Chapter 9 – The Preparation

• The estate was alive with an unsettling kind of energy that Alina couldn’t escape. The sprawling grounds were overtaken by florists, their trucks packed with fresh flowers—roses, lilies, and orchids spilling from their crates. Musicians strummed soft melodies on their instruments, adding to the serene chaos that surrounded her. Staff bustled everywhere, setting up elaborate tables in the garden, lighting candles, and preparing for what was supposed to be the most sacred day of her life.
• Except, it wasn’t.
• It wasn’t sacred. It wasn’t a celebration. It was a prison.
• Alina stood by the window in her private quarters, watching it all unfold from the safety of the room. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to see any of it. But she had no choice. She had no control.
• It was like a dream she couldn’t wake up from. A nightmare dressed in lace and satin.
• She heard a knock at her door.
• The sound made her tense, her mind always on edge.
• “Miss Rayne,” came Teresa’s voice, “It’s time for you to get dressed.”
• Alina stood up, her hands trembling. She had never felt so hollow, so empty. It was as if the life had been drained out of her completely. She was moving through this day like a ghost, an object to be dressed, presented, and then handed over.
• She didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she walked over to the bed and picked up the wedding gown she had chosen—the simple one, the only thing she could control. It felt like a betrayal, the very act of putting it on. The plainness of it was a silent protest, but it also made her feel small, insignificant.
• The door opened, and Teresa stepped inside, a soft smile on her lips.
• “You look beautiful,” she said quietly, as if reading the pain in Alina’s eyes, but it was a compliment that felt more like an insult.
• “I don’t want this,” Alina replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
• Teresa’s smile faltered, but she said nothing. The look on her face was one of understanding, but also of resignation. She was just a servant. She didn’t have the power to change anything.
• “Let’s get you ready,” Teresa said, stepping forward to help her into the gown.
• Alina let herself be guided through the motions, but her mind was elsewhere. She barely registered the feel of the satin as it settled around her, the pull of the corset tightening at her waist, the delicate touch of Teresa’s hands as she adjusted the neckline. She was numb to it all.
• The chapel was grand, yet cold, as if the stone walls absorbed all warmth and joy. Tall columns stretched up toward the high ceiling, and stained glass windows cast colored shadows across the floor. The space was filled with the scent of roses, the same roses that had been arranged outside, their pale petals scattered around the altar in a perfect display of excess.
• Everything was perfect. Everything was a facade.
• Alina stood at the back of the chapel, hidden from view, watching the preparations unfold. Florists continued to fuss over arrangements, adjusting every petal as if it would be their last. Musicians practiced their instruments, filling the air with quiet, mournful notes. The staff moved in a constant, seamless motion, completing tasks that would soon culminate in a ceremony she could never escape.
• She saw the priest arrive, his robes sweeping across the floor as he moved toward the altar. His expression was solemn, and Alina couldn’t help but feel a surge of desperation. She needed answers. She needed to understand why. Why was she here? Why had her father done this to her?
• She approached him, her steps unsteady as she walked down the aisle toward him.
• “Father,” she began, her voice shaking, “Please, I need to understand. Why am I here? Why is this happening?”
• The priest turned to face her, his eyes kind but distant. He didn’t seem surprised by her appearance, as if he had expected her. He studied her for a moment before speaking.
• “God forgives what the law cannot,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a kind of melancholy wisdom. “This is not for you to understand. This is for your soul to endure.”
• Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the answer she had been hoping for. It wasn’t even close.
• “You’re telling me to accept this,” she said, her voice low, her fists clenched at her sides. “To accept that my father sold me to this man.”
• The priest’s face hardened, just a little. “I’m not telling you to accept it. I’m telling you to pray. And to forgive.”
• Alina’s heart burned with fury. She couldn’t forgive this. She couldn’t forgive what had been done to her, what was being done to her, even now.
• With a sharp breath, she turned away from the priest, her heart racing as she stormed out of the chapel.
• As she made her way back to her room, she collided with a figure in the hallway, almost crashing into them. It was Luciano.
• He stood there, towering over her, dressed in his perfectly tailored suit, his face unreadable. He didn’t apologize, didn’t make any effort to move. He just stared at her with those cold, calculating eyes.
• “I wanted to see you before the ceremony,” he said quietly, his voice smooth as silk.
• Alina’s breath hitched, a flash of anger running through her veins. “You wanted to see me?” she repeated, her voice dripping with venom. “Why? To remind me that I’m nothing but a pawn in your game?”
• Luciano didn’t react to her outburst. He simply reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, delicate box. He handed it to her without a word.
• Alina hesitated before taking it. She felt sick just holding it, the box so small, so innocent-looking. She opened it slowly.
• Inside was a necklace. It wasn’t just any necklace. It was a gold chain with a pendant, a gemstone at its center. A deep, greenish-blue stone, the color of the ocean.
• Her mother’s birthstone.
• Luciano watched her with his unreadable gaze, waiting for her reaction.
• “It was your mother’s,” he said quietly. “She wore it the last time I saw her.”
• Alina’s breath caught in her throat. The stone was beautiful, but it was also a reminder of everything she had lost. Her mother, her childhood, her freedom.
• “You knew her,” Alina said, her voice trembling. “You knew my mother.”
• Luciano nodded slowly, a flash of something in his eyes. “She was the only person I ever loved… until now.”
• The words struck her like a blow to the chest. His confession hit too close to home, a jagged knife cutting deep into her emotions. Her mother—his love. Her mother, the woman who had disappeared from her life so many years ago, was tied to this man.
• A man who had now taken everything from her.
• Alina’s fingers curled around the necklace, her heart racing as she felt the weight of it—the weight of everything. The control, the manipulation. She wasn’t just here because of debt. She wasn’t just a payment.
• She was a tool.
• A pawn in a game of power and obsession.
• And this wedding—this ceremony—wasn’t about paying off a debt. It was about control. It was about marking her as his, for all the world to see. It was about ownership.
• The reality of it slammed into her, raw and unyielding.
• This was never about money. This was about him.