Chapter 1
My sister, Briana Crawford, ran away from her wedding, and the Crawford family shoved me forward to calm Maurice Langston's fury.
They said his mind was twisted by his disability, and he loved making women suffer.
On our wedding night, Maurice pressed me down onto the bed, his hand tightening around my neck.
Feeling hopeless, I opened my eyes, tears slipping down my cheeks.
The instant he saw my face, Maurice stiffened, frozen in place.
In the next moment, he hurriedly brushed my tears away with his sleeve, his touch so gentle that it felt like he was afraid I'd break.
"Don't cry. I won't kill you. My life is yours," Maurice said.
He pulled a dagger from beneath his pillow and gently placed it in my hand.
*****
It was still dark when they shoved me into the wedding dress.
The fabric was rough, and the gold embroidery was all crooked, as if someone had tried and failed to copy it.
My mother's hands were strong, tugging at me so hard that it hurt, but she kept muttering about Briana, her heart aching for her.
"Where has Briana gone off to? It's freezing out there. Hope she's not having a hard time," she murmured.
The old maid chimed in, "Lady Briana is blessed by fate, but for you, Lady Catherine, marrying into the Langston estate in her place is the greatest blessing you could ask for."
So, that was what they called "blessing".
I scoffed inwardly, not buying it for a second.
Everyone in Aristford knew Maurice was a living hell king, a man who killed without blinking an eye.
Ten years ago, he was a renowned young general, but during a palace upheaval, he lost the use of his legs while saving the king.
He fell from glory straight into darkness, and his whole nature twisted. Ruthless and cold, many maids met their end because of him.
Briana, the brightest lady in Aristford, was handpicked by the king to be Maurice's bride.
But her heart belonged to someone else, and she escaped the night before the wedding.
To avoid the king's wrath, the Crawford family pushed me, the illegitimate daughter no one ever cared about, out as a scapegoat.
My father called me into his study, his face as cold as stone.
He told me, "Catherine, don't forget your place.
"Once you're at the Langston estate, keep your head down. Pay for what Briana did, pay for the Crawford family's mistakes.
"Even if you die, you have to wipe our slate clean."
My father wanted me to atone for their sins. That was his cold command.
Honestly, it felt like my whole existence was to die for their screw-ups.
The carriage rocked so hard that I felt dizzy and lightheaded.
The festive wedding music blared all around, but to me, it sounded more like a funeral march.
My heart was gripped by terror. Even the air I breathed felt icy, carrying the chill of death.
Finally, we arrived at the Langston estate.
There were no guests, no noise, but just dead silence.
The place was massive, but the atmosphere was so eerie that it felt like a tomb.
Silver candles hung under the eaves, swaying in the wind and casting ghostly shadows.
The servants wore dull, gray uniforms, their heads bowed, and the way they looked at me was like I was just another animal waiting to be butchered.
I was ushered into the bridal chamber.
Strong incense burned in the room, but the faint, metallic tang of blood still hung in the air.
I sat on the edge of the bed, wringing my sleeves nervously, waiting for fate to decide my sentence.
The door creaked open.
A terrifying presence hit me full force.
I froze, barely daring to lift my head.
A man in a wheelchair stopped at the doorway.
He wore the same flashy red wedding robe as I did, but there wasn't a hint of joy about him.
His brown hair hung loose over his shoulders, making his face so handsome that it almost stole my breath. Yet he was so pale, as if he hadn't seen sunlight in years.
That was Maurice.
His eyes were like icy knives, stabbing right at me.
"The Crawford family sure has the audacity," Maurice said.
His voice was deep and cold, like shards of ice grinding against each other.
"They dared to bring me a counterfeit bride," he sneered.
He moved his wheelchair, inching closer to me with chilling authority.
The wheels rolled forward, their sound echoing like a death curse, each turn pounding against my heart.
I was trembling from head to toe, fear flooding my veins. My instincts screamed at me to run, but my legs were paralyzed, rooted to the spot.
He stopped right in front of me, then reached out and locked his hand around my throat.
His hand was cold, his fingers long and strong.
The feeling of suffocation overwhelmed me in an instant.
I struggled desperately, my nails scratching his hand and drawing blood, but he remained unmoved.
It was getting harder and harder to breathe, and my mind started to go fuzzy.
I wondered if this was really the end for me.
All for this so-called family, for a sister who never once looked my way, I thought I was about to die at the hands of a cruel lunatic.
Helplessness and bitter frustration washed over me, leaving me utterly hopeless.
A scalding tear escaped before I could hold it back.
It splashed onto the back of his icy hand.
The hand gripping my throat froze abruptly.
With the last bit of strength I had, I managed to open my eyes and lock eyes with him.
Right then, I couldn't help but be stunned by his eyes.