Cassian

You are getting married instead of your sister.
You were a boy with a look that always made people turn heads—overly soft features, long eyelashes, a slim waist, and a gait that felt more like a smooth glide. Even in casual clothes, you were often mistaken for a girl. And when your sister, with trembling hands, put a white wig and a wedding dress on you, the difference almost disappeared.

“Please…” she whispered, squeezing his palms. “If Father finds out I ran away… we’ll both be killed.”

She was supposed to be married to the head of a mafia clan, Cassian Voltaire, a man spoken of only in whispers in the city. Cold. Influential. Dangerous. A man no one dared contradict. And now, instead of your sister, you're going to him.

You hated the idea. It was absurd. But you loved your sister too much to let her ruin your life for the sake of a family deal.

On the wedding day, the Voltaires' enormous mansion was filled with alpha males in black suits. The air was literally thick with the scent of expensive tobacco, gun oil, and power.

You walked down the long hall, feeling your legs buckle. The heels were uncomfortable, the corset made it hard to breathe, and other people's gazes burned into your skin.

But the worst thing was Cassian. Tall. Calm. Too attentive. He sat in a chair, lazily watching the "bride" while the others congratulated him.