THE NEXT DAY...

The clinking of cutlery and low murmurs filled the breakfast table.

I stood by the side, pitcher in hand, quietly refilling everyone's glasses. Like always.

Just another morning where I was part of the furniture. Present, invisible.

Clarssie was laughing softly at something Seraphina had said-probably mocking someone again. Seraphina was glowing in her designer nightrobe, with perfectly done hair, barely acknowledging my presence as I poured her orange juice.

And then... Victor cleared his throat.

The air shifted. A stillness.

"I've made a decision," he said flatly, eyes locked on his plate. "There will be no engagement ceremony."

My fingers tightened around the glass pitcher, confused.

Clarssie looked up. "Darling?"

Victor raised his gaze. Cold. Final. "The wedding will happen directly. Within the week."

I froze.

The juice sloshed too quickly-my hand jerked.

A splash.

Clarssie gasped, jerking back as a stream of cold orange juice spilled down her silk robe.

Silence.

The kind that wraps around your throat like a noose.

"Oh, you clumsy little bitch!" Clarssie hissed, dabbing furiously at her chest with a napkin. "Are you insane?! This is silk, you idiot!"

My mouth opened, but no words came out. I didn't know what to say. I didn't even feel like I was here anymore.

Victor slammed his palm on the table.

"One more mistake, Elena. One more-and you'll regret it," he snapped, his voice like a lash across my skin.

Seraphina chuckled. "She's just excited, Father. Her first and only spotlight moment. Let the maid have her slip-up."

They all laughed.

And I stood there-wet, humiliated, heart pounding like a drum inside a ribcage made of glass.

Inside, I screamed.

Outside, I bowed my head.

"Yes, Father," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

But all I could think about...

No engagement.

No time to breathe.

No time to run.

Just a wedding... with a stranger who already feels like a nightmare.

The laughter at the table died down, but the echo of it still rang in my ears like a cruel lullaby.

Clarssie was still dabbing at her silk robe dramatically, shooting me glares like I'd dumped acid on her.

I wanted to shrink into the floor. Disappear.

But instead... I swallowed the stone in my throat, took a shaky breath, and stepped forward.

"Father..." My voice came out softer than I meant it to. "I-I had a question."

His fork paused midway to his mouth.

Seraphina raised a perfectly shaped brow. "Oh? The maid speaks."

Victor didn't look at me. "Speak."

I clenched my fingers behind my back, nails digging into my palm.

"I just wanted to ask... after the wedding, will I be allowed to continue university?"

Silence.

Heavy. Pressing.

Victor finally looked up-his eyes sharp, like knives honed over years of disappointment.

"You won't need a university where you're going."

I blinked.

"But-"

"Enough." His tone was final. "Your husband's family will decide what you need. And trust me, they won't want a wife gallivanting around classrooms pretending to have dreams."

Clarssie smirked behind her teacup. "You're marrying into legacy, not chasing fairy tales."

Seraphina leaned forward, her smile dripping with sugar-coated poison. "Besides, darling... wives don't need degrees to make babies and pour tea."

A tightness bloomed in my chest, painful and bitter. I lowered my gaze.

So that was it.

Even that piece of me... was being taken.

I nodded slowly. "Yes, Father."

But deep inside?

A storm had started.

Quiet now.

But storms don't stay quiet forever.

...

I clutched my bag tightly, the campus gates looming ahead of me like a memory I wasn't ready to let go of.

It felt surreal.

The buildings I used to rush through. The laughter echoes down the halls. The late-night cramming sessions. It all felt... distant. Like another life. A better one.

I kept my head down as I walked. Not many people noticed me here either. I'd always been the quiet one, the girl with too much in her eyes and too little in her voice.

But today, I wasn't here for lectures or coffee.

I was here to say goodbye.

My dorm room was mostly packed already. I only had a few books and my sketchpad, the things I'd once dreamed of building a future with. Things that felt useless now.

I was just zipping my bag when I heard the voice I'd been hoping for and dreading all at once.

"Elena?"

I turned.

There he was-Ezrael.

Tall, broad-shouldered, that familiar crooked grin softening the sharp edges of his face. His black hair was a little messy, like always, and his brown eyes searched mine with worry.

"You didn't tell me you were leaving."

I tried to smile. "I found out yesterday."

He frowned. "You're not coming back?"

I shook my head.

He stepped closer. "What happened?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. How could I explain that I was being sold in lace and silk?

"I just... have to go," I whispered.

Ezrael's jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to scream or punch something. But instead, he said, "Come with me. Just for a bit."

I hesitated.

"Please," he added. "I won't get another chance to see you."

That... got me.

We walked silently across campus, down the path behind the art department, where trees lined the quiet garden. He always brought me here when I was sad. When I failed my first test. When Clarssie tore up my painting. When I needed to breathe.

We sat on the stone bench. I placed my bag on the side.

He didn't look at me at first. Just played with the ring on his finger. Then-

"I didn't want to say this, Elena," he said, voice low, "but I can't let you go without knowing."

My heart skipped.

"I like you. No-scratch that. I love you. I've loved you for a long time."

I stared at him.

"I never said it because I thought you needed a friend more than anything. But now? You're leaving. I don't even know where you're going or what's happening, but... I can't stay quiet anymore."

My chest ached.

He looked at me, finally, those eyes full of pain and hope all tangled together.

"Run away with me," he whispered. "We'll figure it out. Just say the word."

I wanted to cry.

But I didn't.

I just reached out and held his hand gently. "Ezrael..."

He looked at me like he was waiting for a miracle.

"It's too late," I said softly. "I wish I could... but my life isn't mine anymore."

He shook his head, eyes glassy. "That's not fair. You deserve better than whatever this is. You deserve someone who sees you."

"I know," I whispered, voice cracking. "But want and reality... they're not the same in my world."

A tear slipped down my cheek. He caught it with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," I said, voice barely audible.

He looked down, then gave a hollow laugh. "Then let me say goodbye before I lose you forever."

He didn't let go of my hand.

Not yet.

"Just tell me why," Ezrael murmured, voice barely holding itself together. "Why can't you fight this? Why can't you choose you for once?"

I looked away. The tears were stinging now, but I refused to let them fall.

Because if I cried, I'd shatter.

And if I shattered... I wouldn't make it out of this goodbye.

"I'm engaged," I said.

His breath caught.

He blinked, as if the word had slapped him. "Engaged...?"

I nodded, slowly. "It's arranged. Final. I didn't have a choice."

A cold silence fell between us, thick with everything we didn't say.

"To whom?" he finally managed.

"It doesn't matter," I whispered. "It's done."

He stood, running a hand through his hair. Angry. Confused. Crushed. "You could've told me. I deserved to know, Elena."

I stood too. "I know. But if I told you... You'd try to stop me."

He laughed bitterly. "Damn right I would. I still want to. I still will."

I smiled, broken. "Then I did the right thing by not telling you sooner."

He looked at me like he hated the world for turning me into this-into someone who had to apologize for being caged.

"I wish I could hate you for this," he said quietly.

I stepped back, heart tearing with every word. "I wish you could, too."

Then I walked away.

And this time, I didn't look back.

 SEBASTIAN'S POV

The room was too warm.

Mahogany walls, dim lights, the long conference table filled with suits and fake grins-my boardroom, my table, yet all I could hear was the ticking of the gold watch around my wrist and the scraping of a pen that someone should've stopped dragging five minutes ago.

I sat at the head. Always. Where I belonged.

My Glock rested heavy beneath my blazer, comforting. Familiar.

I didn't come here for games. My time was war, not wasted air.

One of the new executives cleared his throat and leaned forward, adjusting his overpriced tie with trembling fingers. "With all due respect, Mr. Blake, we believe your recent decisions may be... emotionally compromised. Perhaps due to the upcoming engagement."

I froze.

Emotionally... compromised?

My jaw ticked.

Slowly, deliberately, I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward, elbows on the table, steepling my fingers. "What did you say?"

The room went silent. All eyes flicked to the man who didn't know how to shut his damn mouth.

He gulped. "I-I just meant, maybe the pressure is-"

"I heard you the first time," I interrupted, my voice calm. I stood up.

Dead quiet.

My chair scraped back with a soft leather hiss as I reached inside my coat, slow and steady.

He paled.

The glint of the gun hit the light as I placed it on the table in front of me, right beside the reports he'd so kindly critiqued.

Then I leaned closer.

"Do you know what I hate more than incompetence?" I asked softly.

No one dared breathe.

"Disrespect," I answered myself. "Especially when it hides behind concern."

The man opened his mouth. I tilted my head.

"Go on. Say it again. Tell me I'm emotional. Tell me I've lost my edge."

He shook his head, sweat dripping.

"No?" I smiled coldly. "Then let me make something very clear."

I raised the gun.

Cocked it.

The sound echoed like thunder in that silent, suffocating room.

"If you ever question me again in my company, in my presence, in this life, I will not hesitate to show you how ruthless I can be. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes, sir," he stammered, nearly choking on the words.

I nodded once.

Then, they turned to the rest. "Does anyone else want to play Brave today?"

Silence.

"Good," I murmured, sliding the gun back into place.

ELENA'S POV

The morning air smelled of roses and tension.

I was already awake when the first knock hit my door. Not that I'd slept much. Not after last night. Not after the weight of a future I didn't choose sank into my bones like poison.

"Miss Elena," a voice called. "Please open. The stylists are here."

Stylists. Designers. Planners.

People.

Strangers, with sharp measuring tapes and sharper eyes. Sent by the family I hadn't even met. His family.

I pulled the blanket tighter around myself for a second longer, letting the quiet moments cradle me before the storm. Then I stood. My feet were cold against the marble. My body is stiff from the night spent curled up in fear.

When I opened the door, a wave of perfume, fabric samples, and rushed voices spilled in like a flood.

They didn't speak to me. Only at me.

"This one's too plain."

"She's so thin, it'll need alterations."

"Her hair's too dull. We'll need a treatment, maybe two."

I bit my tongue and nodded when they gestured. Let them poke, pin, twist. I was a mannequin. Nothing more.

Across the hall, Seraphina watched it all from her doorway, arms crossed, eyes full of fire. She hadn't stopped glaring since the wedding was announced.

I was supposed to be invisible, I thought, as someone yanked my arm a little too hard. But now, I'm a problem.

Later, in the afternoon, it happened.

I was helping one of the maids carry trays down to the kitchen when I heard Clarssie's voice echo through the hall.

"Who took the bracelet?! That was an heirloom!"

Panic. Chaos.

The house staff scattered like frightened mice. And then Seraphina's voice cut through it all like poison-tipped glass.

"I saw Elena upstairs earlier. Near your dresser."

My heart stopped.

I hadn't even been near Clarssie's room. But I knew that look in Seraphina's eyes when she said it. That quiet, victorious smirk. She knew what she was doing.

"No-" I whispered, stepping forward. "That's not true. I didn't-"

But no one listened.

Clarssie's eyes burned into me. Victor didn't even ask. He just decided.

"You ungrateful brat," he snarled, and the next thing I knew, my wrist was yanked and twisted. "Stealing from this house when we've fed and clothed you? When are we marrying you into power?"

Tears burned behind my eyes.

"I didn't take it," I said again, voice shaking.

He didn't care. He dragged me by the arm like a criminal, the maids all staring, whispering.

They locked me in the storeroom. Cold, dusty, and small. No window. No explanation.

Just punishment.

"You'll stay here," Clarssie hissed, stepping inside with a flashlight that flickered like a warning. "Until you learn your place. Be grateful we didn't send you to jail. You wouldn't survive an hour."

She slammed the door shut.

And just like that, I was alone again.

In the dark.

With my heart breaking-not just from the injustice, but from the truth: this is still my life, even when I'm days away from becoming a bride.

I didn't know how long I stayed there. The cold floor numbed my legs, but it was the silence that crushed me. Heavy. Suffocating. I couldn't cry. I just stared at the wooden door, wishing someone-anyone-would open it and say this was all a mistake.

And then... the handle turned.

I flinched.

The light that poured in made me squint, but the silhouette that stepped through made my chest ache with something like hope.

"Miss Elena," a soft voice whispered.

It was Mary.

The oldest maid in the house. Wrinkled hands. A permanent scent of lavender and soap. She'd worked here longer than I'd been alive. She was the only one who ever looked at me like I was more than a shadow.

She carried a tray of warm food and a folded blanket.

"I brought you something to eat," she murmured, shutting the door gently behind her. "And this. So you don't freeze."

I stared at her for a second-then all at once, everything cracked inside me.

I dropped to my knees and hugged her tightly, burying my face in her apron. The tears came hard and fast. Ugly sobs that ripped through my chest like they'd been waiting forever.

"I didn't take it," I cried. "I swear, I didn't-"

"I know, child," Mary whispered, her arms wrapping around me with the kind of gentleness I didn't know I needed. "I know."

I stayed like that for what felt like forever, clinging to the only kindness in the house. The food remained untouched between us, and for a moment, the world went still.

Then, she spoke again, this time with a voice laced with fear.

"You're marrying into the Blake family," she said, almost like a prayer or a curse. "I heard the staff talking. About the name. About... him."

I pulled back, wiping my tears. "You know who he is?"

She nodded slowly. Her eyes, once soft, filled with something darker.

"Sebastian Blake. That man... he's not ordinary. They say he's got the blood of devils in him. Cold. Ruthless. They say he carries a gun to board meetings and never blinks when pulling a trigger."

My breath caught.

Mary looked around nervously before leaning closer. "There are rumors, sweet girl. Stories of how he handles traitors. Of how Blake smiles in public and bleeds you dry behind closed doors. And now you're being thrown into their den?"

Her voice cracked.

"They should've married Seraphina into that family, not you," she whispered. "You... you're too gentle. Too kind."

I shook my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I don't have a choice."

Mary's eyes welled up.

"Then may the heavens guard you, my sweet Elena," she whispered, brushing my hair back gently. "Because down there... in that mansion, I don't think anyone else will."

SEBASTIAN'S POV

Another pointless night in this glitter-wrapped cage. Same faces, same laughter, same lies. I sat back in the booth, letting the scotch burn its way down. Everything in here reeked of money and perfume-but none of it impressed me.

This wasn't about pleasure. It was about presence. Control. Power.

Cassian slid into the seat across from me, grinning like a man who never cared for consequences. Bastard had lipstick on his neck again. How many hearts did he ruin this week? Five? Six?

He looked at me like I was the most entertaining thing in the room.

"So... the lion finally gets leashed."

I didn't respond. He wanted a reaction. I don't give reactions. I give orders.

"You know, I always pictured your wedding like a funeral. Grim. Guns under the suits. You're pulling the bride down the aisle by the wrist."

I swirled the drink. "I said yes because I was told to."

He laughed. "And you always do what you're told?"

If only he knew. I don't follow orders-I eliminate the need for them. But my grandfather... he's different. His voice carries weight. Legacy. I owe him more than blood. I owe him silence.

Cassian leaned forward. "So what's she like?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Don't care."

"Liar."

I took a sip. "She's a name on paper. A face I haven't seen. A life I'll control."

He gave a low whistle. "Romantic."

"I'm not built for romance."

And yet... my mind flicked-just for a second-to the idea. A stranger I'll marry. A girl thrown to the wolves. Will she beg? Fight? Break?

Something coiled in my chest.

This marriage... It's a storm waiting to happen. I can feel it.

But Cassian just kept talking, smiling like he had nothing to lose. "You know, I think this is going to be fun. Watching you pretend to play husband. Try not to shoot the priest, yeah?"

I leaned forward, slow and deliberate. "Cassian."

"What?"

"Say one more word, and I'll freeze every one of your accounts, frame you for fraud, and get your name and personal information on the dark web. For sale."

His smirk faltered.

I smiled-barely.

"Remember who I am."

He raised his hands. "Alright, alright. Damn. You're no fun lately."

I sat back, letting the silence settle.

She's coming into my world.

She doesn't know what waits.

But she will.

And God help her when she finally looks me in the eyes.

Because once she's mine...

There's no way out.

Cassian sipped from his drink, watching me the way a man watches a bomb ticking quietly in the corner of a room.

"Okay, jokes aside, do you even know anything about her?" he finally asked, voice dropping into something closer to genuine curiosity. "Like... who she is, what she's like? Anything?"

I didn't flinch. Didn't blink.

"No."

He stared at me for a beat. "...And you're not interested?"

I looked him dead in the eye. "She could be blind, mute, and batshit insane for all I care. It changes nothing."

He leaned back slowly, letting out a breath like he was trying to gauge whether I was serious.

I was.

Cassian ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, clearly thrown off. "You're actually going through with marrying a girl you know nothing about?"

I gave a small, sharp smirk. "It's not a marriage, Cassian. It's a transaction. And I'm just the weapon being placed on the table."

He let out a low whistle. "Shit."

Exactly.

I didn't care about her name. Her face. Her past. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was that my grandfather wanted it done. And when he commands-I deliver.

Cassian shifted. "You're not even curious? At all?"

I downed the last of my scotch and set the glass down with a quiet thud.

"Curiosity gets people killed."

He laughed, like it was a joke.

But it wasn't.

My phone buzzed.

Only one name ever made my entire body go still like that.

Grandfather.

Cassian was mid-sentence, talking about some blonde he was planning to corrupt next. I didn't hear a word. My thumb slid across the screen, answering before the second ring.

"Yes."

His voice was calm, composed, and cold as usual. "Come home. Now."

That was all.

No explanations.

No questions.

Just now.

The call ended before I could reply.

He never waited for answers.

I stood without another word, buttoning my black suit like it was armor.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. "What-called to the throne room again?"

I didn't answer.

Didn't have to.

He knew.

Everyone knew.

When he calls, I go.

Always.

...

The gates opened without a word, tall and silver, reflecting moonlight like they were cut from frost. The guards straightened. The staff vanished. Everyone in the house knew I hated chatter.

The moment I stepped into the marble-floored hallway, everything was still. Polished. Perfect. The air smelled of power and discipline.

No warmth.

Just legacy.

His study door was already open. He sat there like a king on a throne carved from steel and silence-my grandfather.

Grey eyes. Wrinkled hands that once bled for the empire he built. And a voice that never needed to rise.

"Sebastian," he said without looking up, "you came quickly."

"I always do," I replied, standing straight.

"Good." He folded his hands. "Because things are moving faster than expected."

He didn't need to explain.

I was here.

He gave the order.

And I obeyed.

Always.

Even when it's madness.

Even when it's a marriage.

Even when it's war.

The silence stretched.

Heavy.

Like a knife waiting to fall.

I stood before him, arms behind my back, posture disciplined to perfection. The fire crackled low in the grand hearth beside us. It was the only sound in the room, aside from the soft ticking of the antique clock on the wall.

He was still staring at the document on his desk-gold-lined paper with our family seal pressed into it. My name is at the top. And the girls'. Elena.

I didn't flinch.

Didn't react.

Because that's what he expected.

Finally, he looked up. "There will be a transition."

My jaw tightened. "What kind of transition?"

He leaned back in his chair like a man who was about to enjoy saying something no one else would dare say.

"You'll be moving out of the Blake mansion after the wedding. The estate on Hawthorne Hill will be yours."

I stared at him. Blinked once.

Waited.

"You mean... I'll be leaving this house?" I repeated slowly, voice low.

"Yes. A husband lives with his wife. That's how it's always been."

I kept my face blank.

But inside-rage simmered.

Leave Blake? The only place I've ever called home? The house where every memory, every scar, every lesson was carved into the walls? The house I bled for, the legacy I built from its foundation?

All for some stranger?

Some girl whose voice I hadn't even heard?

"I didn't realize this was part of the arrangement," I said coolly, but my hands clenched behind my back.

"It is now."

There it was.

His word was law. Etched in stone. And I-his favorite weapon-wasn't forged to question.

"You'll be given full control over the Hawthorne property. It's close to the central city. Good for appearances," he added, eyes sharp. "And I trust you won't make a scene. This is necessary."

I nodded once. Slow. Calculated.

Inside, my mind was howling.

This wasn't just about a house. It was about control. Distance. Making sure the marriage looked functional to the public, while I was pulled further from the family core.

Was he testing me?

Or did he truly think I'd blend into the perfect, married façade?

Either way... I obeyed.

I always did.

"Yes, Grandfather," I said at last, voice like steel wrapped in velvet.

But in my mind, I was already flipping chess pieces.

Because if I were being moved like a pawn-

Someone was going to bleed for it.

ELENA'S POV

THE WEDDING DAY

The corset was too tight.

Or maybe it was the anxiety clawing up my spine that made it hard to breathe. Either way, I sat stiffly as hands tugged and pulled at fabric, brushed powders across my skin, and pinned strands of hair into something elegant and far removed from the girl I was hours ago.

I didn't speak. Not that anyone asked me to.

I could still feel her fingers-Clarssie's-on my skin. My shoulder ached where she'd shoved me into the wall the night before. My ribs throbbed beneath the bodice. All for dropping a porcelain tray. All for existing. All for being me.

I stared blankly into the vanity mirror as someone adjusted the veil behind me.

I didn't recognize the girl staring back.

Porcelain skin, carefully concealed bruises, lips tinted a soft rose. Lashes are long and curled. Eyes-too hollow to carry light. My hair was twisted into an intricate bun, loose strands framing my face like I was some ethereal painting instead of a broken doll.

"You look like a dream," one of the stylists said behind me.

No. I looked like a lie.

The gown... God, the gown.

It was exquisite. Hand-beaded lace trailing across the silk bodice, fitted tight around my torso and flaring into layers of sheer tulle below the waist. A delicate silver embroidery curled along the hem like vines from a cursed garden. The veil matched, whispering over my shoulders like ghost-silk.

I should've felt beautiful.

But all I felt was... numb.

I wondered, would I still be here if Mother hadn't died? Would Father still look through me like I was invisible if she were alive?

Or would I be someone else? Someone seen?

Instead, I was the girl hidden in shadows. The mistake they dressed up to send away.

The stylists chattered around me, praising the dress, the designer, the venue-some grand cathedral in the heart of the city I'd never even set foot inside. I was the bride they never expected to display, and yet here I was... on sale to the highest bidder dressed in white.

A sick joke.

I clutched the armrest of the velvet chair beneath me as the final touches were placed.

And still... no one asked if I wanted this.

They only told me to smile.

To walk.

To obey.

Would he be worse? The man I was marrying? Would he look at me like Father did? Would he raise his voice? His hand?

Or would he not look at me at all?

I took a breath and held it, feeling the corset press tighter against my bruised ribs.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe I was meant to fade out this way... in diamonds and silence.

The door creaked open, and a housemaid stepped in softly, whispering that the cars had arrived.

I stood on trembling legs, the veil falling into place.

And as they handed me the bouquet, a bitter thought whispered in the corner of my mind:

This is the most beautiful cage I've ever worn.

I barely had time to breathe.

The bouquet was shaking slightly in my grip-not from nerves, but from something colder. The kind of chill that settles deep in your bones when you know... something's about to change forever.

The door creaked open again.

Them.

Clarssie's heels clicked against the marble floor like tiny threats. She didn't even pretend to be gentle with her presence. Seraphina followed behind, her designer dress painted onto her perfect frame, lips curled in amusement, like this day was hers to enjoy.

They didn't look at me with affection.

They never had.

Clarssie's eyes scanned me slowly, like she was assessing a product before shipping it off. "Hm. At least you look decent today. Try not to ruin it by crying, will you?" She sneered.

Seraphina chuckled, leaning casually against the dresser, arms folded. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure she's already cried enough for a lifetime."

I kept my head low. It was easier that way. Easier not to react. Easier to pretend I wasn't shaking inside.

"Such a pity you won't get to say your vows in a casket," Clarssie sighed dramatically, stepping closer. "Though, who knows? Maybe soon enough."

My eyes darted up. Her smile was cold.

"You do know who you're marrying, right?" she asked sweetly, her voice like poisoned honey. "Sebastian Blake. The Blakes don't just own companies, Elena. They own power. And when someone crosses them... well."

Seraphina giggled. "They disappear."

My mouth went dry.

"They say Sebastian once shot a man for interrupting him in a meeting," Clarssie continued, brushing imaginary lint from my shoulder. "Right in the kneecap. Then the head. He smiled after."

"You'll make such a lovely ornament on his arm, though," Seraphina added, circling me like a vulture. "Pretty. Quiet. Disposable."

I swallowed, heart pounding too hard beneath the corset.

"Oh, and Elena?" Clarssie leaned in, whispering near my ear. "If you embarrass this family today... I swear, bruises will be the least of your problems."

I closed my eyes. I had no tears left to shed.

They left like ghosts-laughing, cruel, and victorious.

And for a moment, I wished the veil covering my face could cover my soul too.