The days following the official announcement of my engagement to Serafina were a whirlwind of activity. The weight of the impending marriage bore down on me, a constant reminder of the sacrifices demanded by our world.

Despite the façade I maintained for the sake of our families, my thoughts often drifted to Eleanor and the life we could have had. Memories of our secret rendezvous, the whispered promises, and the stolen kisses haunted my every step.

I stood in the grand hall of my family's estate, watching as workers and decorators scurried about, transforming the space into a venue worthy of the union of two powerful Mafia families. The grandeur of it all felt hollow, a stark contrast to the simplicity and authenticity of my moments with Eleanor.

My mother was in her element, overseeing every detail with a critical eye. She had always been the epitome of grace and control, her sharp mind and iron will steering our family through the treacherous waters of the underworld. Her strength was admirable, yet it often felt suffocating.

"Lucien, come here," she called, waving me over to where she stood by the main staircase. I walked over, trying to mask my reluctance. "We need to discuss the seating arrangements for the guests. We have to ensure that no rival factions are placed too close to each other."

"Yes, Mother," I replied, glancing at the seating chart she held. The names were a mix of allies, neutral parties, and potential threats. 

Each placement was a calculated move in the ongoing game of power and alliances.

 It reminded me of how Eleanor and I would play chess, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she outmaneuvered me on the board.

As we went over the chart, my mind wandered to Serafina. She was probably going through her own set of preparations, no doubt under the watchful eye of her mother.

I had known Serafina my entire life, watched her grow from a spirited girl into a determined young woman. 

Yet, the prospect of marrying her still felt surreal, a decision made out of necessity rather than affection. 

I remembered our childhood games, the innocent laughter that seemed so distant now.

"Are you listening, Lucien?" My mother's voice snapped me back to the present.

"Sorry, Mother. I was just thinking about Serafina," I said, trying to sound sincere.

Her expression softened slightly. "It's natural to feel apprehensive, but this marriage is for the greater good. It will solidify our position and ensure our safety."

I nodded, knowing she was right. "Of course, Mother. I understand."

"Plus, I had always envisioned Serafina as my daughter-in-law. Ahh, J'ai hâte de la montrer à mes proches," she added, her face glowing as she talked about her.

With the seating arrangements finalized, I excused myself and headed to my father's study. He was there, discussing security measures with Michele, Serafina's half brother.

Michele was a formidable presence, his loyalty to his family unquestionable. 

I thought about the nights Eleanor and I spent discussing our dreams, free from the shadows that now loomed over every decision.

"Lucien," my father greeted me. "We were just going over the security for the wedding. Given the recent attack on Serafina's house, we can't take any chances."

I nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. We need to ensure that every possible entry point is covered and that our best men are on duty."

Michele, standing by the window with a stern expression, turned to face me. "I'll personally oversee the security detail. No one gets in or out without my say-so."

"Thank you, Mic. Your vigilance is appreciated," I said sincerely.

As they continued discussing logistics, I excused myself and made my way to the garden, needing a moment of solitude. 

The sprawling gardens were one of the few places where I could find some semblance of peace. I recalled the afternoons Eleanor and I spent in a secluded park, hidden away from prying eyes, our sanctuary from the world.

I found a secluded bench and sat down, running a hand through my hair.

This marriage was a duty, a necessity in our world. Yet, part of me couldn't help but feel trapped. The weight of expectations pressed down on me, and I longed for the freedom I once felt with Eleanor.

I took out my phone and hesitated before dialing a familiar number. It rang a few times before going to voicemail.

"Eleanor, it's me," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you."

I ended the call and leaned back, closing my eyes. The scent of roses filled the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me. 

The memory of Eleanor's laughter, her touch, the warmth of her embrace, all seemed to mock the reality I was now facing.

This marriage to Serafina was the path laid out before me, and I had no choice but to walk it. 

For the sake of our families, for the sake of peace, I would play my part. Yet, each step felt like a betrayal to the love I had lost.

But as the wedding day approached, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was losing a piece of myself with each step I took.

The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: the life I had envisioned with Eleanor was now a distant dream, replaced by a reality I had no control over.

With a heavy heart, I rose from the bench and made my way back to the house. There was still much to do, and time was slipping away. 

The world around me was changing, and I had to change with it, whether I liked it or not.

I found Serafina in the library, surrounded by fabric samples and invitation designs. She and my mother were fussing over the choices, ensuring every detail was perfect.

When Serafina looked up and met my gaze, I could see the same mix of duty and apprehension reflected in her eyes. 

It reminded me of the night I told Eleanor about the engagement, the pain in her eyes mirroring my own.

"Lu," my mother said warmly, "come help us choose the color scheme for the wedding."

I nodded, joining them at the table. "Of course. What are the options?"

Serafina held up two samples, one a deep crimson and the other a rich gold. "What do you think? I'm leaning towards the gold."

"Gold is fitting," I agreed, forcing a smile. "It symbolizes strength and prosperity."

My mother beamed. "Wonderful choice. This wedding will be the event of the year."

Serafina looked at me, her eyes searching mine. "Lucien, do you think we should go with the ivory napkins or the white ones? I can't decide."

I glanced at the options, trying to muster enthusiasm. "The ivory. It's more elegant, and it complements the gold theme nicely."

"Good choice," my mother said, nodding approvingly. "And for the flowers, Serafina was thinking of roses and lilies. What do you think?"

"Roses are perfect," I said, though my mind was elsewhere. I remembered the roses Eleanor loved, the ones I would bring her whenever we could steal a moment together.

As the preparations continued, I found myself drawn into the planning process, each decision a reminder of the role I was expected to play. 

Each detail, however small, felt like a brick being laid in the wall that now stood between Eleanor and me.

"Do you think we should have a string quartet for the ceremony, or something more modern?" Serafina asked, her voice hesitant.

"A string quartet," I replied. "It's traditional and fitting for the occasion."

"Yes, I think that's best too," Serafina agreed, her smile a bit more genuine. "Thank you for your input, Lucien. It means a lot."

"Of course," I said, forcing another smile. "We're in this together."

My mother clapped her hands, clearly pleased with the progress. "Everything is coming together beautifully. This wedding will be remembered for years to come."

But no matter how much I tried to focus on the details, my thoughts kept returning to Eleanor and the life I had lost. The memories of our love were like ghosts, haunting every corner of my mind.

The next few days passed in a blur of fittings, meetings, and endless discussions. The entire estate buzzed with activity as both families prepared for the grand event. 

Security was tightened, with men patrolling every corner, and the guest list grew longer with each passing day.

One evening, as the sun set over the gardens, I found myself alone in the study, a glass of whiskey in hand. The door creaked open, and Michele stepped in, his expression serious.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, pouring himself a drink.

I shrugged, taking a sip of the amber liquid. "As well as can be expected. This isn't exactly how I envisioned my life."

Vincent nodded, leaning against the desk. "None of us asked for this life, but we do what we must for our families."

"I know," I replied, feeling the weight of his words.

"It's just...complicated." I sighed, taking a long drink.

"Serafina is strong. She'll make a good partner. But, try to love her, not as a child whom you raised, but as a woman"

"I understand," I said quietly. "I just hope we can find some semblance of happiness in this arrangement."

After sometime, he left as he got an important call.

Since last few days, Serafina and entire family are living at our place for convenience.

I found Serafina again, this time in the drawing room, her brows furrowed in concentration as she reviewed the final guest list. 

The weight of the upcoming engagement lingered between us, unspoken but palpable. She looked up when I entered, her expression softening into a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Everything's almost ready," she said, setting the list aside.

I nodded, taking a seat across from her. "Yeah. It's all coming together."

There was a pause—an uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch on, filled with everything we didn't say aloud. 

Then, after a moment of hesitation, she spoke softly, almost as if she were testing the waters. "Lucien, I know this isn't what either of us wanted, but maybe we can make the best of it. We've known each other our whole lives. That has to count for something, right?"

I looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time in a while, I didn't just see the woman I was forced to marry. 

I saw the girl who had once been my friend, who had stood beside me through childhood and adolescence, through laughter and pain. 

There was a kind of vulnerability in her eyes now, a mixture of uncertainty and hope, and it stirred something inside me—something I wasn't sure I could name.

"You're right, Perle," I said, "We can try to make this work. For our families, and for ourselves."

Her lips curved into a genuine smile, and for a fleeting moment, the tension between us eased. "Thank you, Lucien. That means a lot."

I moved from my chair to sit beside her on the couch, our knees almost touching.

The drawing room felt too big all of a sudden, too quiet. 

My gaze followed hers to the glass doors that opened out onto the gardens, where the late afternoon sun cast long, golden shadows across the lawn.

"I've always loved these gardens," she said quietly, almost wistfully. "They remind me of simpler times, before all of this..."

Her voice trailed off, but I knew what she meant—before the unnecessary drama, before the power plays and life altering choices, before everything that weighed on us now.

I nodded, leaning back against the plush cushions. "Yeah, they do. It's nice to escape, even if just for a moment."

We sat in silence for a while, just listening to the soft rustle of leaves outside, the distant hum of cicadas. 

For a brief moment, it felt like we could pretend that things were different—that we were different. 

But Serafina broke the silence again, her voice soft but filled with an ache that mirrored my own.

"Do you ever think about what could have been, Lucien?" she asked, turning to me. Her gaze was steady, but there was a fragility there, as if she were afraid of the answer. "About the lives we could have led if things were different? If we didn't have to carry all of this?"

Her question hit me harder than I expected. 

I had thought about it—of course I had. There had been countless nights when I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what my life would look like if I didn't have the weight of the Beauchene name on my shoulders. But there had never been room for that kind of thinking. Not for me.

"All the time," I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. "But we have to play the cards we're dealt. We don't get to choose."

Her eyes searched mine, as if looking for something—some kind of reassurance that neither of us could fully give. "I know this isn't easy for you. It's not easy for me either," she said. "But maybe, in time, we can find some kind of happiness in this arrangement. Maybe it doesn't have to be as empty as it feels right now."

There was a tenderness in her words that caught me off guard. 

For so long, I had seen Serafina as a symbol of duty—something I had to accept, not necessarily something I wanted. 

But in that moment, sitting beside her, I realized that she was just as trapped as I was. We were both victims of the same system, of the same expectations, and yet here we were, trying to carve out something for ourselves in the midst of it all.

I reached for her hand, holding it gently between mine. Her fingers were soft but cool, a contrast to the warmth of the setting sun outside. 

"We'll do our best, Serafina. That's all we can promise each other."

She squeezed my hand in return, a small gesture of solidarity. "We'll get through this, Lucien. Together."

I looked at her then—really looked at her—and for the first time, I didn't just see the woman I was being forced to marry. I saw a partner. Someone who had been beside me all along, even when I hadn't realized it. 

Maybe we hadn't chosen this life, but maybe, we could make something out of it. Something more than just duty.

"I know we will," I said, my voice firmer this time. "Together."

We sat like that for a while longer, watching as the sky shifted from golden to a soft pink, the light filtering through the leaves in delicate patterns. 

The future was still uncertain—filled with challenges neither of us could predict—but with Serafina by my side, maybe it wasn't as bleak as it once seemed.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the gardens in twilight, I felt something shift between us—an understanding, a fragile bond that, with time, could grow stronger.

Maybe this wasn't the life we had envisioned. But maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to make it our own.