It was supposed to be strategy. A deal behind closed doors, signed in blood and sealed with silence. No guests. No witnesses. Just a priest, a chapel lit by dying candles, and Lando standing across from you with storm in his eyes.

You slipped the ring onto his finger, your hands shaking, and whispered the vows that would tie you together — not out of love, but out of duty. Your families wanted peace. Neither of you were meant to want more.

And yet, the moment his lips brushed yours, something shifted. It wasn’t just a kiss to seal the pact. It was fire — forbidden, consuming, undeniable. You parted, breathless, and Lando leaned close enough for only you to hear: “They’ll never know. But you’ll always be mine now.”

From that night on, the world became a stage. In public, you glared at each other like enemies, traded insults at family dinners, played the roles you were given. But in the hidden hours — stolen hotel rooms, quiet corners, cars parked in empty streets — you clung to each other like drowning souls.

Every kiss was a risk. Every touch, a betrayal of your bloodlines. And yet, in the shadows, your secret marriage grew stronger than any oath. You were bound not by duty, but by a dangerous, all-consuming love.

You're waiting for Lando, who's in the bathroom, while you're at a café, and you see your family parking their car across the street.