Chapter Five - Elara
I wake up on my wedding day feeling like I’m drowning in cotton.
Everything is muffled, distant, like I’m watching someone else’s life unfold from behind thick glass. The morning light filters through the penthouse windows, casting long shadows across the guest room that’s been my prison for the past three days.
Today, it stops being temporary. Today, I become Mrs. Nikola Sharov, and the cage door locks permanently.
I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands.
They look the same as they did a week ago, before my world imploded.
Same pale skin, same chipped nail polish I haven’t had the energy to fix.
They feel foreign now, like they belong to someone else.
Someone who makes tactical alliances instead of choices.
Someone who trades freedom for survival.
A soft knock interrupts my spiral. “Elara? It’s me.”
Suzanne’s voice cuts through the fog, familiar and grounding. I unlock the door, and she slips inside carrying a garment bag and a small overnight case. Her auburn hair is pulled back in a neat bun, her green eyes soft with concern she’s trying to hide behind a smile.
“How are you holding up?” she asks, setting her bags on the dresser.
I want to tell her the truth; that I feel like I’m dissolving, that I can’t tell where my decisions end and his manipulation begins, that I’m terrified of what I’ve agreed to.
Instead, I shrug. “I’m here.”
She nods like that’s answer enough. That’s what I love about Suzy—she doesn’t push for explanations I can’t give or emotions I can’t access. She just shows up and holds space for whatever version of me exists in the moment.
“Leon’s downstairs with Nikola,” she says, unzipping the garment bag. “The other brothers should be here soon. It’ll be small, just family.”
Family. The word tastes strange on my tongue. I haven’t had real family since my parents died in that car accident five years ago. Just distant relatives who send Christmas cards and friends who’ve slowly drifted away as my life became more complicated.
Now I’m supposed to inherit an entire network of people who’ll call me sister, protect me, claim me as their own.
“I brought options,” Suzy continues, revealing three dresses. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want to wear.”
The first is cream silk, flowing and romantic with delicate lace sleeves.
The second is navy blue, structured and professional, the kind of dress you’d wear to a business meeting.
The third is white—simple, elegant, with clean lines and a modest neckline that somehow makes it more striking than flashier alternatives.
I reach for the white one without thinking.
“Are you sure?” Suzy asks gently. “White’s very… traditional.”
I know what she means. White for weddings that matter, for brides who are happy, for ceremonies that celebrate love instead of necessity. Maybe that’s exactly why I need it. White for purity I never had. White for sacrifice I’m making. White for a life I didn’t choose but have to inhabit.
“This one,” I say.
She doesn’t argue. She helps me into it, zips the back with gentle fingers, arranges the fabric so it falls properly. The dress fits my curves like it was made for me—which, knowing Nikola’s attention to detail, it probably was. The thought sends a chill down my spine.
“You look beautiful,” Suzy says, and there’s no false brightness in her voice. Just quiet truth.
I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror and freeze.
The woman looking back at me is a stranger—elegant, composed, ready to walk down an aisle toward a man she barely knows.
The dress transforms me into someone worthy of the Sharov name, someone who belongs in their world of controlled violence and strategic alliances.
Someone who isn’t me.
“Suzy,” I whisper, panic clawing at my throat. “I can’t do this.”
She appears behind me in the mirror, hands gentle on my shoulders. “You can. You’re stronger than you think.”
“What if I’m making a mistake? What if there was another way and I was too scared to find it?”
“Then you’ll deal with the consequences later.” Her voice is steady, anchoring. “But right now, today, you’re making the choice that keeps you alive. Everything else can be figured out afterward.”
A soft knock on the door interrupts us. “It’s time,” Nikola’s voice calls through the wood, formal and distant.
Suzy squeezes my shoulders once, then steps back. “Ready?”
I’m not. I’ll never be ready for this, but I nod anyway, because ready isn’t a luxury I have anymore.
The living room has been transformed into something resembling a chapel, if chapels had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city and security cameras in every corner.
White flowers—roses and lilies—are arranged on the mantelpiece and side tables.
Candles flicker despite the afternoon sunlight.
It’s beautiful in a sterile way, like a high-end funeral home.
The Sharov brothers stand near the windows, and I’m struck immediately by how different they look from what I expected.
I’d prepared myself for monsters—cold, cruel men who’d view me as an acquisition, a weakness in their brother’s armor.
Instead, I find myself facing three men who radiate quiet strength and unexpected warmth.
Simon has dark hair and kind blue eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles at me. His wife Eden stands beside him, elegant and composed, offering a small nod of acknowledgment that feels more like acceptance than judgment.
Ardaleon—Leon—is broad-shouldered, obviously dangerous, but there’s something protective in the way he positions himself between me and the door. Not threatening, just… watchful. Present. Like he’s already decided I’m worth defending.
“You look lovely,” Eden says quietly, and I can tell she means it.
“Thank you.” The words feel automatic, polite responses from the person I used to be.
Lukyan, the eldest brother, is missing—probably handling security or watching for threats. Even at my wedding, their world intrudes.
Nikola stands near the makeshift altar, wearing a dark suit that emphasizes the lean lines of his body.
He looks like he could be posing for a magazine cover—handsome, powerful, utterly in control.
When our eyes meet across the room, his expression doesn’t change.
No smile, no warmth, no reassurance. Just the same calculated distance he’s maintained since I agreed to this arrangement.
The officiant—a judge who clearly owes the Sharovs a favor—clears his throat. “Shall we begin?”
Everything that follows feels like a dream.
Or maybe a nightmare. I walk toward Nikola on legs that don’t feel attached to my body, Suzy’s hand briefly squeezing mine before she takes her place beside Eden.
The judge speaks about commitment and partnership and legal bonds, but his words bounce off me like rain on glass.
Nikola takes my hand when prompted, his fingers warm and steady against mine. His touch is impersonal, careful—the contact of two people fulfilling a contract rather than expressing affection. When he slides the ring onto my finger, his movements are precise, practiced, like he’s done this before.
Maybe he has.
The vows are minimal, practical things focused on legal requirements rather than emotional truth. We promise to honor the arrangement, to protect each other’s interests, to maintain the fiction for as long as necessary. The words taste like ash in my mouth.
When the judge pronounces us married, Nikola doesn’t kiss me. Just a brief nod, a squeeze of my hand, and it’s over.
I’m Mrs. Sharov now, bound to a man I don’t trust and don’t understand, protected by a name that comes with its own set of dangers.
No one cheers. No one throws rice. The brothers offer quiet congratulations, their wives smile politely, and everyone pretends this is normal. A strategic alliance dressed up in white flowers and candlelight.
As the afternoon wears on, I find myself studying the family I’ve married into.
They’re nothing like I expected. Simon tells gentle stories about Nikola as a boy, trying to make me laugh.
Leon asks about my work with genuine interest, not pity.
Eden talks about adjusting to their world with understanding that doesn’t feel performative.
They treat me like I belong here, like I’ve always been meant to be part of their tight-knit circle. It should be comforting. Instead, it’s disorienting. I came prepared to fight monsters and found myself surrounded by people who genuinely seem to care about my welfare.
It makes the cage feel softer, more insidious. Harder to rage against.
“If you need anything,” Simon tells me as they prepare to leave, “anything at all, you call. Family takes care of family.”
“Thank you,” I manage, because what else can I say?
They leave one by one, offering hugs and promises to check in soon. Suzy is the last to go, pulling me aside with worried eyes.
“Are you going to be okay?”
I want to tell her I don’t know. That I feel like I’m disappearing into someone else’s life, losing pieces of myself with every hour that passes in this place. That everyone keeps telling me I’m safe now, but safety has never felt more like captivity.
“I’ll be fine,” I lie.
She doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t push. “Call me if you need me. Any time, day or night.”
Then she’s gone too, and I’m alone with my new husband in our pristine fortress.
Nikola shows me to the master bedroom without ceremony. “Your things have been moved here,” he says, gesturing to the walk-in closet where my clothes hang next to his like we’ve been sharing space for years.
The bedroom is enormous, dominated by a king-sized bed that suddenly feels like the most dangerous piece of furniture in the world. Two nightstands, two reading lamps, two sides clearly defined. His and hers.
“I’ll take the couch tonight,” he says. “Give you time to adjust.”
I want to tell him that time won’t fix this, that adjustment implies acceptance I’m not ready to give. Instead, I nod and thank him for his consideration.
He leaves me alone with my new reflection; Mrs. Sharov in her white dress, standing in a bedroom that’s supposed to be half hers now. The woman in the mirror looks composed, elegant, exactly the kind of wife a man like Nikola should have.
She also looks utterly lost.