Emilia's eyes darted toward me, waiting for a reaction. My men whispered quietly, wondering if I'd lose control. But I didn't, I just watched her. She didn't smile, didn't look around. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, and I swear the whole world slowed down. She looked beautiful, deadly beautiful. Her lips were painted the same red as her dress, and I could already feel the taste of danger in the air.
When she reached the front, she stopped right before me. For a second, we just stood there, breathing the same air, our eyes steady.
I leaned closer, my voice low. "You wore red."
"Hm-mm."
"Why?"
Her lips curved, not quite a smile. "Because white is for peace and we're not at peace, are we?"
The priest cleared his throat, reminding us there were people watching. But I didn't care, I couldn't stop staring.
She was fearless, and that was what drew me in and drove me insane. Every time I thought I had her figured out, she flipped the table. I couldn't tell if I wanted to punish her or protect her. Maybe both.
The ceremony started, the priest's voice fading in and out of my head. My focus was on her, the small movements of her hands, and the rise and fall of her chest, the way she didn't tremble once. She didn't fear, she didn't hesitate, she was confident in red silk. She moved like she owned the air around her.
Everyone else faded, and it was just her eyes. Unmoving, sharp, cold enough to slice through everything I thought I controlled.
She didn't blink, didn't even look away. Not once. I'd faced guns and betrayal, but nothing ever made me feel this kind of tension. A kind of... pull. Like she was testing if I'd break first.
Viktor stood a few steps behind me. I could feel his stare burning holes in my back. He didn't need to say anything because I already knew what he was thinking.
Don't lose focus.
But I might be losing it already.
"Do you take this woman..." the priest said.
I barely moved my lips. "I do."
"I do,” she replied when the priest asked her the question I was too impatient to let him ask me.
Simple words, but it felt like we were exchanging something far more dangerous than vows.
The silence after that hung heavy, and even the air felt tight. My pulse was slow, deliberate, like waiting for a fight to start.
"Please, exchange the rings."
I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing cold metal. The ring felt heavier than it should. When I took her hand, her skin was warm, too warm. Her pulse didn't race.
"You're calm," I murmured, low enough for only her to hear.
Her eyes lifted to mine. "Should I be scared?"
I leaned closer, just an inch. "You should."
She smiled, small, soft, and dangerous. "Then maybe later."
I slid the ring onto her finger. The gold glinted under the sunlight, catching like a spark about to start a fire.
When she reached for mine, her fingers brushed my knuckles. No hesitation. No trembling. It was just a steady, controlled movement. She looked straight into my eyes as she said, "Now we're even."
The priest said something else, blessings, prayers, meaningless words, but none of it mattered.
Her gaze locked with mine. There was no love in her eyes, no fear either. Just a strange calm, the kind a soldier wore before pulling the trigger.
Everyone clapped softly when the priest announced it was done. But neither of us was smiling.
