With that, he walked out, leaving me in the center of my room with my dress undone and my heart racing. I exhaled shakily, trying to process what had just happened. My mind whirled with a hundred conflicting thoughts, each one tangling with the next until it was all one big, chaotic mess. I wasn’t ready for whatever this ritual was. Then again, I hadn’t been ready for any of this—not the wedding, not the binding, and certainly not the strange, almost intimate moment I’d just shared with a man I despised.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I barely recognized the woman staring back at me—wide-eyed, shaken, but still standing. Ten minutes. That was all the time I had to prepare myself for whatever came next.
When Raffaele returned,I was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, my hair piled into a messy bun on top of my head. The jeans were a little snug, and the T-shirt I’d foundin the bottom drawer of the dresser was loose and worn. I’d scrubbed my skin clean of all the makeup and lotions that had been painstakingly applied that morning. I refused to face him as the perfectly polished doll they’d paraded around earlier. If I had to endure this nightmare, I would do it on my terms.
He stopped in the doorway, his dark gaze raking over me from head to toe. His lips twitched almost imperceptibly. “That’ll do,” he said dryly. “You won’t be wearing those clothes for long anyway.”
“Excuse me?”
He crossed the room, grabbed my hand, and pulled me to my feet. His grip was firm but not painful, his warmth searing through me like a brand. I tried to resist, but it was like pulling against an immovable force.
“Raffaele,” I said, my voice edging on panic. “What the hell is going on?”
He stopped and looked at me, his expression unreadable. If he was angry about me calling him by his name again, he didn’t show it. “The ritual is necessary. For the marriage. For the bonds. For everything.”
“Bonds?” I asked in disbelief. “You’re seriously telling me we’re doing this because of some ancient family bullshit?”
“Yes. The ritual ensures the marriage is recognized by the entity that granted my family its power. Without it, the marriage is void. And if it’s void, there are… consequences.”
“Consequences?” I repeated, my heart pounding. “For whom?”
“For everyone.” He squeezed my hand in warning. “You might think this is all superstition, but I assure you, it’s real. And you don’t have a choice.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already pulling me toward the door. My legs wobbled as I followed, helpless against the iron will driving him forward.
We descended the stairs, the grand hallway giving way to a narrower, darker corridor. The air grew colder with each step, heavy with the weight of something ancient and unspoken. He led me down another set of stairs carved into dark stone. The walls seemed to close in around us, the flickering torchlight casting jagged shadows that danced like specters.
We reached a door etched with intricate runes that glowed faintly. Raffaele pushed it open without hesitation, revealing the room beyond.
It was like I’d stepped into a nightmare. The shadows seemed alive under the cold, eerie light of the violet flames floating in sconces along the walls, their cold, eerie light making the shadows seem alive. The scent of incense and something metallic like blood made my stomach turn.
The floor was a masterpiece of horror with a massive circle of sigils and runes carved into the stone. Each line pulsed with a faint crimson light, as if they were breathing in anticipation. Crystals gleaming with an otherworldly fire ringed the circle. The energy in the room buzzed against my skin like a thousand tiny needles.
“Like a fucking tomb,” I muttered.
Raffaele didn’t respond. He was completely focused on the altar. It was a slab of smooth obsidian, its surface reflecting the light like a pool of liquid shadows. A shallow bowl filled with an inky substance rested on it.
On the walls, tapestries depicted shadowy rituals and blood pacts. My skin crawled. It felt like the painted figures’ eyes were following me. The shelves in the chamber were crammed with ancient tomes and glass jars containing things I couldn’t—and didn’t want to—identify. I shuddered and quickly looked away.
And then I saw him. The officiant. He loomed near the altar, draped in the same black cloak he’d worn during the weddingceremony. His face was hidden, and the air around him rippled with power.
My legs threatened to give out, and I clutched Raffaele’s arm instinctively. He glanced down at me, his face softening slightly. “You’ll be fine, Vivian. It won’t hurt.”
“Sure, because all of this screamsfine.”
The officiant’s voice resonated through the room. “Disrobe.”
I froze. “Excuse me?”
The officiant turned his hooded head toward me. “The ritual requires no barriers between you and the binding magic.”
“No,” I said. “Absolutely not.”
Raffaele sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You can do this the easy way, or the hard way. But it’s happening.”
I stepped back, panic clawing at my throat. “I’m not doing this.”
“Yes… you are. Please, Vivian.” That plea made my blood run cold. “This isn’t about me. This is about the pact. And so much more. Without it, everything falls apart and all of this will have been for nothing.”
