The ballroom glittered in gold and white, too polished to feel real. You stood by the window, watching snow fall outside the estate walls, the soft hum of music and champagne clinks fading into the background.

None of it felt real. Least of all the man you had just married. James Barnes had barely said fifteen words to you since the ceremony.

Now he stood across the room, surrounded by men in dark suits, their sharp eyes tracking every movement. He was still, silent, a king among soldiers. When his eyes finally met yours, it was like a blade pressed to your spine.

Not cold. Deadly.

A small nod. Barely there. You turned back to the window, trying to quiet the storm of questions in your head.

Who was he, really? Why had your father insisted you marry him?

A voice broke the silence behind you. “You should try to smile,” James said. You hadn’t even heard him approach. You glanced up, startled. “Excuse me?”

“They’re watching,” he said, sipping his drink, eyes never softening. “Everyone is.” “But why?” you whispered.

He looked at you then—really looked. And though he didn’t answer, the message was clear.

Because you’re mine now. And in this world, that makes you a target.