Chapter Eight: Whispers of Betrayal, Flames of Desire

The estate was alive with movement. Servants bustled through the grand halls, florists arranged breathtaking centerpieces, and designers whispered among themselves as they prepared Lydia's wedding gown. The world around her was spinning—too fast, too loud—yet inside, she felt nothing but silence.

She stood before an opulent mirror in the bridal suite, draped in ivory silk. The delicate fabric skimmed her skin, but she felt suffocated. The dress was beautiful, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, but she barely saw it.

"In three days, you will be Adrian Callisto's wife."

The words echoed in her head like a death sentence.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. This was what her family wanted, what her stepmother orchestrated with her cold calculations. Lydia was the sacrificial pawn in a game of power and survival. And Adrian… Adrian was the beast waiting at the altar.

A sharp knock at the door made her tense. Before she could respond, the door swung open.

Adrian stood in the doorway.

Tall, composed, and utterly unreadable. He was dressed in a dark suit, his presence commanding as ever. Those storm-gray eyes locked onto hers, assessing, waiting.

"He doesn't want this either," she reminded herself.

But that didn't make him any less dangerous.

"You look…" He paused, his gaze dragging over the gown, over her stiff posture. "…suffocated."

Lydia exhaled sharply. "You have a gift for observation."

Adrian stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The space between them shrank, the air thickening with tension.

"I came to discuss the wedding details," he said, his voice smooth but edged with something unreadable. "Since we have no choice in this, we should at least present a united front."

Lydia tilted her chin up. "A performance, then?"

He smirked. "Call it survival."

She hated how effortlessly he could unsettle her. Hated the way her pulse quickened when he took another step forward.

But what she hated most… was the way she wasn't entirely sure if it was fear or something far more dangerous.

---

The tension between them stretched, heavy and unspoken.

Lydia folded her arms, trying to steady herself. "What exactly do you want from me, Adrian?"

His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze. Amusement? Curiosity? Something darker?

"I want to know what kind of woman I'm marrying," he said simply. "The one standing before me—proud, unyielding, barely masking her resentment—doesn't seem like the type to just go along with an arranged marriage."

Her jaw clenched. "I don't have a choice."

"Neither do I."

The quiet admission unsettled her.

She searched his face, trying to read beyond the cold exterior. Was he as trapped as she was? Was there more to Adrian Callisto than the ruthless, untouchable man the world feared?

But before she could dissect the thought, he moved closer.

Too close.

She felt his presence like a force, the heat radiating from him despite the chill in the room. His scent—expensive cologne, something dark and subtly intoxicating—wrapped around her, weakening her defenses.

"Do you hate me already?" he asked, his voice lower now, almost taunting.

Lydia refused to look away. "I don't even know you."

His smirk deepened. "You will."

It wasn't a threat.

It was a promise.

A warning.

And it sent something unsettling through her veins.

---

Meanwhile, outside these walls, in the shadows of power, someone watched. Someone pulled strings, whispering deception into eager ears.

The wedding would happen.

But love wouldn't be the only thing binding Lydia and Adrian together.

Be

trayal was coming.

And neither of them would see it until it was too late.

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