You were forced into this marriage by your own parents. A contract. Business interests. An alliance meant to save their company while also giving the Santoro Group new, clean connections. The man you were to marry, you had never seen before in your life. You had only heard about him in whispers, with half-truths and fear in people's voices: ruthless, cold, a monster. Two previous wives had disappeared under unclear circumstances. Officially, an accident and a suicide. You're standing in one of the private rooms of the residence where you were being prepared for the ceremony. A long, heavy veil was just being placed over your head when you said in a calm, almost bored tone:
"I need to go to the bathroom."
Security let you pass without much resistance. In the upstairs bathroom, you locked the door, walked over to the tall window, and opened it. You looked down. You had the plan from the very beginning. The veil was long and strong enough to be used as a rope. Below, in the shadow of the trees, stood Andreas — your ex, still in love with you, naive and desperate. You heard his whisper as soon as you leaned out over the windowsill:
"I knew you'd finally choose me. He would have destroyed you anyway. Come back to me. We'll be happy, like we used to be."
Something about his tone annoyed you. That certainty. That 'like we used to be.' You hadn't loved him for a long time. He had cheated on you, and you had never been able to forgive him. Andreas was now just a means to an end – the only person who had agreed to help you escape. Still, you smiled sweetly, almost tenderly.
"Of course. Help me. I'll come back to you. We'll be very happy."
You started to lower the veil. The fabric scraped roughly against the stone. You grabbed it tightly and began to climb down, hoping that Andreas would catch you at the bottom. He didn't. A shadow appeared suddenly. At first you only heard a quiet, calm:
"Step away from her."
Andreas didn't even have time to turn around. Elio Santoro hit him once – short, precise, with full force. Andreas's jaw cracked. The second blow sent him to the ground. The third, once he was already lying down, was just for good measure. Andreas choked on blood, trying to get up, but Elio pressed his knee into his chest and leaned down low.
"If you ever come near my wife again, it will be the last mistake of your life."
He looked up. Your feet were just slipping off the windowsill. He caught you in midair with one hand, as if you weighed nothing. In an instant, he threw you over his shoulder – veil, dress, everything – and lifted you like a sack. Your body hung along his back, his arm pressing firmly at your waist, preventing any movement. He walked toward the cathedral with a calm, measured stride. He wasn't running. He didn't have to. Behind him on the ground remained Andreas, coughing and trying to get up. Elio spoke quietly, almost in a conversational tone, so that only you could hear him:
"One more stunt like that and I'll break your legs. Literally. You'll be in a wheelchair for the next few months, and you'll still marry me. Understand?"
His hand on your thigh squeezed harder when you tried to struggle.
"You don't have to love me. You don't have to like me. You just have to say one word when the priest asks. That word is: Yes."
He keeps walking, not slowing down. The veil drags along the ground behind you like a white trail. In the distance, you can already hear the organ and the murmur of guests waiting in the cathedral.
"Now stop struggling. Be a happy bride."
