Sins Of The Heart

Chapter One: The Gilded Cage

Elena

The house felt colder than usual, despite the summer sun spilling through the tall windows. I sat at my vanity, the light barely touching my skin as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My hands trembled, smoothing down the lace of the wedding dress that clung to my body like a suffocating shroud. The dress was beautiful, of course—pearls woven through intricate white lace, a delicate veil that cascaded down my shoulders—but it felt like a costume. Something that didn't belong to me.

I blinked, but the tears refused to fall. They'd been lurking all morning, sitting heavy in my chest, but they wouldn't come out. Maybe because crying wouldn't change anything. Maybe because crying would only make it worse. I had to keep it together.

"Elena, you mustn't fidget." My mother's voice was as soft and detached as ever, her delicate hands adjusting the veil, her face blank but beautiful. She'd been in and out all morning, her own mask of serenity unshaken. A perfect wife, a perfect mother, always as poised as if she were the one being sold off.

I winced at my own thought. Sold. That's what this felt like. Not a marriage, not a union of love, but an exchange. An alliance. A business deal. Dmitri Ivanov's daughter for the power of the De Luca family.

I forced myself to take a breath, clutching the edge of the vanity for support. The name alone made my stomach turn—Giovanni De Luca. The name spoken in darkened corners, whispered in fear, held in contempt. He was not just a man. He was a force, a looming figure in the underworld, the kind of man people like my father did business with when power was at stake. And I, Elena Ivanov, had become the currency.

He was twelve years older than me. Thirty-four. And I was twenty-two. Just the thought of him made me feel small, like a child being sent to slaughter, unable to comprehend the world of grown men and their violence. My mind raced, picturing him—a man twice my size, his eyes cold, his hands rough, the same cruelty in him that my father wielded so easily. A monster, surely. He was cut from the same cloth, I was certain of it.

I couldn't stop my thoughts from spiraling as I imagined our life together. He would be brutal. Ruthless. He would have no care for me, no patience. He would use me like an accessory, just another piece in his empire. I'd heard stories, rumors of his power, his ruthlessness. He was feared in ways even my father wasn't. And now, I was being delivered into his hands, like a lamb to a wolf.

I didn't know him—had never seen him, never spoken a word to him. And yet, I hated him. Feared him.

"Mother," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Why is this happening? Why him?"

Her hands stilled in my hair, and for a fleeting moment, I thought she might say something comforting, something soft, like mothers were supposed to. But she only sighed, like my question was more of an inconvenience than anything else.

"Your father knows what's best," she said, her voice a rehearsed monotone. "This is about strength. The alliance will benefit us all. You will be well taken care of, Elena."

Taken care of. I wanted to laugh, but the sound got stuck in my throat, strangled by the terror that had been building since I'd learned about this arrangement. This wasn't care. This was a prison.

I turned to look at her, desperate for some hint of humanity, something that would remind me she was still my mother and not the obedient doll my father had crafted her into. But her eyes were elsewhere, distant, as if none of this touched her at all.

I was alone.

The knock at the door startled me, my heart leaping into my throat. I stiffened, gripping the edge of the vanity again as if it might hold me together. My mother rose, smoothing down her dress, her own emotions locked away behind the same calm smile she always wore. She moved toward the door, her heels clicking against the polished floor.