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The dressing room is a sanctuary of white silk and the soft, flickering glow of candles, the mirror reflecting a bride who appears sculpted from porcelain—beautiful, empty. Beyond the walls, the muted murmur of gathered guests forms a distant hum, a sound that only deepens the silence within. Your fingertips brush over the intricate lace of your gown, the fabric cool and flawless, a gorgeous prison for a wedding that feels like a life sentence. Then the door quakes under three heavy, deliberate knocks, each impact sharp as a blade cutting through the quiet. You hear his voice, low and devoid of warmth: "Open up." Instinct tells you exactly who stands outside—the man you have never met, the monster whose legend precedes him. Your soon-to-be-husband. You turn from your reflection, your…