The first look

**Lucy**

As he positioned my veil atop my crown, his fingertips brushed against my right cheek, sending a jolt of electric thrill coursing through my body. The moment he touched me, I felt as if the air around us crackled with unsaid words and hidden thoughts. He was lying to my face, his thumb softly caressing my lips, a betrayal cloaked in tenderness. When he leaned in, our lips met, and an intense rush enveloped me—a sharp, exhilarating sensation that left me breathless, as if the very ground beneath my feet had vanished. My legs began to wobble, and perhaps Alexander sensed my unsteadiness, for he caught my hands in his, steadying my trembling form. As his lips parted mine, I found myself yearning for the moment to last, but the fantasy shattered abruptly—I was yanked back to reality. I remembered who Tyron Alexander DeLuca truly was: a psychopath, a man who killed for enjoyment, the son of a mafia boss who had played with guns instead of toys in his youth.

Gazing into his striking face, I wished I hadn’t looked so deeply. He was astonishingly handsome, with chiseled features that seemed sculpted by the hands of the gods. His beauty was intoxicating—like that of a Greek god, and I found it nearly impossible to tear my eyes away from him. The thunderous applause of the crowd broke through my reverie, their cheers echoing in my ears as they congratulated us on our wedding. Alexander still held my right hand, and I could feel the clammy sweat pooling in my palms; anxiety prickled at my skin. Was he truly the monster whispers claimed him to be? He didn’t fit the profile of a cold-blooded killer; in fact, he bore an uncanny resemblance to a dashing hero from a romance novel, draped in an aura of dark allure.

As the day unfolded, the sun dipped lower in the sky, and after the reception, it came time for me to transition to my new home—Alexander's home, a place I had yet to familiarize myself with, as my previous sanctuary was now just a memory fading into the past. I changed into an elegant evening gown, pure white, its fabric flowing gracefully to suit the gravity of the occasion that lay ahead—our first dance as husband and wife.

Suddenly, I felt his hand grip my waist, his hold firm and possessive, as I turned to face my newly-wedded husband. His gaze met mine, cold and calculating, sending an unwelcome chill spiraling through me. I understood, in that moment, that he harbored no love for me; this union had been forced upon us, a pawn in a game neither of us wanted to play. All the elation that had once danced in my heart was extinguished, consumed by the silent tension that enveloped us during the car ride. The smile that had brightened my face faltered and faded, along with the fragile hope that had accompanied it. The journey stretched on in an oppressive quiet, the weight of unspoken truths hanging heavily in the air.

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