The wedding should have ended with vows.
Instead, it ended with gunfire.
The chapel doors burst open with a deafening crash, slamming against the stone walls as dozens of armed men dressed in immaculate black suits flooded the aisle with practiced precision. Their polished shoes echoed over the marble floor while terrified screams erupted around them. Guests scrambled beneath pews, mothers shielded their children, flowers were crushed beneath hurried footsteps, and the string quartet fell silent as one violin slipped from trembling hands and shattered across the floor.
At the center of the chaos stood the groom, his face draining of every ounce of color the moment he recognized the man leisurely walking through the ruined ceremony.
Roman Petrov.
His tailored black Armani suit disappeared beneath an open leather trench coat that swayed with every measured step. The silver streak cutting through his dark hair caught the light spilling through the stained-glass windows, while cold silver eyes swept lazily across the terrified congregation, completely unimpressed by the panic unfolding around him. One gloved hand adjusted the cuff of his sleeve while the other rested comfortably around the grip of an engraved pistol, as though he'd arrived fashionably late to a business meeting rather than an execution.
His men surrounded every exit.
Nobody was leaving.
"You've been difficult to find,"
Roman said, his deep voice calm enough to be mistaken for polite conversation.
"Imagine my surprise when I discovered you'd planned such a lovely wedding without inviting me."
The groom stumbled backwards, instinctively placing the altar between them.
"P... please... Roman... we can negotiate."
Roman tilted his head ever so slightly.
"I wasn't aware revenge required negotiation."
A single nod was all it took.
One of Roman's men drove the groom back onto his knees with the butt of his rifle. Another stripped the hidden pistol from beneath his tuxedo before tossing it across the marble floor.
The chapel echoed with muffled sobs.
Nobody dared interfere.
The bride...Never arrived.
For the first time, something resembling curiosity flickered across Roman's expression before vanishing just as quickly.
"So,"
he murmured, glancing toward the empty doorway where she should have appeared.
"Even she knew better."
The groom's breathing became frantic. His desperate eyes darted wildly around the frightened wedding party before locking onto the one person still frozen in disbelief.
You.
Without warning, rough hands seized your arm.
Before you could understand what was happening, the groom shoved you forward so violently you nearly fell, throwing himself at Roman's polished shoes as tears streamed uncontrollably down his face.
"Take her!"
he cried.
"She's the bride! You wanted revenge, didn't you? Take her instead! She's yours! Just... just let me live!"
Silence swallowed the chapel.
Roman's gaze drifted toward you.
Slow.
Patient.
Unsettling.
His silver eyes studied every frightened breath, every trembling movement, every tiny detail of your face before settling on your eyes.
A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You expect me to believe that?"
The groom nodded so frantically it bordered on madness.
"I swear it! She's my wife! Take her! Please!"
You immediately tried to speak.
You told him you weren't the bride.
You told him you were only her sister.
You explained the real bride had disappeared before the ceremony had even begun.
Roman listened without interrupting.
His expression never changed.
Whether he believed you or not remained impossible to tell.
He stepped closer until the groom had no choice but to lift his tear-filled eyes toward him.
"I don't enjoy being lied to,"
Roman said quietly.
"And cowards disgust me."
A gunshot shattered the silence.
The groom collapsed instantly, his body crumpling across the bloodstained marble before the altar.
Another scream tore through the chapel.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Roman didn't spare the corpse so much as another glance.
Instead, he approached you.
Towering over you, he reached out with one gloved hand, gently lifting your chin between his fingers as though inspecting something unexpectedly valuable.
His thumb brushed lightly beneath your jaw.
"You'll do."
It wasn't a question.
He released your chin only to wrap his hand firmly around your wrist, his grip impossible to escape yet never painful.
Then, to everyone's astonishment, he turned his attention toward the priest.
The elderly man stood frozen beside the altar, his Bible slipping from trembling hands as he stared at the groom's lifeless body lying only a few feet away.
Roman's voice remained calm.
"Continue the ceremony."
The priest blinked in horror.
"I... I can't... There's a dead—"
"You misunderstand."
Roman's silver eyes settled on him with quiet menace.
"I wasn't making a request."
The entire chapel seemed to stop breathing.
One of Roman's men stepped forward, resting a hand on the rifle slung across his chest.
The priest's face turned ghostly pale.
"W... with respect... marriage requires consent..."
Roman looked back at you for a brief moment before returning his gaze to the priest.
"I have mine."
A long silence followed.
Then his expression hardened just enough to send a chill through every soul in the room.
"If I have to ask again, you'll be joining him on the floor."
The priest's trembling hands reached for the fallen Bible, his lips quivering as he struggled to steady his breathing. Around the chapel, the remaining guests stayed on their knees, too terrified to speak, while Roman continued holding your wrist with unwavering certainty, standing before the altar as though this blood-soaked wedding now belonged to him.
His gaze shifted to you, unreadable yet utterly commanding.
"Stand beside me."
The words were quiet. Absolute.
And everyone in the chapel waited to see what you would do.
