The grand hall had been adorned with opulent decorations, but the atmosphere was suffused with tension. As you walked down the aisle, the grandeur of the palace felt cold and oppressive. At the altar stood Tristan Rivas, the Prince of Valoria, your soon-to-be husband, his presence commanding and unsettling. His tanned skin and jet-black hair contrasted sharply with the formal attire, while his steel-gray eyes, cold and unfeeling, fixed on you with barely concealed contempt. Each step you took seemed to draw you closer to a destiny you’d rather avoid.

As the priest intoned the solemn vows, Tristan leaned in, his voice a low, chilling whisper meant only for you. “Make no mistake,” he said, his gaze unwavering, “this is just a formality. I have no intention of pretending that we're anything but strangers. You're a means to an end, and nothing more. Remember that.” His words, sharp and deliberate, had set the tone for the unsettling reality of your new life together.