Chapter 4: Meeting the Groom

Emilia

The chapel is suffocating with silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and tension. I stand before Damien Blackwood, the man I'm supposed to marry. His gaze is unwavering, his eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.

I don't know what I expected—maybe someone broken and defeated, someone who would be easily manipulated. After all, this is the man Lillian refused to marry, the man whispered about in the halls, feared because of his rumored deformities. But what stands before me is nothing like that.

Damien is... stunning. His broad shoulders fill out his dark suit perfectly, the fabric pulling tight against his chest, as if it were made just for him. His face is sharp, yet somehow soft, with a jawline that could cut glass. His blue eyes—piercing, unreadable—are fixed on me, making me feel as though he can see right through the carefully constructed walls I've built around myself. The man looks nothing like the crippled monster I'd heard about. He doesn't look broken. He doesn't look anything like the stories.

But then why am I here?

My thoughts swirl as my stepmother steps up beside me, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Damien, we're so pleased to have you join our family," she says, the sweetness in her tone dripping with a false sincerity. "You're everything we hoped for, and more."

Damien doesn't look at her. His gaze never leaves me, and I feel his scrutiny like a physical touch. It's unnerving, making my skin prickle and my heart race in a way I don't understand. He's not a stranger. I've heard the rumors, the gossip, the whispers about his wealth, his power, his reputation—but this, standing before him like this, is something I could never have prepared for.

The officiant steps forward, clearing his throat, and I feel the pressure to respond. But I can't. My thoughts are a jumble, my body frozen under Damien's gaze, and the idea of actually saying "I do" seems like the most ridiculous thing in the world.

Damien's eyes soften just slightly, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of something—concern, maybe? It's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by that unreadable expression once more. He raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into the smallest of smirks, as if he knows something I don't.

"Well?" My stepmother urges, her voice sharp, irritated. "Are you going to stand there all day?"

I blink, snapping out of my stupor. "I… I—" The words die in my throat, leaving me in the awkward, suffocating silence that follows.

Damien steps closer, just enough that I can feel the heat from his body, and I instinctively take a step back. He watches me carefully, almost like he's studying me, but his gaze holds something more—something darker. I can feel it in the way his eyes move over me, like he's peeling back layers, searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

I swallow hard. "Why?" I ask, the question tumbling out before I can stop it. "Why did you agree to this?"

The words echo in the quiet space, but the question hangs in the air like a sharp blade. Why would he marry me? He could have anyone, surely. He's rich, powerful, and no doubt sought after. I've heard of the women who whisper about him at the gala, the ones who long to be his. I'm nothing compared to that. Nothing compared to the woman he was supposed to marry—the perfect, beautiful Lillian.

Damien's lips curl into a small, almost imperceptible smile, but there's no warmth in it. "Why did you think I agreed to this, Emilia?" he murmurs, his voice low and steady, but there's something cold in the way he speaks. It sends a shiver down my spine.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words don't come. What do I even say? I don't know him. I don't know why he's standing here with me, asking for my hand in marriage, or why he's chosen to follow through on this strange arrangement, knowing full well that his bride—his intended—ran away.

But his next words leave me breathless.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" he whispers, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, just loud enough for me to hear. The words slice through the air like a hidden threat, a challenge wrapped in mystery.

My heart skips a beat, the words unsettling me in a way I can't explain. "What do you mean?" I manage to ask, my voice a whisper as I stare at him, my mind racing. He's playing some sort of game, I can feel it. His eyes are like ice, unyielding, unreadable, but there's something else there, too—something dangerous that sends a tremor through my body.

His lips curl into that same cold smile, his gaze never leaving mine. "You'll find out soon enough," he says, his tone cryptic, like he's holding some kind of secret that he's not yet ready to reveal.

I don't know whether to be terrified or intrigued. Something in his words unsettles me, makes me wonder if there's more to this marriage than I can see. Could he be playing a game with me, or is there something else at work here? What does he mean by not knowing who he is? And why does it feel like I'm the one walking blindly into something I don't understand?

Before I can ask him anything else, my stepmother steps in, her hand gently—almost too gently—resting on my arm. "Damien, why don't we proceed with the ceremony?" she suggests, her voice high-pitched and dripping with that practiced sweetness that's always made me feel sick. "No need to linger on idle questions."

Damien doesn't look at her. His gaze is still fixed on me, sharp and probing, as if he can sense the turmoil bubbling inside me. I open my mouth to say something—to demand answers—but the words get stuck in my throat. For some reason, I feel like I'm not supposed to know. Like whatever Damien is hiding, whatever game he's playing, is something I'm not meant to uncover just yet.

But I won't forget what he said. His words echo in my mind as we move forward, the ceremony proceeding without another word between us.

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

I don't know who he is, but I intend to find out.

And I won't stop until I do.