The Mafia's Changed Bride

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Prologue

His possession

The room was barely large enough to stand in.

A narrow bed occupied most of it, pressed against a wall whose faded paint had begun to peel with time. An old wooden cupboard stood crookedly in the corner, one of its doors hanging slightly open. Above the bed was a tiny window that allowed only a thin stream of afternoon light to enter.

There was hardly enough space to take two proper steps.

Yet this was where Mira had lived for years.

She sat cross-legged upon the edge of the bed, a small diary resting upon her knees.

Her pen moved gently across the page.

And she smiled.

Mira always smiled.

A knock never came.

The door opened without warning.

Her pen stopped.

She quickly closed the diary and tucked it beneath her pillow.

A man stood in the doorway.

Her father.

Zen.

Mira’s lips immediately curved upward.

“Good afternoon, Sir.”

He didn’t answer.

He rarely did.

“Come out.”

Mira blinked.

“Where?”

His expression remained cold.

“You will marry Mr. Paul today.”

For a moment, Mira simply stared at him.

Then a small laugh escaped her.

“How?”

Zen’s eyes narrowed.

“What is funny?”

“Nothing.”

Her smile remained as she slowly stood.

“But... how?”

The slap came before she could say anything more.

The sound cracked through the little room.

Mira’s face turned with the force of it.

For a moment, everything became still.

Her cheek burned.

Her eyes stung.

Zen looked at her with irritation rather than regret.

“I have always cared for you until now, and you question me?”

His voice was sharp.

“Impudent girl.”

Mira slowly turned her face back toward him.

Fear flickered in her eyes.

Then disappeared behind a smile.

“Heehee...”

She touched her cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

Zen gave her one last contemptuous look.

“Get dressed.”

Then he walked away.

The door slammed shut.

Mira remained standing in the middle of the tiny room.

Alone.

Her fingers slowly rose to her cheek.

“Ouch.”

She stared at the closed door.

For a few seconds, her smile disappeared.

Only for a few seconds.

Then it returned.

“That was unexpected.”

She sat back down and pulled her diary from beneath the pillow.

The pen touched the page.

Dear Diary,

Sir wants me to marry someone today.

She paused.

I don’t know who Mr. Paul is.

Another pause.

I hope he likes tea.

A tiny smile appeared on her lips.

Then she added:

Actually, considering Sir chose him... perhaps he doesn’t.

Mira giggled softly.

She closed the diary.

And began preparing to become a bride.

By evening, the mansion had transformed.

The wedding hall glittered beneath enormous crystal chandeliers. White roses climbed the walls in endless arrangements, while golden candles burned between them, filling the room with a warm glow that did little to soften the coldness of the people gathered inside.

Powerful men occupied the front rows.

Businessmen.

Politicians.

Mafia families.

People whose names carried enough influence to open doors—or close coffins.

They had all come to witness one marriage.

The marriage of Paul Sebastian and Anya.

Except Anya was gone.

And the woman walking toward the altar was not her.

Mira’s hands trembled beneath the folds of her crimson lehenga.

She kept them clasped tightly together so no one would notice.

Her heart was beating painfully fast.

She could hear the whispers surrounding her.

“That’s not Anya.”

“Who is she?”

“Where is the bride?”

Mira heard every word.

She kept walking.

And smiling.

Her veil hid most of her face, but it could not completely hide the fear in her eyes.

At the end of the aisle stood the man she had been told she would marry only a few hours ago.

Paul Sebastian.

The German mafia king.

He was tall enough to make everyone around him seem smaller.

Broad shoulders.

A perfectly tailored black suit.

Dark hair.

A sharp jaw.

With guards stand within reach,

holding their loaded guns to strike at a single indication.

A face that could have belonged to a prince.

But there was nothing princely about him.

There was something dangerous in the stillness of his posture.

He did not look like a man waiting for his bride.

He looked like a man waiting for someone to make a mistake.

The conversations around him had died.

Even the most powerful men in the room seemed careful around him.

Paul didn’t need to threaten anyone.

His presence was enough.

His eyes were cold.

Completely devoid of warmth.

Mira stopped before him.

Her fingers trembled beneath her veil.

She was terrified.

Yet her lips still carried that small smile.

Paul noticed.

His gaze remained fixed upon her.

Something was wrong.

He had expected Anya.

Instead, a stranger stood before him.

His voice finally broke the silence.

“Take it off.”

Those quiet words.

Mira swallowed.

Her fingers slowly reached for the edge of her veil.

They were shaking.

She lifted it.

The crimson fabric fell behind her shoulders.

Her face was revealed.

Paul stared at her.

Then his gaze moved toward Zen.

Something in his expression hardened.

“Isn’t she your illegitimate daughter?”

The hall fell completely silent.

“The one you had with that waitress?”

Zen’s face tightened.

Mira lowered her eyes.

Paul looked at her again.

She was still smiling.

But now he could see it.

The trembling hands.

The frightened eyes.

The way she held herself as though she were trying desperately not to fall apart.

“I don’t care,” he said.

His voice was emotionless.

“The bride was never important.”

He paused.

“The agreement was.”

Mira looked up.

Paul’s eyes met hers.

“Don’t expect anything from me.”

His words were calm.

Almost indifferent.

“You will have my name.”

A pause.

“You will live under my roof.”

His gaze hardened.

“But you will never mistake that for love.”

Mira’s smile remained.

“You are nothing more than another possession in my life.”

The words settled heavily between them.

Mira’s fingers curled against her lehenga.

Then Zen stepped forward.

“Mr. Paul.”

Paul turned toward him.

“May I speak with you privately?”

Paul said nothing.

He simply moved a few steps away.

Zen lowered his voice.

“She is of no importance to us.”

Paul’s expression remained unreadable.

Zen glanced toward Mira.

“Take her wherever you want.”

He hesitated.

“Do whatever you wish with her.”

Paul slowly looked at him.

Zen swallowed.

“We don’t care.”

″You can ever make her your bed slave″

For a long moment, Paul said nothing.

Then his eyes narrowed.

“You’re giving me complete freedom?”

Zen nodded.

“She is yours now.”

Paul’s gaze moved toward Mira.

She stood beneath the chandelier, surrounded by hundreds of strangers.

Still smiling.

Even though her hands were trembling.

Something unreadable passed through his eyes.

He turned back to Zen.

“Then don’t come looking for her later.”

His voice was quiet.

“Because you won’t have the right.”

Zen remained silent.

Paul walked away.

The priest began the ceremony.

Mira stood beside the man who had just been told she was his possession.

The sacred vows were spoken.

Her voice trembled as she repeated hers.

Paul’s did not.

The rings were exchanged.

His fingers closed around hers for the briefest moment.

Cold.

Steady.

Possessive.

Then the ring slid onto her finger.

And before the last light of evening disappeared beyond the windows—

Mira became Mrs. Sebastian.

The unwanted daughter.

The forgotten girl.

The bride nobody had chosen.

She was now the wife of the most feared mafia king in Europe.

The guests applauded.

Cameras flashed.

Music filled the hall.

But Paul remained silent.

He turned toward his new wife.

Their eyes met.

Mira smiled.

Paul stared at her as though she were a mystery he had no intention of solving.

Not yet.

He didn’t know why she smiled when she was clearly afraid.

He didn’t know what secrets she kept.

He didn’t know that beneath her cheerful nature lived a girl who had spent her entire life wondering what it felt like to be someone’s first choice.

And Mira didn’t know that the cold man standing beside her would bring forth unexpected joy.

″He may soon develop curiosity″

And sometimes, curiosity was the first crack in a man’s defences.

Neither of them knew what this marriage would become.

Neither knew how dangerous their story would be.

And neither knew that the girl who had never been loved..

would one day become the only woman Paul Sebastian would choose willingly.

The wedding had ended.

Their marriage had begun.

And somewhere beyond the golden doors of the wedding hall...

their fate was already waiting.

To be continued...