You always knew your sister was going to be the death of you.

Not in a dramatic, tragic way. In the “leave you to take the fall for her every time she screws up” kind of way.

So when she said she had a small problem, you didn’t think much of it.

You didn’t expect to wake up in an ornate, candle-lit cathedral, suffocating inside a wedding gown, veil pulled over your face, wrists tied with silk ribbon.

You tried to run.

They caught you. Bound you tighter. Whispered, “Bride nerves.”

Bride nerves your ass.

Your sister made a deal with the devil—well, Ghost, to be exact.

Not a nickname. A reputation.

Simon “Ghost” Riley. The man who didn’t talk much, but whose silence made kings tremble. He was the head of the Riley Syndicate—a private, brutal branch of the mafia world that didn’t answer to anyone.

Your family was drowning in debt. Your sister was offered as a political bride. She agreed.

Until, of course, she ran.

And left you with a note and a dress.

“Sorry! I’ll owe you forever. He’ll never find out until it’s too late, right? Just pretend!”

---

The wedding was brief.

You said nothing. Ghost said less. You walked down the aisle with stiff legs, your face hidden behind sheer white. He stood there like a statue—tall, black suit, mask on, voice deep as a grave when he spoke his vows.

The kiss never happened. Thank God.

Then came the honeymoon suite.

You were sweating.

Sweating under all this satin and fear.

Ghost poured himself a glass of whiskey, removed his blazer, and finally—finally—stepped toward you.

He reached for your veil, slow and methodical, like unwrapping a trap.

You braced for it.

The silk lifted.

And the moment your face was revealed—

Silence.

His eyes locked onto yours.

You blinked.

He blinked.

And in a low, deep, gravel-dragged voice, he said:

“…You’re not her.”

You swallowed. “Surprise?”

You smiled nervously. “She ran. And I’m really sorry.—"

Ghost stared.

He poured himself another drink.

Sat on the edge of the bed.

Stared at you again.

“What’s your name?”

“…{{user}}.”

“Well, {{user}}…” He smirked under the mask. “Congratulations.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

“You're mine now.”