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If anyone had told me as a little girl that I’d marry a Korven, I would’ve laughed. In our house, we learned numbers, power,and hate—especially for that name. I heard that it hadn’t always been like this.

My grandfather talked about when Veylor’s and Korven’s were partners. The Veylor’s ran the casinos, master’s at laundering money from every shady corner and pouring dirty cash into Emberwick’s construction. The Korven’s owned the technology powering the city, including the casino machines that kept the money clean. But all of that was shattered when one of my ancestors couldn’t take the fact that the woman he loved had been with the Korven family head. Out of revenge, he destroyed their partnership, stole everything, and killed her. My grandfather called it a calculated move. Korven called it theft. Then came blood, and more blood after that. The war became less about money and more about legacy.

My father raised me far from the guns and business. My only mission was to stay a virgin for whatever alliance the family needed. I only learned of therealworld I grew up in the night our estate became a slaughterhouse. That night haunted me as I walked to the altar. I remembered my brother bursting in, telling me to hide, my heart pounding as I crawled into the closet. Then everything went quiet—too quiet. I didn’t know how long I was hiding before someone dragged me out. It was Konflict, covered in blood, gun pointed at my head. In that second, every warning my father ever gave me about the enemy made sense. I’d never been so close to death. If the other families hadn’t stormed in and stopped it, I wouldn’t be standing here now.

The priest cleared his throat, pulling me back to the present. My body moved down the aisle, but my mind was still stuck in that bloody room with Konflict. He wasn’t looking at me now, but I couldn’t forget the murder in his eyes that night. It hurt, because he wasn’t just the man who once wanted me dead, he was also the boy who saved me without knowing who I was.

I met him nineteen years ago, before the war took over ourlives. I was eight, stubborn, and ignored every warning to stay away from the deep end of the pool at a big summer gathering. Of course I went there, fell in, and panicked. I couldn’t swim. Someone grabbed me, hauled me out, and I clung to a steady arm until I could breathe again. When my vision cleared, I saw a boy with dark hair, annoyed but concerned. He told me to be more careful, then walked away before I could thank him.

Later, I heard someone call him Konflict Korven, the son of the man my father called poison. After that, every time my father raged about the Korven’s, I remembered the boy who saved me. As we grew up, I watched Konflict from afar at council events. He got taller and broader. I learned what he did for his family and saw the way people moved when he entered a room. Admiration slowly turned to something heavier, something I kept to myself. Now, standing in front of him at the altar, that old secret felt naive and foolish.

Konflict kept his eyes on the priest. He hadn’t looked at me once. His jaw flexed under his deep chestnut-copper skin, his fingers tightened once at his side. He was clean-shaven, as if he wanted to seem presentable for this wedding.For me. But I knew better than to believe that. He didn’t offer his arm, nor did he acknowledge me at all.

“In front of this council and these witnesses, we gather to join Konflict Korven and Serenity Veylor in marriage,” the priest announced. “A union meant to restore peace and close the wounds of war.”

Konflict’s mouth tightened at the word peace. So did mine. Peace felt impossible when the man you were marrying had already promised to kill you. Still, I held my head high. If ending this war meant playing my part, I’d do it. Maybe I could show him not all Veylor’s were traitors. Maybe he’d never love me—I’d stopped hoping for that after seeing pure hate in his eyes—but I still wished he could see me as more than a target. The priesttold us to face each other.

Konflict met me halfway but didn’t quite look at me. My heart dropped, but I kept my face steady. Up close, I saw the scar on his jaw, exhaustion under his eyes, grief that matched my own. Two days ago, we’d buried our families. Now he had to marry me, the daughter of the man who killed his mother. If he hated me, I couldn’t blame him.

“Lift the veil,” the priest instructed.

Konflict reached for my veil and lifted it slowly, the lace sliding off my face in one motion. When the fabric cleared, his eyes finally met mine—dark brown, deep, and so intense I couldn’t look away.

The world stopped.

There was no hate in his eyes—not at first. He looked at me, and for a second, it felt like he was really seeing me, not just the enemy’s daughter. My breath caught and my heart stuttered, because in that glance, I saw awe, curiosity, and warmth that didn’t belong in a war.

It didn’t last. He blinked once and tore his eyes away from mine, as if meeting my gaze had been a mistake. The moment shut down before I could hold onto it, but the echo stayed in my chest.

“Now we will proceed with the vows.”

Konflict’s jaw clenched. “No vows. Skip that part.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. The priest hesitated, glancing toward the front pew. Judge Marquette gave a slight nod, granting his approval to proceed with the legal formalities binding the marriage.

The priest turned to me. “Miss Veylor, do you take Konflict Korven as your lawful husband, to accept the responsibilities that come with this union, and to stand under the terms set by this council?”

My throat tightened.

I knew this man didn’t want me, he wanted my whole bloodline wiped out, but saying no would cost more than my life. It would destroy any peace all that blood had bought.

“Yes,” I whispered, the word scraping its way out of my chest. “I do.”

The priest nodded. He turned back to Konflict. “Konflict Korven, do you accept Serenity Veylor as your lawful wife, to honor the terms decided by this council and stand as her husband before this city?”

The pause dragged on. Konflict didn’t move, just glanced at Judge Marquette, then the Hollister patriarch, then the priest. For a moment, I thought he might refuse right there, no matter the cost. My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear anything else.

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “I do what the council decided. That’s it.”

No tenderness. Just compliance, stripped bare.

The priest signaled for the rings. One of Korven’s men stepped forward with a small velvet box. Konflict took my ring first, grabbing my hand and sliding the band onto my finger. The moment his skin touched mine, his gaze locked onto my face. His dark and deep brown eyes dragged over me with an intensity that hit low, settling between my legs. Heat shot through me so fast I almost gasped. His stare held me there, pinned to that moment, and the pulse in my clit throbbed so hard it stole the air from my chest. His hand stayed on mine longer than needed, his thumb brushing against my wrist in a slow drag he pretended not to notice, but I felt all of it—every ghost of pressure that made my knees weak under the dress.

Then it was my turn. My fingers trembled when they placed his ring in my palm. I forced breath into my lungs, reached for him, and slid the band onto his finger. He kept those dark and deep brown eyes on me the entire time, watching me touch him,watching every breath I took, memorizing something he would deny later. That stare pushed itself deep under my skin, down to the place still pulsing from the first jolt he gave me. It felt wrong to want more of it. It felt worse to know my body did anyway.

He held my gaze until the ring settled fully into place. Then he turned away, jaw tight again, shutting the moment down. But my body refused to forget.

“By the power granted to me by this council and under the authority of Emberwick’s founding laws. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”