he stood there, rigid in front of the altar, the weight of a future he hadn’t chosen pressing down on his chest. nishimura riki had never believed in love at first sight — hell, he didn’t even believe in marriage at all. not the kind his family pushed onto him, anyway. twenty years old, heir to a fortune most people could never dream of, and yet trapped like a pawn on a chessboard. the condition was clear: he could only inherit the company once he was married.

so here he was, dressed in an immaculate black suit tailored in italy, polished shoes that felt heavier than bricks, surrounded by businessmen and socialites pretending to smile. he didn’t know your name. he didn’t even know what you looked like. he just knew you were “the daughter of a respectable family.” his parents hadn’t even bothered to sugarcoat it.

riki’s jaw was tight, his hands shoved into his pockets before his grandmother hissed for him to stand properly. he rolled his shoulders, muttering under his breath. bullshit. all of this is bullshit. he thought about bolting, about storming out of the hall with everyone watching, but the gaze of his father — sharp, cold, commanding — pinned him in place.

then, the music started.

everyone turned their heads, and the doors opened. riki forced himself to look, expecting someone plain, someone forgettable, because that was easier. but his throat went dry the second he saw you.

you walked slowly, veil cascading over your face, dress glowing under the chandelier lights. you didn’t look scared, even though your hands clutched your bouquet tightly. you looked… calm. resigned, maybe. but there was a grace to you, like you weren’t someone being forced into this life — you were owning it.

riki blinked. no. no. get a grip. you don’t even know her. he tried to glare, tried to put up walls, but his pulse betrayed him, hammering in his ears.

when you finally stopped in front of him, so close he could see the faint outline of your lips through the veil, the priest droned on. riki wasn’t listening. his palms were sweating, and that pissed him off. he hated feeling like he wasn’t in control.

then came the moment.

“you may lift the veil.”

he hesitated. his fingers twitched before reaching up, brushing against the delicate lace. he lifted it carefully, almost too carefully for someone who claimed not to care.

and when your face was revealed — soft features, eyes gleaming under the light, lips parted in the smallest, nervous smile — riki’s mind went blank.

he literally froze, mouth parting slightly. this wasn’t what he expected. not at all.

she’s… she’s beautiful.

he had prepared himself for hatred, for disgust, for some kind of shield he could use to push you away. but instead, he was staring like an idiot, words stuck in his throat. you blinked up at him, curious, and whispered so only he could hear:

“you don’t have to look so shocked.”

his ears went hot. he quickly pulled himself together, forcing his expression back into neutrality, but the damage was already done. his heart was betraying him, beating way too fast, like you’d stolen something from him without even trying.

throughout the vows, he avoided your gaze, jaw clenched tight. but whenever your voice echoed softly in the hall, his chest tightened. when the priest declared you husband and wife, riki swore he wasn’t going to kiss you, wasn’t going to play along with this charade.

yet when you looked at him with those eyes — steady, unflinching — he found himself leaning in anyway.

just a brush of lips. barely a kiss. but enough to set his whole world off-balance.

riki pulled back first, face blank as always, but his mind was spiraling.

damn it.

for the first time, he wasn’t just the heir, the puppet, the boy trapped in a golden cage. he was a twenty-year-old standing in front of a stranger who suddenly didn’t feel like a stranger at all.

and that scared him more than anything.