The Jefferson Estate in central Veloria City was a gleaming monument of wealth—marble floors, golden archways, and security drones humming quietly above every hall. It was where the powerful came to sharpen their claws.
But today, there was no music. No flowers. No confetti showering the air.
Just a quiet, cold ceremony behind the grand mansion. A wedding no one wanted… except the two ghosts standing at the altar.
Elsa Jefferson, eldest granddaughter of the Jefferson Empire, stood in a simple white dress—no lace, no diamonds, no veil. She looked like a corporate CEO forced into a romance novel… and hating every page of it.
Across from her, Chess Golding stood like he didn't belong anywhere on earth. A plain black suit hung from his tall frame. His eyes were unreadable—like still water hiding something ancient beneath.
The officiant mumbled something about vows. No one listened.
"Do you, Elsa Jefferson, take this man—"
"I do," she said quickly, cutting him off.
The officiant blinked.
"And do you, Chess Golding—"
"I do," he replied, cool and sharp.
A thin gold ring passed hands. No kiss. No applause. Not even a family photo.
In the back row, Clarissa Jefferson—Elsa's aunt—whispered into a wine glass. "Pathetic. I've seen arranged funerals with more cheer."
Beside her, Elliot Jefferson, Elsa's younger cousin and Jefferson Group's junior executive, rolled his eyes. "And who the hell is this guy anyway? Shows up outta nowhere, marries into the family like he's some prince?"
Clarissa smirked. "Prince? Please. He's a mutt with no pedigree. Mark my words—he won't last a week."
Across the garden, an old man with tired eyes watched in silence.
Wallace Jefferson, patriarch of the family and Elsa's grandfather, sat in a wheelchair. He was the only one who smiled during the ceremony.
He knew something no one else did.
Later that day, inside the Jefferson mansion, Elsa marched down the corridor, heels clicking like war drums.
Chess walked behind her, hands in pockets, completely unfazed.
"You could've at least pretended to care," she said without turning. "We just got married in front of people who hate you—and me."
"I thought we agreed this marriage was for convenience," Chess said calmly.
Elsa spun on her heel. "It is. But still—don't act like you're above it."
Chess tilted his head. "Aren't we both?"
That made her pause.
He walked past her, stopping at a large window overlooking the city skyline of Veloria. Neon towers sparkled in the dusk, hiding corruption under elegance.
"You hate them," Chess said quietly. "The whole family. The gossip. The greed."
Elsa didn't deny it.
"I have my reasons."
"And yet, you stayed."
She gave a small, bitter laugh. "Because I was trained to. Because my last name means everything. Because loyalty is the only currency they don't know how to fake."
She stepped beside him, close enough to smell the faint scent of sandalwood and old iron. "So why did you say yes, Chess Golding?"
He turned to her, those calm, almost lazy eyes now gleaming.
"Because I made a promise… to someone long before I met you."
Elsa narrowed her eyes. "Hubert Golding?"
He nodded once. "My master. And your grandfather's old war-brother."
Elsa stared at him.
There was something about this man—so silent, yet so unshakable. Like the calm before an explosion.
She exhaled slowly. "I don't trust you."
"That's fair," he replied.
"But if you embarrass me," she added, voice sharp, "I will bury you."
Chess smiled for the first time that day.
"Then I'll bring my own shovel."