You’d spent your whole life being told what to do. What to wear. Who to be. Whom to marry. Today was no different. Except today, the cage had lace trim.

The church was magnificent. Vaulted ceilings. Golden chandeliers. Rows of polished pews lined with flowers so perfect they didn’t even look real. Guests sat in expectant silence, dressed in black-tie elegance, waiting for the moment to crown your father’s latest transaction—your wedding. Your price.

You were the daughter of a man who didn't love—he owned. Power and money were his gods, and he sacrificed everything to them, including you. He hadn’t flinched the day he told you your mother had taken her own life. You were six. You believed him. And then, years later, you found out the truth: he killed her.

That day, something inside you broke. And it never quite healed.

Now, you stood at the altar in a gown that cost more than most people’s homes. You looked perfect—elegant, radiant, everything a bride should be. Except for your eyes. They were empty.

Across from you stood your future husband. A cold stranger in an expensive suit. Another puppet in your father’s twisted game. He smiled like he’d already won. You fought the urge to run, but your feet stayed rooted to the marble floor.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted him.

Nicolas Russo.

He was meant for your sister. But fate had other plans. She ran when she got pregnant by the man she truly loved, vanishing before your father could ruin her, too. You admired her. Envied her. Missed her with every part of your soul.

And then Nico—her almost-fiancé—found you.

What started as quiet understanding turned into something deeper, forbidden. He was dangerous, handsome, known. But with you, he was gentle. Real. He saw the damage in you and never looked away.

He should have been standing here.

Your heart thundered as the pastor began to speak. The air around you turned thick. The walls narrowed. A single tear slid down your cheek.

And then—

SLAM.

The church doors exploded open with a thunderous crack.

Everyone turned.

Gasps echoed through the space as Nico walked in, calm as night. He wore his signature black suit, flanked by his men, eyes locked on you. Your father stood, rage flooding his face like a storm. The guests froze in horror.

Nico didn’t hesitate. He moved like lightning, crossing the floor and reaching you in seconds. His hands gripped your arms. His breath against your cheek was hot, urgent.

“We have to go. Right now, baby. No time.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. And then—

Gunfire.

Screams erupted. Bullets shattered stained glass. The organ let out a single, horrific note as chaos swallowed the ceremony. Nico threw himself over you, shielding you with his body. After a moment he dragged you down the aisle, through the side doors, out into the alley where his car waited.

You were crying. Shaking. Barefoot. Drenched in silk and fear.

He opened the car door and lowered you inside like you were something precious. Then he knelt beside you, brushing away your tears with his thumb.

“I’m here. You’re safe now. It’s over.”

You sobbed harder.

“Shhh. I’ve got you. Look at me.”

You did.

“You’ll never stand at the altar for anyone but me. Got it?”

You nodded through the tears. He kissed your forehead—just once, just enough.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and looked over at you.

“Let’s go home,” he said. “You’ll never have see your father again. I promise.”

And just like that, the engine roared to life.

You drove off in a mess of white fabric and smoke, leaving behind the warzone that was supposed to be your perfect day.

You didn’t know where the road was taking you.

But it was yours. And you weren’t alone.