Bound by Honor *2ND DRAFT*

V

March 15

Estella POV

The Moretti estate could blind someone with its ego alone. Everything glitters—crystal chandeliers like frozen fireworks, marble floors polished enough to see my own nerves reflected back at me, and flowers that probably cost more than my first car. If anxiety were a perfume, I'd be choking everyone within a ten-foot radius.

My father's arm is solid beside me, steady in the way only men who've weathered too many storms can be. His hand tightens slightly over mine as the doors open. The music swells. Everyone stands.

And there it is—the aisle. Long. Unforgiving. A spotlight disguised as a pathway.

I take a breath that doesn't quite make it to my lungs. Dad gives me that small, encouraging smile that says You're doing great, kid—which is rich, considering my knees feel like they've been replaced with pudding.

Every eye in the room burns into me. Some smile, some assess, a few probably place mental bets on how long this marriage will last. It feels less like a ceremony and more like a business transaction dressed in tulle.

At the end of the aisle, Malakai waits.

And he looks... calm. Too calm. Like marble come to life—unmoving, unreadable, and unfairly handsome. When our eyes meet, something tightens in my chest. He smiles. Not big, not showy—just enough to knock the air out of me.

"Steady," my father murmurs under his breath. I wish he'd share his definition of steady because mine left the building the moment Malakai's gaze landed on me.

Each step feels heavier than the last until we finally reach the altar. My father takes my hand, then Malakai's, and for a moment, the world goes still.

Then Dad leans in—just enough that only Malakai can hear—and says something low in his ear.

Malakai's jaw tightens, just barely, but he nods once, sharp and restrained.

I blink. My father straightens, gives me one last look, the kind that says be careful without saying it. Then he steps back to take his seat, leaving me standing beside a man who looks like he just received classified information.

The priest starts speaking, his words a blur of ceremony and formality. The vows feel like a script I never agreed to memorize. My voice is steady on the outside, shaking on the inside.

Malakai's eyes don't leave me.

Whatever my father said still lingers in the air between them—between us—as the priest keeps talking. My brain catches about every third word. "Union," "forever," "honor," "obedience." That last one makes me want to laugh, but it'd probably come out sounding like I need medical attention, so I keep it inside.

Malakai's fingers brush mine as we turn to face each other, and suddenly it feels like gravity remembered I exist. His hand is steady—mine, not so much.

His eyes don't move from my face. There's something unsettling about that kind of focus. Everyone else in the room blurs, like we're the only two people in a painting everyone came to stare at.

And then the priest says it. You may kiss the bride.

Malakai leans in.

For half a second, I think he'll make it polite—quick, distant, procedural. But no. His hand finds my jaw, thumb gentle against my skin, and his lips meet mine. Soft but firm. Possessive in the way that makes the room disappear and my lungs forget how to cooperate.

My body goes still. My mind goes static. I can't tell if I'm frozen or if time is.

The world comes back in pieces after the kiss — too bright, too loud, too close. Malakai pulls back, still watching me, but all I can feel is the echo of that touch. My stomach drops. The applause sounds like waves crashing somewhere far away. My skin prickles. The air feels heavy. He's still holding my hand, thumb brushing my knuckles — gentle, but my body doesn't register gentle the way it used to. Every nerve in me locks up, a warning flare going off where calm should be.