The grand church was a symphony of white lilies, my favorite, their ethereal beauty a stark contrast to the quiet tremor in my heart. Each step down the aisle, a monumental moment I had dreamed of for years, was taken beside my father, my hero. He whispered words of love and pride, his hand warm in mine, and I smiled, even through the delicate veil that hid the tears brimming in my eyes.

My gaze, however, was fixed on Daniel, my soon-to-be husband, standing at the altar. The love of my life, the man I had adored from afar for three long years. He was devastatingly handsome in his black tux, a vision of dark allure. Yet, as my father entrusted me to him, Daniel offered no response, no comforting touch. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed forward, a strange, cold intensity in their depths. A flicker of unease, a discordant note in my perfect dream, whispered through me.

“I do,” I vowed, my voice soft but firm, a promise of unconditional love. The priest then turned to Daniel, who, after a tense moment, closed his eyes, squeezed my hand with surprising force, and uttered his own 'I do' with a swift, almost reluctant breath. And then came the kiss – cold, unwelcoming, his eyes spitting fire at me. My happiness, once so complete, began to fade. Little did I know, this marriage would lead me to doom.