When he’d realized he couldn’t fully transmute pain for her, instead of being disappointed, she’d seen the look of triumph on his face, as if this were better because it fed his sadism. She was his perfect doll, giving everything he wanted, and yet there was a piece missing, things he hadn’t taken or done since the very first night when she’d thought she was broken. Since that night she still couldn’t give name to because making it disappear into the mists of falsely reconstructed memory was better.

It didn’t matter what he did. As long as she survived it. As long as he held her and whispered soft words to her at the end. That was all that mattered. She’d gone with him to hell each night and been his toy and the object of his sadism. She’d had her cathartic moments punctuated by nights where it was more pain than catharsis. Yet the peace he had by the end gave her peace, as if he’d gotten the demons out that tormented him—at least for a while, and in doing so, he’d slain some of hers as well.

There was a soft knock at the door, and she looked up, her heart beating faster in her chest, desire rippling through her stomach. She knew that knock. Nobody knocked on a door quite the same way as Leo. A moment of superstition pushed into her mind. It was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. But did that matter if the whole thing was a farce anyway? How much worse could her luck get?

“Come in.”

Leo strode in like a dark, fairy-tale prince, his hair slicked back in a way that made him appear even more debonair than normal. More polished and in control, and she melted beneath the power of him a little more.

He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror. Her breath caught as his fingers trailed down her throat to slide over the necklace Gina had lent her.

“My Ma’s?”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“No. Leo today. You must call me Leo, even in private, until all the guests are gone. I don’t want you to slip by mistake.”

“L-Leo.” The word tasted strange in her mouth, almost unpleasant. It made her feel like his equal. In another time she might have longed for that, but now, if she couldn’t have the true love she’d heard stories about, at least she could belong to him.

The bond between them had grown thick and tight. Nothing could break it. It had been forged in the fires of betrayal and redemption, of suffering and pleasure and secret moments below ground. It was stronger than normal love, more sure. Whatever happened, she would always be his.

His fingers brushed her throat, unclasping the necklace and placing it on the table. Her eyes searched his, but he was already pulling a large, velvet case from his inside pocket. He set the box on the vanity in front of her, her veil framing it like a hazy dream.