

In one swift motion, Leon’s hand shot out.

He caught the tray before the glass fell. Calm. Effortless. As if he’d known exactly where it would be.

The guests gasped. Then applauded lightly, charmed by his composure.

Amira couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t luck. It was… too precise. Too perfect.

Her heart pounded as she stared at him, but no one else noticed.

Leon turned his head slightly, those dark glasses hiding whatever lay beneath. Yet somehow, she felt his focus lock on her like a physical touch.

 “Is something wrong, Amira?”

Her lips curved automatically, though they trembled.

 “No,” she said quickly. “Nothing at all.”

His head tilted, like he was weighing her lie.

Then, without another word, he moved away, leaving her trembling.

The night air outside was cold, sharp enough to steal her breath.

Amira leaned against the stone railing, gulping in the silence.

“Mira.”

Her name cut through the darkness like a blade.

She spun. Darren stood there, half in shadow, his tuxedo rumpled, his face pale.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, glancing back toward the glowing ballroom windows. “You weren’t invited.”

“I had to see you.” His voice cracked. “Please, just listen—”

“No.” Her voice was ice. “You’ve said enough. Go back to Camila.”

Pain twisted his features. “She doesn’t matter! Mira, I I made a mistake.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “A mistake? You didn’t trip and fall into her arms, Darren. You chose to betray me.”

He grabbed her wrist, desperation bleeding into menace.

“You don’t understand,” he said hoarsely. “Leon—he’s dangerous. You don’t know who you just married.”

Amira froze, her pulse stuttering.

“You think he’s saving you,” Darren pressed, his grip tightening. “But he’ll destroy you. You and your father both.”

Her fear flared for a single heartbeat.

Then rage burned it away.

“The only person who destroyed me,” she spat, yanking her wrist free, “is standing right here.”

She turned sharply and walked away, heels striking the stone like gunfire.

Behind her, Darren’s voice shattered the night.

“You’ll see! You’ll see I was right!”

Leon stood at the doorway when she reentered the ballroom.

Still. Immaculate. A shadow carved into marble.

“Problem?” His tone was soft, but there was an edge beneath it that made her skin prickle.

Amira forced a perfect smile.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

Leon’s lips curved—not quite a smile.

“We’ll see.”

When the last guest was gone and the glitter had faded, Amira slipped into a small dressing room.

The mirror reflected a stranger: flawless makeup, diamond earrings, a bride made of ice.

Slowly, she stripped it all away.

The veil.

The jewels.

The gown.

Piece by piece, Giselle’s creation crumbled.

When the corset finally loosened, she collapsed to the floor, clutching the silk, the sobs tearing free at last.

For the first time, she let herself break.

Just Amira—alone, terrified, and trembling as the weight of what she’d done crashed down on her.