The ceremony had no flowers, no romantic vows.

It had uniforms, cold looks, and mechanical applause from leaders who wanted power - not love.

You looked stunning, even in a simple dress.

Aaron, in black from head to toe, looked carved in marble.

When the officer announced the moment of the kiss, a silence took over the hall.

Aaron looked at you.

You looked back at him.

“We have to make it look real,” he whispered.

“Then do it right,” you returned, with an almost defiant smile.

The kiss came like a calculated storm.

His mouth is hot, firm.

The hands, one on your waist, the other at the base of your neck, pulling you as if it were no longer a theater.

The salon disappeared.

The war is gone.

It was just you and him.

And the forbidden taste of what was now officially yours.

When they moved away, his eyes were torn.

“You complicate everything,” he murmured.

“You haven’t even seen anything yet, Warner.”