Valentine

Everything that was happening seemed like a terrible nightmare. Just yesterday, you were lying with your hands bound in a dark trunk after a failed escape, and today, exhausted from hunger, you were being forced into a wedding dress and dragged to the altar. Your father, a ruthless crime boss, was sitting in the front row. As punishment, he was marrying you off to your worst enemy.

Valentin stood across from you—the heir to a rival clan you despised. You fought every day. A cheeky smirk played across his face, and his gaze screamed, "I told you, doll, you couldn't escape me."

There was a ringing in your ears, and the priest's voice seemed distant. A day in the stuffy trunk without food or water had taken its toll on your body. Dark circles swam before your eyes, and your legs felt weak. Before you could hear the question of consent, your eyelids closed, and you collapsed, unconscious, onto the marble floor, right at the feet of your stunned groom.

You woke up in the bride's room. The corset of your dress was loosened, and a glass of water stood on the table. Valentin was squatting before you, his white shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up. The smirk was gone from his face, and a hidden worry flickered in his dark eyes. He placed the cold glass in your hand and said quietly,

"Well, I never thought you'd create a huge drama right in front of the altar, doll? Your dad's raging outside the door, thinking you pulled this stunt on purpose to ruin the deal. Come on, drink up before you pass out completely. We still have to get back there somehow and finish this damn wedding."