Dahlia’s POV

It was the middle of the night when I felt someone shake my shoulder. I opened my eyes and saw Denise kneeling beside me. Her hair was loose, her face pale but determined.

“Dahlia,” she whispered quickly, looking toward my door. “Wake up. I’m leaving.”

I blinked, confused. “What do you mean, leaving?”

She pointed to the small bag beside her. “I can’t do it. I won’t marry him,” she said, her voice sharp and trembling. “I’d rather die than belong to Luca Romano.”

My chest tightened. “Denise, you can’t,” I whispered, terrified. “They’ll kill us if you don’t go through with it.”

Her eyes softened for a moment, but she held my hand tight. “You’ll save them,” she said quietly. “You’ll take my place. Remember your promise.”

And just like always, I couldn’t say no to her. I nodded weakly. “I promise.”

She gave me a small, sad smile, then stood up and slipped out of my room. I watched her go, too scared to move, too numb to stop her. The sound of the door closing felt final.

Now, standing in her empty room, the memory haunted me. Mum was crying, clutching Denise’s letter, and Father was staring at me with cold, expectant eyes.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered finally.

Mum gasped softly, and Father nodded once, like it was already decided.

And just like that, my fate was sealed.

The hardest part was still ahead. The part where I would have to become her.

Put on her dress. Her smile. Her voice. And walk straight into the arms of the most feared man in Chicago—

Luca Romano—

My hands trembled as Mum lifted the gown from its box—the same gown Mr. Romano had sent days ago. Denise’s wedding dress. My sister’s. Not mine.

The silky white fabric shimmered under the light, too perfect, too pure, like it didn’t belong in this house or on me. To everyone else, it was beautiful. To me, it looked like a cage.

Mum held it out carefully, her hands shaking as she said softly, “Come on, Dahlia. We don’t have time.”

I swallowed hard and reached for it. My fingers brushed against the lace, and something inside me twisted. The dress was light, but it felt heavy in my arms. Denise would’ve looked stunning in it—she always did. Everything fit her effortlessly. But as I slipped it on, the fabric clung to my body too tightly. Denise had always been slimmer, neater. I wasn’t big, but compared to her, I felt… wrong. The dress hugged every curve, making it hard to breathe.

Mum circled me quickly, zipping the back and smoothing out the folds. Her hands moved fast, trembling, desperate. When she finally stepped back, her eyes glistened.

“You look just like her,” she whispered.

But I didn’t feel like her. I felt like I was drowning.

She sat me down in front of the mirror and began to work on my face. Powder, liner, lipstick—the same shades Denise always used. Her movements were gentle, careful, like she was painting a mask that had to be perfect.

I watched my reflection change little by little. My heartbeat was loud in my ears, my breaths uneven. With every stroke, my face disappeared and hers appeared in its place. Denise’s lips. Denise’s eyes. Denise’s perfect, confident smile.

When Mum finished, she touched my shoulder lightly, her voice soft but firm. “You’re doing this to keep us safe, Dahlia. That’s all that matters.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t feel convinced. Those words didn’t ease the fear in my chest—they only made it heavier. Father had never told me why Denise had to marry Luca Romano. He’d only said it was “for our safety.” Whatever that meant.

I looked at the mirror again. The girl staring back wasn’t me anymore. She was my sister—beautiful, fearless Denise.

But inside, it was still me. Terrified, trembling Dahlia.

The stranger in the mirror was about to walk into my sister’s life… and marry the man she ran away from.

My stomach turned, and I looked away. My hands were cold and slick with sweat, trembling no matter how hard I tried to keep them still.

The drive to the church felt like a blur. My body was in the car, but my mind was somewhere else—floating, drowning in fear. The dress was too tight around my ribs, and the lace kept scratching my skin, making it harder to breathe. I kept my hands on my lap, gripping the fabric, and every small bump on the road made my heart jump.

When we finally reached the church, my chest started to tighten. Slowly at first, then all at once, like my lungs just gave up. My fingers dug into the edge of my dress when the car stopped. My palms were sweaty, and I wiped them on the fabric without thinking. My heart was beating so loud it felt like it filled the car. For a second, I thought about running. Just opening the door and running down the road until this whole day disappeared. But my legs wouldn’t move. They felt heavy, like someone had tied them down.

Mum was the first to move—she always was. She opened the door quickly and stepped out, her heels clicking on the pavement. Then Father got out. He fixed his jacket, smoothed his hair, and came to open my door. “Come on,” he said, his voice soft but steady. I took his hand. It was warm, strong, but there was something strange in the way he held it. Like he wanted to comfort me, but didn’t know how.

We walked up to the entrance together. The stone steps were old and smooth, and my heels made small clicking sounds that echoed. The big wooden doors were open, and inside was dim, with candles flickering along the walls. Then I saw him.

A tall man stood near a pillar, dressed all in black. His suit was perfect, his face unreadable. His eyes moved over us, slow and sharp. When he spoke, his voice was low and calm, but something about it made my stomach twist.

“The boss wants to see you,” he said.

The way he said boss made the hairs on my neck rise.

We followed him without a word. He didn’t look back, just walked—steady, confident. Our footsteps echoed across the floor. The church seemed even larger the further we went, and the silence felt thick, like it was listening. I tried not to look at the statues on the walls, but I could still feel their cold stone eyes watching us.

Finally, the man stopped in front of a small wooden door at the very end of the corridor. My stomach twisted again, and I felt my palms grow sweaty. He didn’t even knock—just pushed the door open like he owned the place. The hinges creaked softly as it swung inward.

The room inside was small and dim, almost too quiet. Thick, dark curtains were pulled over the windows, blocking out all sunlight. The air smelled faintly of smoke and something expensive—maybe cologne or wine. There was a table in the middle of the room, made of polished wood, and two chairs placed neatly on either side. A single candle sat on the table, its tiny flame flickering and shaking every time the door moved.

And that’s when I saw him.

Dahlia’s POV

A tall man stood near the table, his back partly turned toward us. I didn’t need to see his face to know who he was. The air around him felt… heavy, powerful, like he was someone people didn’t dare to cross. Luca Romano.

My throat went dry the moment I recognized him. He turned slowly, and for a few seconds, I forgot how to breathe. He was—well, there wasn’t any other way to say it—dangerously attractive. The kind of man you’d think twice about staring at, because just one look could make you feel like you’d done something wrong.

His tuxedo was perfect, not a wrinkle in sight. The black fabric seemed to catch the candlelight in a way that made him look even more intimidating. His jawline was sharp—so sharp it honestly looked like it could cut glass. His midnight-black hair was slicked back neatly, not a strand out of place. And those eyes—stormy grey, cold and unreadable—locked on us the moment he turned. Or maybe just on me. I couldn’t tell.

My father immediately tensed beside me. I could hear his breathing change. Then he spoke, his voice trembling slightly, “Mr. Romano, forgive us for being late.”

Luca didn’t reply. He just stood there, silent, his eyes moving slowly from my father to my mother, then stopping on me. My heart thumped hard against my ribs, so loud I was sure everyone could hear it.

When I glanced at Mum, her face was pale. She looked horrified, like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Her hands clutched her shawl tightly, knuckles white.

Father nudged me lightly, his fingers shaking. “Say hello to Mr. Romano,” he whispered, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

My lips felt dry. I lowered my gaze to my shoes and tried to sound calm, though my voice came out soft and unsure. “H-hello, sir.”

I tried to mimic my sister’s tone—polite, confident—but it didn’t sound right. I sounded scared.

I heard slow, deliberate footsteps moving toward me. Each one made my chest tighten a little more. I didn’t dare look up until I saw his polished black shoes stop right in front of mine.

My whole body stiffened when I felt his fingers under my chin. They were cold, strong, forcing me to lift my head. My breath caught when my eyes met his.

Luca Romano was staring straight at me. His gaze was deep and unblinking, searching my face like he was trying to figure out what I was hiding. I tried my best not to look away, but it felt impossible. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too heavy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Father shift nervously. His hand twitched at his side, and I heard him clear his throat softly, like he didn’t even mean to. He didn’t say a word though. He just stood there, stiff and silent, like even breathing too loudly might make things worse.

Mum’s breathing was uneven too. Her lips were moving quietly, whispering a prayer I couldn’t hear. She kept her eyes on the floor, and I noticed how pale she looked. For a moment, I thought she might faint, but she didn’t. She just stood there, holding herself together somehow.

The whole room felt heavy. Cold. No one moved or spoke. Luca’s fingers slipped away from my chin, and his eyes stayed on me for a moment—calm, but impossible to read. The silence dragged on and on, until it felt like time itself had stopped.

Then he spoke.

“This should never happen again.”

His voice was low and smooth, the kind that sent chills through you without even trying. He didn’t raise it, but every word felt sharp. Like a warning that didn’t need to be repeated.

He took a step back, slow and controlled, his gaze sweeping over all of us one last time. Then he turned and walked out. The sound of his shoes echoed on the floor, fading away until there was nothing left but silence.

For a few seconds, no one moved. It was like we were all afraid he’d come back. Then Father let out a long breath, his shoulders dropping as if someone had cut a rope off him. Mum finally looked up, her eyes shiny, her lips still trembling.

“He didn’t suspect a thing,” Father said. His voice was low, shaky, but there was relief in it. He even tried to smile, though it barely lasted a second.

I didn’t say anything. My heart was still racing, my hands cold and sweaty. I could still feel Luca’s touch on my chin, still hear his voice in my head.

Maybe Father was right—maybe Luca hadn’t suspected anything.

The church ceremony went by like a blur. I barely remembered the vows or the music or even the part where Luca slid the ring onto my finger. Everything felt distant, like I was watching someone else’s life happen right in front of me. My palms were sweating the whole time. I was scared he would notice something, that he’d see through the lie and put a bullet in our heads right there in front of everyone.

When it was finally over, I felt dizzy with relief. But it didn’t last long. The reception started almost immediately, and people were everywhere—smiling, laughing, taking pictures, clinking glasses. Guests flowed left and right, congratulating us like this was some fairytale love story.

Luca stood beside me, calm and unreadable as always. He shook hands, nodded, smiled just enough to be polite. I copied him, forcing myself to smile too, my cheeks already aching. Every second felt like a test. Every time someone said my name—Denise—my heart skipped a beat.

After a while, Luca excused himself and walked away to talk to a group of men in dark suits. The air around me finally loosened, and I could breathe again. I reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, my hand trembling just a little. I took a sip, the bubbles sharp on my tongue, and let out a shaky breath.

“Denise!” a voice called behind me.

I turned quickly and saw a young woman heading straight toward me, her face lighting up like she’d just found her long-lost sister. Before I could even react, she threw her arms around me in a tight hug.

I froze, my mind racing. I didn’t know her—but she clearly knew Denise.

“Congratulations!” she gushed, pulling back to look at me. “I still can’t believe you’re actually married! And to him of all people! You hit the jackpot, girl.”

I forced a small laugh, hoping it sounded natural. “Thank you for coming,” I said, my voice soft but steady.

She smiled, totally unaware of the panic twisting inside me. “So tell me,” she said, leaning closer like we were sharing a secret, “now that you’re Mrs. Romano, are you still going to come clubbing with us? Or are you officially too fancy for that?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. I already knew what Denise would say.

“Of course I’ll still come,” I said, forcing a brighter smile. “Why would I stop?”

She laughed, tossing her hair back, but then something changed. Her smile froze, then slowly faded. Her eyes shifted past me, and she straightened up fast, like she’d just been caught doing something wrong.

Before I could ask what was wrong, she mumbled something about seeing me later and hurried away.

That’s when I felt it—the heavy presence behind me.

I turned slowly and found Luca standing there. He was close. Too close. His expression was unreadable, calm but sharp, like a blade hidden in silk.

“Oh really,” he said, his tone soft but mocking.

My throat went dry.

Then he leaned in just slightly, his eyes fixed on mine. “Tell me,” he said quietly, “where is your sister?”

For a second, my whole body froze. My heart stuttered in my chest, my palms went cold, and every sound around me faded. Had he found out? Did he know I wasn’t Denise? My mouth opened, but no words came out. I couldn’t even breathe.

And then—clink.

The sharp sound of a glass tapping broke through the silence. A man’s voice rose above the chatter, cheerful and booming.

“To Luca Romano and his beautiful new wife! May their marriage be long and filled with happiness!”

Everyone turned toward him, waiting for the toast to end. I managed a shaky smile, ready to lift my glass, pretending everything was normal.

But before anyone could cheer, the first gunshot rang out.

Bang.

Dahlia’s POV

The sound ripped through the hall—loud, sharp, and terrifying. For a moment, no one moved. Then another shot followed, and another. Glass shattered, people screamed, and the whole room broke into chaos. Guests scattered in every direction, tables flipped, chairs crashed to the ground.

My heart stopped. My legs felt weak. I didn’t even know where to run.

Then I felt a strong hand grab my arm. I gasped as I was yanked down to the floor, my glass slipping from my fingers and shattering beside me.

“Lay low,” Luca growled, his voice deep and rough in my ear. His body pressed close, shielding me. The scent of gunpowder and cologne filled my nose, and my pulse pounded so hard it hurt.

I ducked my head, trembling as more shots echoed through the air. Screams bounced off the walls, and all I could see were flashes of movement—men in suits running, people crying, and Luca’s cold eyes scanning the room like he was ready to kill whoever came near us.

Somewhere deep inside me, one thought kept repeating over and over.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This wasn’t supposed to be my life.

From his waistband, Luca drew a sleek black gun. My breath caught. I couldn’t look away as he stood up, tall and steady, his body still between me and the chaos. The sound of his gun filled the air—sharp, deafening cracks that made my ears ring and my stomach twist.

All around us, his men moved fast, like they’d done this a hundred times before. They pulled out their weapons, shouting to each other as they returned fire. Tables flipped over, wood splintering as bullets tore through them. I pressed my face to the floor, shaking so badly my teeth chattered. My heart slammed against my ribs, too fast, too loud.

Then I looked up—and saw him.

Luca. My husband. The man I had just married.

He stood there like the world around him wasn’t falling apart. Calm. Cold. Completely in control. His hand didn’t even tremble as he fired another shot. And when one of the attackers fell, Luca didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. He just turned slightly, scanning for the next one.

It was like watching death itself move through the room.

His dark eyes moved around the room, checking everything like he was counting the danger one by one. He didn’t look scared at all. Not even a little. He just started giving orders, calm and serious, and his men listened to him immediately. They moved quickly, cleaning up the mess and securing the place like they had done this a hundred times before.

I stood there shaking. My hands were on my face and I could barely breathe. My heart was racing so fast it hurt. Everything felt unreal—the noise, the smell, the fear. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

Then he reached for me.

His hand wrapped around mine—warm and strong. I felt it right through me, like a small shock that made my breath catch. His grip wasn’t rough. It was firm, steady, like he was saying without words that I was safe now. I didn’t know why, but that made me want to cry.

He pulled me to my feet, slow but sure. I stumbled because the floor was slippery with broken candles and petals, but he didn’t let go. He held my arm and kept me close, guiding me through the mess like it was nothing. My wedding dress was heavy and tangled, brushing against my legs, and I could feel sweat sticking it to my skin.

The black Range Rover was parked just ahead, shining under the broken lights like something out of a different world.

Luca walked beside me, his steps long and confident. His men were all around us, their faces serious, holding guns and watching every corner. The air smelled like gunpowder and smoke, mixed with the faint scent of flowers that somehow survived all of it.

I didn’t say a word. I just followed him, trying not to think, trying not to fall apart.

After what felt like forever, even though it was probably just a few minutes, we got to his mansion. It was huge. The walls were dark, the gates tall and heavy, and the windows shone like mirrors in the sunlight. The driveway was long, with neat green bushes on both sides. I felt a shiver run through me as I looked at the house. This was where I was supposed to stay now. With him. Alone.

My stomach twisted just thinking about it. I had only just met this man. I had only said “yes” because I had to. And now I was supposed to live in his house, like his wife. What if he didn’t believe I was Denise? What if he found out the truth and decided to kill me?

When he opened the car door for me, I didn’t move right away. My legs felt weak. I looked around, scared, not sure what to do. Then Luca looked at me. His dark eyes were calm but serious, and when he said, “Come,” his voice was soft but firm. I couldn’t say no.

I stepped out of the car. The gravel made a crunching sound under my shoes. The air was cool and made me shiver again. Each step toward the house felt heavier than the last. I felt so small next to him, so scared and unsure.

Inside, the house was even bigger. The air felt cold and quiet. The floors were shiny, and the furniture looked really expensive. Everything looked perfect—too perfect. Like a place where I didn’t belong.

An older woman came out from one of the halls. Her hair was gray and tied up neatly. She wore a black dress that looked like a uniform. Her face was calm, but her eyes looked sharp, like she noticed everything.

“Mr. Romano,” she said in a soft voice, bowing her head.

Luca didn’t smile. He didn’t even nod. He just said, “Take her upstairs.”

The woman looked at me, waiting. I slowly started walking toward her, my heart beating fast.

Then, his hand closed over mine. Strong. Commanding. Warm. But when I looked at him, my chest froze.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t soften his gaze. He just leaned a fraction closer and said words that made my stomach twist painfully:

“Go upstairs and wait for me… naked.”