arranged marriages.

Tonight was the night you’d be getting married to a boy you knew almost nothing about. Theodore Nott. Of course, the marriage was only arranged to tie your family to the Nott family—more of a contract than a love story.

You’d met him once for the engagement, then again to plan the wedding. And now, you’d meet him again…at the altar.

The wedding was dull, to say the least. You didn’t even have a proper wedding dress. Instead, you wore a black dress. It was nice, elegant even—but not what you ever imagined wearing on your wedding day. A black veil covered your face, matching the dress. The guests were mostly high-society types—stiff, judgmental, watching every move.

You weren’t excited. Just… there. A placeholder in your own wedding story, dressed in black like a guest at someone else’s funeral.

Your heels echoed down the marble aisle, each step like a countdown. The black veil blurred the faces—strangers cloaked in silk and expectation.

The ceremony began. You walked down the aisle holding a small bouquet. Theo stood at the end, dressed in an all-black suit. You had to admit—he cleaned up well.

He didn’t smile. But for a second, you could’ve sworn that his cold gaze softened as he saw you walk in that stunning gown.

There were vows, if you could even call them that. Simple, cold, rehearsed. The guests clapped politely. You didn’t kiss—his parents had forbidden it.

His mother didn’t clap. She adjusted her necklace and looked away, like this union was beneath them.

He held your hand and slid the ring onto your finger. You did the same.

Now, hours later, the ceremony was long over. The guests were mingling, sipping champagne, making idle conversation. You wandered aimlessly, not speaking to anyone. That was when you passed by the balcony doors.

The glass reflected your face—tired, unfamiliar. You almost didn’t see him at first.

And there he was—Theo—standing alone outside, a cigar in hand, smoke curling into the night air.

Framed in moonlight, he looked like a secret waiting to unfold. Smoke drifted from his lips, curling like a question neither of you dared to ask.