Bianca saw it all in a dream.
The warmth of his touch. The way his lips moved as he whispered her name. The fire in his eyes that always sent her heart racing. Liam.
He stood there, so close yet so far, his presence wrapping around her like a bitter sweet melody. But just as she reached for him, a shadow loomed at the edge of the table—a man she had never seen before. Tall. Commanding. Unreadable. His dark gaze held power, the kind that suffocated, the kind that owned.
A cold chill crawled up her spine. Liam was her safe place, her one true love. So why did the stranger's presence feel inevitable?
Bianca jerked awake, her breath ragged, her skin damp with sweat. The remnants of the dream clung to her, refusing to fade. It had been happening for days now—Liam's face, then the faceless man who was about to consume her fate.
Her father had made up his mind. She was to be married—to Kayden Russo, a billionaire businessman with far-reaching influence.
The memory crept on Bianca, dragging her back to that moment—when her father sat across from her, his expression firm, his decision already made.
"Bianca, the ministry is under scrutiny," he had said, his voice steady but tight. "There's talk…investigations. People asking questions they shouldn't."
She frowned. "What kind of questions?"
"Donations. Foreign transfers. Partnerships. Things they don't understand." His voice sharpened. "We've built something powerful—televisions stations, mission branches, political reach. That kind of influence makes enemies."
She stared at him, her pulse hammering. "So this isn't about faith. This is about keeping the money clean."
"Watch your words," he snapped, but didn't deny it. "Everything that I've done is for God's kingdom. And to keep this ministry alive, we need allies who don't flinch under pressure."
He leaned forward then, eyes burning. "Kayden's family has global holdings. Media empires. Offshore banks. Political ties. With this marriage, we're well protected. The investigations will disappear. We'll expand without fear. It's the only way."
Bianca felt her stomach turn. It wasn't about her. It was never about her.
"That's all I am to you? Her voice came out in a whisper." A sacrifice?"
"You're the solution," he said coldly. "You may not see it now, but in time you will understand."
"I won't do this," she said standing up."I don't care about the money, or the ministry, or your so-called divine plan."
"It's not a plan—it's protection," he replied, his voice low and lethal. "Without this marriage, everything collapses. You think this is about saving souls? This is about survival."
Her throat tightened. "And if I refuse?"
"Then the ministry burns. Our name gets dragged through every court and headline. And you—" he stood slowly "—you'll take the fall with me."
Bianca staggered back a step. The threat wasn't just implied—it was direct.
The memory faded, but its weight remained, pressing against her chest like an iron cage.
Bianca blinked, her eyes refocusing on the dimly lit room around her. Her father's words echoed in her mind, a reminder that no matter how much she resisted, her fate had already been sealed.
She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand–6:15 a.m. Like clockwork, her father would be expecting her at the breakfast table in precisely fifteen minutes, dressed and ready for service.
Sighing, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The morning chill sent a shiver up her spine as she reached for the robe draped over the chair near her vanity.
The mirror reflected a version of herself she could not recognise–lips slightly parted, brows drawn together, eyes clouded with thoughts she couldn't say out loud. She stood there for a minute, staring, before shaking her head and turning away. She walked towards her closet, her fingers trailing through the delicate lace of her sunday attire.
White.
Cream.
Pastel blue.
Soft, delicate colours that represented purity, modesty, obedience. The kind of dresses a preacher's daughter was supposed to wear. Bianca's fingers hesitated for a second before pulling out the pale lavender one—long sleeves, high neckline, flowing down to her ankles. Modest. Appropriate. Expected.
As she reached for her pair of nude heels, her hands brushed against something tucked in the corner of the closet. A small wooden box, barely noticeable beneath a pile of neatly folded scarves.
Her heart tightened. She knew it was him.
Slowly, as if drawn by a force beyond her control, she sank on the floor, pulling the box onto her lap. It felt lighter than she remembered, but the weight in her chest was crushing.
With slightly trembling fingers, she lifted the lid.
Inside, a handful of pictures lay scattered, faded edges curling slightly. Her throat tightened as she picked up the one on top.
It was a picture of her and Liam.
The summer before everything fell apart.
They were at the old boardwalk, the ocean stretching endlessly behind them. She was laughing, head tilted back, as Liam pulled her into his arms. His face was turned slightly, but she could still see the way he was looking at her–like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
A sharp ache settled in her chest.
They had been in love. The kind of love that made her feel alive,that made her believe in forever. But forever hadn't lasted.
Bianca exhaled and reached for her bag, slinging it over her shoulders as she made her way out of her room.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread filled the air.
She was expected at the breakfast table.
She was always expected.
Her father sat at the head of the table, his posture straight, his presence commanding. Her mother, as always, was beside him, silent but ever-present, her role perfectly played—obedient, devoted, unquestioning.
Bianca slid into her seat, eyes flickering towards the golden wedding band on her mother's finger, a symbol of the very thing she was being forced into.
"I hope you have thought about the marriage proposal," her father said, breaking the silence as he set his cup down.
"I haven't," she said flatly, setting the spoon down. "Because it's not a proposal—it's a demand."
Her mother stiffened but kept her eyes on her plate. Her father didn't flinch.
"Call it what you want. It's happening." His tone left no room for discussion.
Bianca pushed back her chair, the screech of wood against tile slicing through the silence. "You want me to marry a man I don't even know—not for love, not for me–but to protect your secrets? To keep the government off your back and hide what really happens behind those stained-glass windows?"
Her mother stiffened but kept her eyes on her plate. She gripped her fork tighter, knuckles pale against the silver. Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to speak—but no words came. Instead, she blinked hard and looked away. Her father didn't flinch.
Bianca had once thought she'd be different. That her mother would be different. But she wasn't. She never had been.
"It's not about what you see, Bianca," her father continued."It's about what's right for this family and the church. This is bigger than you."
Of course, it was. It always was.
She forced herself to bite back the words burning on her tongue. She knew better than to argue.
Her father took another sip of his coffee."You will meet him soon, and maybe your doubt will be put to rest."
Doubt? If only that was all she felt.
Bianca stared at her plate, at this point, she had lost her appetite. She already knew this was a battle she couldn't win.
And that realization settled over her like a heavy weight as she pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. "I have to get to church," she said, Bianca pushed her chair, legs scraping against the marble floor as she rose to her feet.
She could feel the weight of her mother's stare—the silent approval of whatever decision her father made. Or was it something else? There was a flicker of something in her eyes—a plea, perhaps, or regret—but it disappeared the moment their gazes met. Bianca wanted to scream at her, shake her, beg her to fight for her, but what was the point? Her mother had long accepted her place at her father's side, a shadow of his authority rather than a force of her own.
She had barely stepped into the hallway when her phone buzzed in her hand. A part of her considered ignoring it, but she went ahead to check who it was.
Her breath hitched as she stared at the name flashing on her phone screen.
Liam.
Her fingers hovered over the notification. She shouldn't open it. She couldn't.
Yet, her heart was already racing, pounding against her ribcage as if it remembered something her mind tried to forget.
Bianca swallowed hard.
She clicked on the message.
And froze.