The door opened to light.
Not the soft morning hue of her room or the flicker of a candle but full, blinding gold, reflected off marble floors and mirrored columns. The wedding hall stretched out before her .Flowers lined the aisle in perfect rolls of red and cream. Soft music floated something stringed and slow. Everyone had already turned looking down at her .She stood at the threshold, a woman draped in ivory satin, with a ring already on her finger and a nam she hadn't even chosen pressing like a brand behind her eyes.
She lifted her head up and at the far end of the aisle stood Lucien.
He was in black jsut a single dark suit, fitted and immaculate, as if he'd stepped out of a painting meant to last. His eyes found her instantly. No smile. Just observing her, steady and unreadable.
A woman behind her whispered, "Go when you're ready."
Aria took a breath that felt too tight in her ribs and took a shuddering step forward.
The shoes had been chosen for her. The walk rehearsed by someone else. But the weight of each step was hers alone. Every eye in the room felt like a brand. She counted the steps in her head not to calm herself, but because it was something she could control, the only thing she could control.
Lucien didn't move, he simply just watched her.
When she reached the altar, he held out his hand, and she placed her hand in his. His grip was warm, firm. Too comfortable. He leaned in just slightly.
"You're late," he said, the corner of his mouth barely twitching.
"You could've married someone punctual," she whispered back.
"I could've." His eyes scanned hers. "But she wouldn't be you."
The officiant began to speak. Aria heard none of it, only the beat of her pulse, the faint swish of her dress when she moved, the rustle of Lucien adjusting beside her. Her mouth repeated the vows exactly as rehearsed.
"I, Lena Monroe, take you…"
The name felt foreign and brittle in her throat but Still, she said it. Still wore the ring again this time placed by Lucien's hand, not her own. He said his vows clearly, not missing a word, his voice steady, like this was a merger rather than a marriage.
When it ended, there was applause. Kisses on cheeks, photographers clicking thier cameras, and Flashes everywhere
Lucien leaned in once more. His lips brushed her temple.
"Well done,love" he murmured.
She didn't respond.
Instead, she looked beyond the crowd, past the chandeliers and garlands, through the high windows where the sun was already starting to come down.
The applause still echoed faintly as Aria stepped into the reception hall.
It was a different kind of grand low gold light, darker wood, heavy velvet drapes drawn just wide enough to let in streaks of sunlight Tables each set with crystal and cutlery sharp enough to wound. Staff moved with eerie synchronicity, as though they, too were part of the choreography.
The crowd clapped again when they entered, Lucien's hand resting lightly against the small of her back, guiding her without force but not without any pressure.
They took their place at the long head table, raised slightly on a dais. Aria's nam Lena was printed in gold on the menu beside her plate. A three course meal she hadn't chosen was served without question. She lifted her wine glass to her lips mostly to avoid speaking to anyone
Lucien spoke in quiet intervals to the advisors seated near them, voices low and cordial. Occasionally, he turned to her with a remark, but never a question. Small talk, meant to be overheard. They laughed in the right places. Touched hands once, briefly, for the cameras.
There was a dance, of course. The first one.
He led and she just followed
The music was slow and layered with strings. His hand rested at her waist like it belonged there. When she stumbled, barely he caught her with ease, smiling slightly.
"You're doing fine," he said softly.
"Is that what you tell all your captives?"
Lucien chuckled under his breath. "Only the beautiful ones."a
A camera flashed. People clapped again and then the dance ended just like that
After that, the hours stretched by Speeches from people she didn't even recognize. Distant toasts. Whispers. A dull hum of tradition moving forward, all without her.
By the time the sun had gone down entirely and the sky turned a blue, Aria felt the weariness hit her. She sat straighter and blinked slower. Her jaw ached from the fixed expression she hadn't even realized she was wearing.
Sophia appeared beside her, silent as always, leaning down to whisper
"They're ready for you."
Not you and Lucien. Just you.
Aria's skin prickled. She stood, smoothed her dress, and glanced at Lucien, who had already risen from his seat and was waiting for her at the edge of the platform. His hand extended again.
This time, she didn't take it.
They walked side by side into the hall, their footsteps echoing softly on the marble, away from the crowd and the music and the false warmth of celebration
Toward whatever awaited her.
The door clicked open sound.
Aria stepped into the room first, then stopped.
The suite was darker than expected lit by low lamps and scattered candlelight, casting long shadows over velvet furniture and heavy drapes. Everything was in deep reds and antique golds. The bed was enormous, draped in gauze like a throne, and dressed in white silk sheets that looked very pristine and neat.
Her stomach turned.
Lucien stepped in behind her, the door shutting with a soft, certain thud. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Aria turned slowly. "This isn't my room."
Lucien loosened the collar of his tuxedo. "It's ours now."
"No," she said flatly. "It's not."
He looked at her then really looked like he was peeling back something he'd only glimpsed until now. "You've changed."
"No," Aria said, stepping backward toward the vanity. "You've just started realizing I'm someone else."
Lucien raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "You're not really lena are you?."
"I've been telling you that since the beginning."
He hummed, quiet and unreadable, moving toward a crystal decanter on the sideboard. He poured himself something dark. "Interesting how that didn't stop you from saying the vows. From wearing the ring."
"I didn't exactly have a choice now did I?."
"Everyone has a choice.always "
Aria stared at him. "Do I get to choose not to sleep with you tonight?"
Lucien set the glass down. Didn't drink. "Ah."
He said it like a sigh, or maybe an acknowledgement.
"There's a tradition," he said evenly. "One older than either of us. A ceremonial expectation proof, of consummation. On the sheets. In the morning."
Aria laughed, but it sounded too sharp. "You can go fuck your ceremonial expectation Lucien, I'm not doing all that."
Lucien tilted his head slightly, watching her like she'd just grown an extra limb or worse . "You really aren't her."
"No," she said. "I'm not. And the sooner you stop pretending I am, the easier this gets, whatever this is"
He didn't respond immediately. Just took a slow step toward her. Aria's hands tensed at her sides. She didn't move, didn't flinch, but every inch of her was braced for whatever he had in mind.
Lucien stopped just in front of her not touching, but close enough that the distance pulsed. He smelled faintly of smoke and spice and some cologne too ancient to name.
Then he turned And walked past her.
He unbuttoned his jacket, tossed it aside onto a chair, and sat down on the bed, legs wide, elbows on knees like he was at home, which, maybe,technically he was.
Aria turned, watching him.
"What now?" she asked. "You still need your proof."
Lucien didn't look at her. He stood, crossed the room to a carved wooden writing desk, opened a drawer.
When he turned back, a narrow ceremonial knife was in his hand.
He walked slowly back to the bed, sat, and without a word, drew the blade across his own palm
Aria gasped watching him but he didn't even wince or show any reaction at all
He let the blood fall. One drop, two then a little more . The red soaked into the white sheets, spreading quickly ."
Then he laid back.
Aria could only watch, breath caught somewhere between her heartstrings
Lucien didn't explain or say anything.He just let his eyes close, the cut still bleeding faintly beside him.