>Mallory
I haven’t even had the ti to process anything when a group of n and won in uniform approached and gently surrounded . Before I could ask what was happening, one of the won stepped forward and extended her hand toward , her posture rigid and polite.
"Madam, this way, please."
Her tone was firm, but her eyes softened a little as if she could sense how overwheld I was.
Mara reacted faster than I did. She reached for Asher, and my son—just when I needed him to cling to the most—went to her without a single complaint. He wrapped his arms around her neck, calm as ever behind his tinted glasses and headphones. I forced a small smile at her, though my hands were already turning cold, my fingers tightening together as I reluctantly allowed myself to be guided away. I kept glancing back every few steps, checking if Asher was okay, if he was watching , if this whole thing terrified him as much as it terrified .
Behind us, Alisha’s voice bood across the room.
"Mr. Archeval! What is the aning of this?!"
But the old man simply returned to his seat like the whole chaos was nothing more than an annoying comrcial break to him. He didn’t even spare her a look.
"You will be properly compensated. So leave," he said in a cold, bored tone.
He spared them no discussion, no explanation. A group of n in suits moved in, dragging the entire Morrow family away as if they were props being cleared offstage. I saw how much they tried to struggle but I just know they’ll much rather protect their remaining dignity than to cause a scene.
I smiled. Honestly, their reaction felt a little satisfying.
I didn’t get the chance to look back again. The employees were already leading down a quiet hallway, and then into a stunningly luxurious room—so bright and pristine it almost hurt my eyes. There was a huge vanity mirror lined with neatly organized makeup products, white roses arranged everywhere like a perfect showpiece, and a chandelier casting warm yellow light across the polished floors.
"We have very limited ti, so we’ll be taking your asurents while we do your makeup," one of the won explained with a professional smile. She acted like this was the most normal thing in the world. I respect her for that.
They brought in front of a full-length mirror that stretched from the floor all the way to the ceiling. I stood there awkwardly, unsure where to place my hands or how to breathe properly.
"Alright..." I managed to say, though I honestly had no idea what was happening anymore.
It felt unreal—how efficient they were, how confident and how fast they worked. The pay might actually be so good for them to act like their life depended on this job.
Within almost an hour, they sohow produced a wedding dress tailored exactly to my size. It hugged my body perfectly and then flared into a rmaid silhouette below the knee. Soone slid lace gloves over my hands, the material soft and comfortable—too comfortable for sothing ant for a last minute wedding.
My hair was pulled up into an elegant bun, decorated with small pearls that shimred under the chandelier. They did my makeup with such precision that when I finally looked into the mirror again, I almost didn’t recognize myself. Everything was tailored for my face. For a long second, I stared at the woman in the reflection like she was soone else entirely.
"Oh my! You look absolutely amazing!" the makeup artist squealed behind .
I gave her an awkward smile. "I don’t think I deserve any of the credit for your skill."
"Co on! A good makeup needs a good face to work with," she said, clapping her hands. Two other won stepped forward and smoothly attached a shimring veil to my hair.
And then—just like that—the massive double doors opened.
"Here cos the bride!"
My cue.
My palms were slick with sweat as I tightened my grip around the bouquet of white roses. The scent was soft and fresh, but my nerves drowned everything out. When I stepped inside, every single head turned toward . The air shifted. The music—slow, romantic—echoed faintly around the room, but it was muffled by the pounding in my chest.
My heels clicked against the floor, echoing too loudly, like each step was a reminder of how trapped I was. My heart was beating so hard it actually hurt.
Even through the veil, I could see him clearly.
The man I had seen earlier in a black suit was now wearing a white suit embroidered with gold. He looked unreal—like sothing that shouldn’t exist in the sa world we. normal looking people lived in. The black suit earlier made him look powerful. The white one he was wearing made him look godly. Almost glowing.
Next to him stood Asher, tiny hands gripping the man’s coat. His also wearing a small white tux, his headphones were still on, his tinted glasses shielding him from the bright lights. Mara must have explained everything about his sensory triggers, and whoever dressed him had listened. That thought alone softened my fear enough to let a smile form under the veil.
I didn’t have a father to walk down the aisle, but that was fine. This wasn’t real. This was a transaction, a pretend wedding. Father or no father, nothing about this was ever going to be normal.
I reached the end of the aisle. The man extended his hand, and I placed my trembling fingers in his. He led gently toward the front of the altar.
"Please be seated," the officiant started.
"We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Mr. Venzrich and Ms. Mallory in marriage."
My hand shook so badly that the man has to tightened his grip, it was a silent attempt to calm down. It didn’t work, but I appreciated the effort.
"Marriage is a beautiful bond," the officiant continued, "a commitnt of love, trust, and partnership. Today, this couple stand before us, ready to begin this new Chapter."
And then ca the vow.
"Venzrich Archeval, do you take Mallory Eve to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish, in good tis and in bad, for as long as you both shall live?"
The man’s reply was deep and smooth. "I do."
He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t falter. When he turned slightly toward my direction, I almost forgot how to breathe.
Then it was my turn.
"Mallory Eve, do you take Venzrich Archeval to be your lawfully wedded spouse, to love and to cherish, in good tis and in bad, for as long as you both shall live?"
The sound of my na snapped back to reality. For a mont, I thanked the universe that I had changed my surna to my mother’s when I left Country P for New York or rumors would be far louder than the officiant right now.
"I do," I answered. Like I had any choice.
The ring bearers approached with the rings nestled on a red velvet pillow. The man—Venzrich, even though I wasn’t supposed to call him casually like that—took one ring and gently held my hand. He slid the cold band onto my finger with such gentleness that I montarily forgot he was a stranger.
My hands shook even worse when I reached for his ring. I almost dropped it. He tilted his head slightly, lips forming a silent: Relax.
I wanted to roll my eyes. As if I could.
"By the authority vested in ," the officiant announced, "I now pronounce you husband and wife for life."
"You may now kiss the bride."
Surely he wouldn’t. Not for real. Not with a stranger.
But he reached for . Slowly. Deliberately. He lifted the veil, and his face—sharp, perfect, almost unreal—ca into full view. Before I could process anything, he slipped an arm around my waist and pulled closer.
Then he kissed .
A real kiss. Firm. Certain.
It lasted almost a full minute. Long enough for my brain to glitch, restart, and glitch again. Long enough that I forgot to breathe.
---
"I’m sorry!" I blurted the mont we entered the wedding car. I was now in a shorter, slightly more comfortable version of the wedding dress, but it didn’t make anything less awkward.
"I swear that wasn’t part of the plan! I didn’t an for it to go that way!" I clasped my hands together, almost bowing to the floor of the car in panic.
"It’s fine," he said casually, sitting cross-legged like he hadn’t just marry a random woman in front of a hundred people after all his effort to stop his own marriage.
Wait... but he was the one who agreed to this whole arrangent in the first place.
Shouldn’t I be the one asking for apology?
"Would I still get my pay?" I asked, trying to read his reaction. His brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening like he was trying to figure out.
I risked my life for this. Shouldn’t I still get payed?
"You sure you don’t rember ?" he asked quietly, his eyes curious.
"Daddy..." Asher whispered. He had been clinging to him since we entered the car, his small fingers curled into the fabric of the man’s sleeve.
"Rember you?" I replied casually as I peel away Asher’s hand.
"Of course. How could I forget?"
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