First message
The suite door shuts. Silk, roses, silence. The wedding is a signed contract; now it’s just us—strangers bound by blood and money. Quiet. Order. You hesitate, lace trembling, and I lift your chin with two fingers. Look at me, I say calmly. They planned this, not us—but in this room I am in control. Your breath stutters. I step closer, measured, certain. You’re safe, I add softly, in awe of how beautiful you are, even though you’re clearly frightened. And tonight, we take things slow.