Chapter 1: A Debt Paid in Blood

The Laurent Estate – A Cage of Gold

Celeste Laurent sat in front of her vanity mirror, staring at her reflection, but all she saw was a stranger. The soft glow of the chandelier above bathed her pale skin in golden light, highlighting the deep shadows beneath her emerald eyes. The silk gown she wore—a masterpiece of craftsmanship—felt more like a shroud than a wedding dress. A delicate pearl necklace adorned her slender neck, but even its beauty couldn't mask the invisible chains binding her.

Today, she was to be married.

Not by choice. Not by love. But by a cruel twist of fate—one orchestrated by her mother's sins and her father's long-buried secrets.

A knock at the door.

"Celeste."

The voice was soft yet trembling. Eleanor Laurent entered, her once-stunning beauty now worn down by years of indulgence and regret. The scent of expensive wine clung to her like a ghost.

"Mother," Celeste said, her tone devoid of warmth.

Eleanor stepped forward hesitantly. "You… You look beautiful."

Celeste didn't respond. What was beauty when it was being auctioned off to a devil?

Eleanor sighed, clutching the pearl bracelet on her wrist—a nervous habit. "I know you hate me. I don't blame you. But, Celeste, this marriage… it will keep you safe."

Celeste's gaze hardened. "Safe? From whom? The world? Or from your debts?"

A sharp intake of breath. "You don't understand—"

"No," Celeste cut in, her voice razor-sharp. "I understand perfectly. You gambled away everything. You sold my future to the Moreau Syndicate to save yourself."

Eleanor flinched, her guilt-ridden eyes darting away.

A part of Celeste wanted to scream, to shatter the mirror before her and watch the pieces scatter like the remnants of her life. But she had cried enough.

Instead, she rose from her seat, standing tall. "I will go through with this, but not because I forgive you. I will marry that monster you've handed me to. But understand this, Mother—once I walk out of this house, I am no longer your daughter."

A strangled sob escaped Eleanor's lips, but Celeste had already turned away.

Her fate was sealed.

---

The Moreau Estate – A Pact with the Devil

The grand hall of the Moreau Estate was a place where power dripped from every shadow, where wealth and bloodshed intertwined seamlessly. The heavy scent of cigar smoke, aged whiskey, and expensive cologne hung in the air like an unspoken promise of danger.

Vincent Moreau sat at the head of a long mahogany table, his fingers lazily twirling a glass of wine. His dark, piercing eyes studied the trembling figure of Celeste's mother before him. Eleanor Laurent had always been a weak woman—easily broken, easily bought. He found no amusement in her desperation.

Across from him, his right-hand man, Luca Bianchi, watched the scene unfold with mild disinterest.

"Please," Eleanor whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Please, just treat her well."

Vincent exhaled softly, swirling his wine. "You're in no position to make requests, Mrs. Laurent."

She flinched.

He leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. "Your debt is cleared. My men won't be coming for your house, your money, or your life. But let's not pretend you sold your daughter for anything other than your own survival."

Eleanor's lips trembled. She knew better than to argue with him.

Vincent set his glass down with a quiet clink. "Leave. The wedding is in an hour."

Eleanor hesitated, eyes pleading, but he didn't spare her another glance.

The doors swung shut behind her, and Vincent finally let out a sigh.

Luca smirked. "You don't seem thrilled about your wedding day."

Vincent rolled his shoulders, standing up. "Because I don't need a wife. I need a pawn."

Luca chuckled. "Still, she's a pretty pawn."

Vincent didn't respond. Looks had never impressed him. He had built his empire on logic, on power—not fleeting distractions.

Still, as he glanced at the contract sitting on his desk—the one that bound Celeste Laurent to him in name and law—he couldn't shake the strange feeling creeping into his chest.

Something about this woman would change everything.

He just didn't know if it would be for better or for worse.

---

The Wedding – A Vow in Chains

Celeste stepped into the grand hall, her heart pounding like a war drum. The aisle stretched before her, lined with unfamiliar faces—criminals, businessmen, and politicians, all dressed in their finest attire, watching her with cold amusement.

At the end of the aisle stood Vincent Moreau.

Her future husband. Her captor.

He was tall, dressed in a sleek black suit that accentuated the sharpness of his frame. His presence alone demanded obedience. The air around him was suffocating.

Their eyes met.

And for the first time, Celeste felt fear coil in her stomach—not because of his reputation, but because there was nothing in his gaze.

No warmth. No hesitation. No humanity.

The priest began speaking, but Celeste barely heard him. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, suffocating.

"Do you, Vincent Moreau, take Celeste Laurent to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Vincent said without emotion.

The words felt like a death sentence.

The priest turned to her. "And do you, Celeste Laurent, take Vincent Moreau—"

"I do," she whispered, sealing her fate.

Vincent slipped the ring onto her finger—cold metal, a symbol of ownership more than love.

The ceremony ended, and the guests applauded, but all Celeste could hear was the roaring silence inside her.

As they walked down the aisle together, Vincent leaned in, his lips brushing ag

ainst her ear.

"Welcome to hell, wife."

A shiver ran down her spine.

Because she knew—this was only the beginning.