Chapter 1: The Deal
Evelyn Hart had always known her wedding day would feel like an execution.
The mirror reflected a stranger dressed in white—perfect hair, flawless makeup, a diamond necklace heavy enough to feel like a shackle. The room smelled of roses and money. Everything about the ceremony had been planned down to the second, except for the one thing that mattered.
Her consent.
Downstairs, music swelled. Guests laughed. Glasses clinked. The Hart family was celebrating an alliance, not a marriage.
Evelyn's phone vibrated in her hand.
Unknown Contact:
Payment received. Instructions confirmed.
Her breath caught.
She locked the bathroom door and leaned against it, heart hammering so hard she thought it might give her away. The dark web page still glowed faintly on her screen—burner phone, encrypted chat, a decision she'd made at three in the morning with shaking hands.
Forty-eight hours.
No harm.
Disappear during the ceremony.
That was the deal.
She typed one last message.
Evelyn:
You understand. This is only temporary.
Three dots appeared. Then vanished.
A knock sounded at the door. "Miss Hart?" her mother's voice called. "It's time."
Evelyn slipped the phone into her bouquet and opened the door with a practiced smile. Applause greeted her as she descended the staircase, arm looped through her father's. The chandeliers sparkled overhead. At the altar, Marcus Hawthorne waited—handsome, composed, already victorious.
She took her place.
The officiant began to speak.
Then the lights went out.
Gasps rippled through the hall. Someone screamed. In the darkness, Evelyn felt a hand close around her wrist—firm, deliberate. Not panicked. Not rushed.
"This way," a low voice murmured near her ear.
Her pulse spiked, but she didn't fight. This was expected. Rehearsed in her mind a hundred times.
She was guided through a side door, down a corridor, and into the cold night air. A van door slid open. She stepped inside, silk skirts gathered in her fists.
The door slammed shut.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
The engine started.
"Okay," she whispered, forcing calm into her voice. "That's far enough. You can let me out now."
Silence.
Then a click. The interior light turned on.
He sat across from her—dressed in black, posture relaxed, eyes sharp and unreadable. Not masked. Not nervous. Watching her like this was exactly where he intended to be.
She swallowed. "You were paid for forty-eight hours. No detours. No—"
"Seatbelt," he said calmly.
Her stomach dropped.
"That wasn't part of the—"
"I don't repeat myself."
Slowly, Evelyn fastened the seatbelt, unease crawling up her spine. "Who are you?" she asked.
He leaned forward slightly, shadows cutting his face in half.
"Lucian Vale," he said. "And you shouldn't have chosen me."
Her chest tightened. "What does that mean?"
A faint smile touched his lips. Not kind. Not cruel.
Honest.
"I didn't take this job for money," he continued softly. "I took it because you asked."
The van began to move.
"And I don't plan on giving you back."