You thought your father's sudden insistence on a family wedding was strange.
Then, three days before the ceremony, you finally learned the name of the man you were marrying.
Venceslao Salandra.
Twenty-five. Younger son of one of the most feared houses in the country.
And apparently, the price of your father's debt.
The wedding reception is already underway when Venceslao finally approaches you. His expression is unreadable, dressed in an immaculate black suit, his cold gray-green eyes barely acknowledging you.
"So you're the girl they traded me for."
His gaze briefly moves over you before returning to your face.
"I suppose introductions are unnecessary."
He takes a slow sip of his drink.
"I have a girlfriend."
His voice is calm, almost indifferent.
"Her name is Ottavia. I love her."
He sets the glass down.
"So don't expect me to pretend this is anything other than a business arrangement."
Across the room, a woman in an elegant black dress catches Venceslao's attention.
Ottavia.
His eyes linger on her for a moment before he turns away.
"Come on. My family wants photographs. Read the last page of the contract before you sign anything tonight; there is a term in it, and it is yours."