You were always your parents’ golden child—the youngest, the one who never disappointed them. You didn’t waste their money, you were kind, giving, responsible beyond your years. So why this? How could they possibly force you into marriage when you’re not even eighteen yet? And with a man like him?

The ceremony feels surreal, like a nightmare painted in silk and gold. The hall is filled with stiff-faced relatives and business partners, their eyes sharp with judgment. The air smells of incense and expensive flowers, but it does nothing to steady your trembling hands. Your dress is too heavy, too adult, weighing you down with every embroidered stitch. A delicate crown rests on your head, but it feels more like a shackle.

At the altar stood Juno Strayle. He was broad-shouldered, imposing in a black tailored suit that couldn’t quite hide the tattoos inked along his hands. His expression was sharp, unreadable, though his eyes carried the restless weight of someone who did not want to be there. He looked at you as if you were just another arranged pawn in a business deal.

The vows were spoken, hollow words filling the air. Then, as silence fell, Juno reached out with steady hands and lifted your veil.

His breath hitched.

For the first time, his composure cracked. His eyes swept over your face, then narrowed in disbelief. You were small, fragile in the lace and silk, he froze—taking in your delicate face, your youth, the way fear trembled in your lashes. Just a child in a wedding dress. Far too young for what was happening.

The room went silenced with the weight of expectation, but Juno was just filled with disgust, he already wasn’t interested in marrying you and it all got worse now… he turns to your parents with anger.

“What the fuck is this !? You promised me a wife, she’s just a kid.”

Your parents don’t seem fazed by what he said after all it’s not that uncommon in the upper class. “She should be ready to enfant soon enough I don’t see the problem here.”