"Crown of Thorns"

I couldn’t believe this was happening.

Me—Antonia Rossi—standing at the altar in a gown I didn’t choose, preparing to marry the most powerful man in the tech world. Not because he loved me. Not because I wanted to.

But because my sister ran away.

And I was the replacement.

My fingers tightened around the bouquet as if it could tether me to reality. I could feel the tremble in my knees, the tightness in my chest. I had dreamt of being in this hall—though never like this. I used to imagine walking these marbled floors as an intern, maybe an executive someday. I spent so many nights researching his company, whispering his name to myself as though it were a password to a better future.

Alessandro Amato.

Now I was about to become his wife.

He stood at the altar like a shadow cast from something larger than life—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a black suit so perfectly tailored it looked like it was carved onto his body. His dark hair curled slightly at the ends, immaculately styled, yet defiant. And his eyes—those ruthless blue eyes—didn’t soften when they met mine.

No recognition.

No warmth.

Only calculation.

He looked at me like I was part of the contract he had been forced to sign.

The priest’s voice rang out, slicing through the silence. “Mr. Alessandro Amato, do you take Miss Antonia Rossi to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“Yes. I do.”

His voice was deep and smooth, but it carried no affection—only obligation.

The priest turned to me. “Miss Antonia Rossi, do you take Mr. Alessandro Amato as your lawfully wedded husband?”

My lips trembled. My heart thudded so loudly I thought it would betray me. I felt everyone’s eyes on me—my mother’s cold gaze, my stepfather’s smug smirk.

There was no way out.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I do.”

A hushed wave swept through the hall.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Alessandro turned to me with a face carved from stone. I barely had time to brace myself before he leaned in, his lips brushing mine—deliberate, cold, mechanical. There was no tenderness, no spark. It was the kiss of two strangers bound by ink and signature, not emotion.

Applause erupted. The world kept spinning.

But I… felt hollow.

I forced a smile as people swarmed around us. Hands reached out to congratulate, to touch the fabric of my gown, to claim they witnessed this union.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Amato,” someone said.

Mrs. Antonia Amato.

The name felt like a costume I hadn’t grown into.

But I clung to it, like a lifeline. Because for the first time in my life, I was no longer Beatrice’s shadow. No longer the forgotten daughter. No longer Antonia-the-disposable.

I was someone.

And maybe, just maybe, this marriage—no matter how loveless—was my ticket out.

I caught my mother’s stare from across the room. She didn’t smile. She didn’t nod. She simply turned away, as if her job was done.

But my stepfather—he looked like he’d won a crown. He strode toward me like a man who had just secured the deal of the century.

“Congratulations, Antonia.”

His arms wrapped around me in a firm hug, his breath warm against my ear. For a moment, I almost let myself believe he meant it.

Then he whispered, “How I wish Beatrice was just like you… or even better than you.”

I stiffened. My spine went rigid.

“You know,” he continued, his voice still sweet to anyone watching, “I’ve always had a soft spot for you. But the sin you committed… was that you were never my full flesh and blood.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“I could never let a half-blood outshine my daughter. That’s why you had to stay in the dark. That’s why every time you got too close to the light, I pulled you back.”

He leaned back to meet my eyes, a slow, wicked smile curling on his lips. “But I guess you finally got your moment, didn’t you?”

Before I could reply, he smoothed his sleeves and added, “I left a little wedding gift for you. You’ll find out soon enough.”

He turned and walked away, leaving me stunned.

A chill crept down my spine.

What did he mean? What had he done?

Before I could chase the thought further, I felt the atmosphere shift again.

Alessandro was approaching.

His strides were slow, deliberate—like a predator studying his prey. His jaw was tight, his posture regal but stiff. I braced myself.

When he reached me, he didn’t take my hand. He didn’t smile.

He just stared. His voice came low and sharp. “Tell me something, Antonia…”

I swallowed hard, meeting his gaze.

“Was this your plan all along?” His eyes narrowed. “To replace your sister. Marry me. Secure a position for yourself?”

My heart dropped. “What?”

He leaned closer, his breath brushing my cheek like ice. “Do you know what kind of woman I was supposed to marry? A woman who knew her place. Who understood the game.”

I flinched. “You think I wanted this?” I whispered, my voice breaking.

He scoffed, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. “Oh, don’t insult me with that wide-eyed act. You may not be Beatrice, but that doesn’t mean you’re not just as manipulative.”

I stared at him, stunned.

In his eyes, I saw not a husband—but an executioner.

And I was already on trial.

Suddenly, an aide rushed toward us, whispering something into Alessandro’s ear. His expression didn’t change, but his jaw clenched tighter.

He turned away from me, muttering, “The reception will begin in ten minutes. Don’t embarrass yourself further.”

Then he disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there, alone, surrounded by people yet completely isolated. My throat ached from holding back tears, my hands trembling.

And then I saw it.

A note, folded neatly and left on my seat. Not there before. Not part of the ceremony.

My name scribbled across the front in delicate ink.

Antonia.

With trembling hands, I unfolded it.

“Run while you still can.”