Chapter four

IRENA'S POV

Two months flew by so quickly. It was endless tears, screaming, and sleepless nights as I counted the days until my wedding day.

Today is the day. September 22nd.

The last time I heard from Saint was when he nearly suffocated me two months ago. After that, he disappeared like a Ghost. I have not heard from him or seen him. Or the mentions of his name from me or anyone else in the house. It was as if it was forbidden to say his name without his presence.

I stand in front of the mirror, staring into the eyes of a lost girl.

Uncle Ian, 36 years old and the middle brother, picked out this dress for me. Ian is barely home. He is constantly traveling for work, and I only see him during special occasions like this, which is rare.

The stretchy white fabric perfectly fits as it hugs my body. The silhouette dress is provided through the bodice and starts to flare out at the waist in a triangular fashion with sleeves that drape gracefully off-the-shoulder.

My brown skin and white dress matched perfectly. My face was barely touched with makeup. My uncles said it made me look more innocent and submissive to my husband. The makeup artist only powered me with light blush and a bit of concealer as well as my mascara, followed by a rosewood lipstick that suits well with my skin color.

I pressed my hands to my cheeks as I observed myself in the mirror. I couldn't stop the feeling of butterflies dancing in my stomach from the anxiousness. Usually, women would see this as the happiest day of their lives. I see it as my worst.

Anatol kept his word when he said it would be his duty to teach me manners. I would wake up each day to lessons on how to be the perfect mafia housewife.

Obey.

Quiet.

Sweet.

Pure.

And my personal favorites look pretty. Those are the five traits that I should religiously provide for my husband.

I don't believe in such brainwashing marriage bullshit, but sadly I had to commit to them if I wanted to be on Saint's good side and stay away from trouble.

"A woman is not important when it comes to marriage." in this marriage, my happiness was not the main priority. As they told me, I am an object to please and kiss my husband's ass.

I had pulled out my thoughts when I heard a gentle knock at the door.

"Come in," I announce.

The door creaks open, and an old lady, Gloria, walks in. Her hair is powdered white, as her eyes are fatigued. As her skin is parchment faded, creased like vellum. Her clothes are clean and fresh. She wore a white blouse with a long floral dress and thick sandals.

"I'm here to get you, Miss. The ceremony is about to start." She says with her weak, fragile voice. I sigh, defeating.

"I'll be out soon Gloria," I say to her; her eyes soften as she gives me a warm smile. "You look beautiful, Miss."

"Thank you Gloria." I utter, returning the smile. She walks out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

I look at myself one last time.

Today is my wedding day. I am getting remarried not just to any man but to Saint Dé Leon.

God, how did it come to this?

This is the day when my whole life is about to change.

➛

I kept my gaze focused on the bouquet in my hand, refusing to look at all the guests in fear of seeing Saint. Le Cygne by Camille Saint starts playing melodious music and hums in the air as the double doors open, revealing the aisle that leads to my waiting groom.

"Remember not to mess this up Irena. Your life depends on it, sweet child." Greg whispers as he takes my hand and slips it through the crooks of his arm.

The nauseous feeling of him touching me resurfaces again.

Too much is happening. Tears threaten to overwhelm me, but again, I swallow them back. Panic floods my veins with each step Greg pulls me down the red carpet. Hushed murmurs float from the guest until the sound turns into buzzing in my ears.

I focus my eyes on the bouquet in my hand, not daring to look up.

Please don't break down in front of them. Keep it together Irena.

Still, a sob builds, and I can't stop it from escaping my lips. The sound takes flight as it blends with the music and murmurs.

This is it.

My freedom is gone.

Greg pulls me to a stop, lifting the veil, he presses a kiss on my forehead.

It turned my stomach, but I had to force down the sick feeling.

The amount of times I have been violated without anyone knowing. It will be difficult not to empty my stomach. At this very moment.

Polished shoes come into view. Saint takes a hold of my hand and slips it in the crooks of his arm as he turns me to face the priest.

Everything inside me dies.

"Dearly beloved, we're gathered here today to celebrate the holy union of Saint Dé Leon and Irena Karalana Nowak."

There's a buzzing in my ears. I see the priest's lips move but I can't hear a word he's saying. He keeps talking and talking, seconds passing with each beat of my heart with freedom slipping through my fingers.

I turned to face my groom. I slowly lift my gaze and head up as I meet his gaze but he's a blur through the tears.

My heart shrivels into a dark hole. My stomach tightness into a hard knot. Silent tears spill over my cheeks, my breaths speeding up, my heart thumping harder against my chest, my throat closing up.

Then I blink, and my sight focuses on the man in front of me.

Saint.

My eyes immediately noticed a light scar stretching across his face. Which made his features more intimidating. Then I realized.

I gave him that scar.

"Saint, repeat after me." The priest says.

A hard shudder rakes through my body. My breathing stalls and my heartbeat comes to a dead stop.

"I, Saint Dé Leon, take thee, Irena Karalana Nowak, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward..."

No, no, no, no, no.

"For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. Till death do us apart." Saint utters the last part.

His eyes are focused on me. His expression closed up, the dangerous aurora radiating from him.

He stared at me. Nor once fazed by my tears or unhappiness. Knowing that I'm getting married to Saint I bet my suffering pleases him. That he will do everything

in his power to taunt me in this marriage till I take my last breath.

"Irena repeat after me." The priest declares. As if I'm under some evil spell, my lips part and I recite the haunting words. Saint's eyes spark with an unrecognizable emotion when I end with. "Till death do us apart."

"Saint, do you take Irena Karalana Nowak as your wife?"

A pause dances in the air as we both stare into each other's eyes.

"I do."

"Irena, do you take Saint Dé Leon as your husband?"

I could hear my heart pounding in my throat. My eyes go wide in shock and disbelief, my lips part ready to say the words that will sell my freedom away.

A tear slips down my cheek as I say the words. "I do." I whisper.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." The priest announces. "You may kiss the bride."

Saint takes a step forward, his hands find my shoulder, and as he lowers his head, I close my eyes when I feel his lips onto mine.

My skin crawled as I suppressed a shudder. Instantly anger burns through me. Drying the tears right off my cheeks.

Saint pulls away and stares down at me curiously. My hatred for this man collides with my physical attraction toward him.

"Smile, my little doe, you don't want to ruin the mood on your wedding day." he says, wrapping his arm around my waist. I yanked his hand away and turned a hot glare on him. "Don't touch me." I snap.

Saint cocks a brow. "So the girl does speak." he teased. "I hate you, Saint." I managed to say before walking away, leaving him on the altar as all eyes were on me, which didn't faze me.

Right now I need to be as far away as possible from everyone. Especially my new husband.