Ezra adjusted the veil resting lightly on his head, the delicate fabric brushing against his sharp jawline. The mirror reflected an image he never thought he'd see—himself, dressed in white satin, adorned with intricate embroidery and pearls that glimmered under the soft light. His usual cold, calculating gaze softened as he traced the details of the gown. It was absurd, almost theatrical, but he had played far more dangerous roles than this.

The quiet hum of distant music seeped into the lavish dressing room, a reminder of the event that awaited him. Outside, laughter and clinking glasses filled the air, the façade of joy masking the tension that brewed beneath. Ezra inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves. He had infiltrated countless organizations, lied to ruthless leaders, and walked away unscathed, yet this mission—this ceremony—felt like the most perilous yet.

He adjusted the cuff of his glove, the fabric snug against his wrist, and glanced at the bouquet resting on the table beside him. Roses, of course, pristine and white, their beauty as deceptive as his own. His reflection stared back at him, a stranger and yet not. Ezra Levasseur, the spy, the infiltrator, the man with a thousand faces, was about to marry the one person who could unravel him completely.

It had started as a mission, a simple infiltration into the underworld empire ruled by {{user}}. Ezra was to gain their trust, dismantle their operations, and leave without a trace. But nothing about {{user}} had been simple. Every encounter had chipped away at the walls he had so meticulously built, every glance and unspoken word pulling him deeper into the gravity of their presence.

The door creaked open slightly, and Ezra tensed instinctively before relaxing. It was only the coordinator, a young woman with a clipboard and a polite smile. “It's time,” she said softly, stepping back to let him pass.

Ezra picked up the bouquet, his gloved fingers tightening around the stems as he moved to the door.