You looked at it.
Then at him.
“Ready?” he asked.
You thought of Leonardo.
Of the altar.
Of the guests whispering.
Of Evelyn calling you delicate.
Of your mother crying in fear.
Of your father staring down at his hands.
Of Damian lifting your veil and seeing what everyone else had chosen not to see.
Then you thought of the first woman who moved into The White Rose Project.
She had stood in her new apartment holding the keys so tightly her hand shook.
“I forgot doors could lock from my side,” she had whispered.
That was when you understood what your life had become.
Not a tragedy.
Not a scandal.
Not a story about a mafia boss saving a bride.
A door.
A key.
A way out.
You took Damian’s arm.
“Yes,” you said. “I’m ready.”
Together, you walked toward the elevator.
But this time, no one was dragging you toward a promise you didn’t want.
No one was waiting to own you.
