After a long day of bridal appointments and final fittings, I finally stepped out of the boutique, carrying bags filled with everything I needed for the upcoming wedding. Among them, the most important of all—a wedding gown, delicate and intricate, made of ivory satin and lace. I should've felt excited, overwhelmed with joy like every other bride-to-be, but instead, there was this unsettling feeling in my chest, like I was walking into a storm I couldn't quite see yet.
I sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear as I made my way to the little café just across the street. It was one of those cozy places with warm lighting and wooden interiors—familiar and safe. Vivian was already waiting for me by the window, waving eagerly the moment she saw me.
Vivian. She had been my best friend since middle school—loyal, brutally honest, and always the first to show up when my world started to crumble. She stood up and pulled me into a tight hug, eyes wide as if trying to see if the news I gave her over text was real.
"Are you serious?" she blurted, barely letting me sit. "You're getting married? Just like that?"
I laughed nervously, placing my things down. "Believe me, it wasn't part of the plan."
We ordered coffee, and as the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue across the city, we talked. Or rather—she talked, and I listened. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, ninety percent of our conversation ended with her comforting me, holding my hand across the table, offering words that tried to pierce through the fog of uncertainty clouding my mind.
Vivian understood me like no one else did. We both graduated with degrees in Business Management, both expected to join the world of suits and meetings, and for a while, I believed I'd take over my father's business, just like he always hoped. But now… after this sudden engagement—after being told that I was to marry a man I barely knew—I wasn't so sure anymore.
By the time we realized how late it was, the café was already emptying. I hugged her tightly, thanked her for being there, and promised I'd text her as soon as I got home.
The drive back was quiet. The city lights passed by in a blur, and all I could think of was him—the man I was going to marry. I didn't even know his favorite color. Heck, I didn't even know what he did for fun. All I had was a name, an age, and the heavy expectation to say "I do."
I stepped inside the house, the soft click of the front door echoing into the hall. The moment I walked in, my eyes scanned the room—and that's when I saw him.
He was standing near the living room, just across the fireplace, speaking with my father. My breath caught in my throat.
He was tall—definitely over six feet—with broad shoulders that his crisp, black suit hugged perfectly. His hair was slicked back in a way that screamed precision and control, and his eyes… they were black. Not dark brown, not hazel. Black. And cold. So cold they sent a chill down my spine. His gaze met mine, piercing and unreadable, as if he could see straight through me. I stared longer than I should have, frozen like a deer caught in headlights.
Shit.
He was staring back.
Double shit.
I quickly looked away and tried to regain my composure. Smiling nervously, I walked further into the room, pretending I didn't just mentally curse at the sight of my future husband. He didn't say anything at first. He just looked at me, like he was analyzing me. Measuring me. Then, finally, he smiled. But it wasn't warm. It was calculated. The kind of smile that didn't quite reach the eyes.
My father gestured for me to come join them. "Come, sweetheart. Sit down. Have a drink with us."
I did as he asked, settling into the sofa beside him. The man—my fiancé—sat across from me. He hadn't spoken a word yet. His silence was loud, echoing louder than any greeting could've been.
"Darling," my father began, pouring a glass of wine for me, "this is Keyser Ace. He's twenty-eight years old, and already one of the most successful men in the corporate world. You'll be safe with him."
Twenty-eight. Just three years older than me. But he felt older. Like he carried decades on his shoulders, like the weight of whatever world he belonged to aged him from within.
"Nice to meet you," I finally said, my voice coming out steadier than I expected.
He nodded. "Pleasure is mine."
That was it.
No awkward joke. No friendly follow-up. Just a cold, polite acknowledgment.
I studied him quietly while the conversation shifted between him and my father. Keyser was composed—too composed. Every word he spoke was precise, like he didn't waste breath on things that didn't matter. His voice was low and smooth, but there was something under it. A tension. Like danger wrapped in velvet.
My mind wandered as they talked about business and logistics, both too calm as if planning my marriage was no different than signing a contract. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of my dress.
What does he do exactly? What does "one of the most successful men" even mean in my father's world?
I swallowed hard. For all I knew, he could be some underground mafia boss my father owed a favor to. I glanced at him again—he was still watching me, subtly, as if waiting for me to make a move. Or a mistake.
God, if he was part of the mafia… that would be the end of me.
I shook the thought off and forced another smile. Until I knew more about him, I had to be cautious. Every word, every look—I needed to stay alert. Because if Keyser Ace was dangerous… I'd need to survive him.
Or learn to play the game better than him