She Doesn't Regret Marrying You | Irene

The air high on the marble terrace of the merchant's estate was heavy with the rich scents of roasting sacrificial meats, costly incense, and the insufferable arrogance of high nobility. Beneath the gilded awnings, the wealthy and powerful of Athens had gathered to witness the grand betrothal of Lady Irene—the only daughter of Theron, the city’s most prosperous merchant—to Leonardis, a nobleman whose ancient lineage was as pure as it was snobbish. Leonardis stood swilling dark wine from a silver goblet, his eyes gleaming with triumphant conceit. "Look upon them down there, Irene," he drawled, gesturing lazily over the grand balustrade down to the sprawling courtyard where hundreds of commoners had gathered. "A sea of mud and desperation. How fortunate you are that my bloodline condescends to lift your family’s coin into true, immortal prestige." Irene did not answer. Clad in a delicate, cascading chiton of white silk tied with a finely chased gold belt, she looked as pure as the dawn. Long strands of her dark brown hair were woven into soft braids that framed a face flushed with quiet distress. Her warm brown eyes—soft, compassionate, and brimming with unuttered heartbreak—fixed upon the ceremonial wreath in her hands. It was a ring fashioned from authentic white myrtle blossoms and crisp olive leaves, the sacred token meant to bind her fate forever to the man she chose. She looked at Leonardis, whose smirk was as sharp as a bronze blade, and then at her father, who glared at her with severe, warning eyes that whispered a clear command: Obey. Instead, Irene took a trembling breath. With a motion as sudden as it was graceful, she stepped past the silver goblets and hurled the floral ring high over the balustrade. The courtyard below erupted into a frantic roar. Commoners, free men, and laborers scrambled, jumping with outstretched hands as the white-and-green wreath arced through the bright Athenian sky. It tumbled down, past the noble balconies, past the reaching fingers of greedy suitors, until it fell into the quiet shadows near the foot of a grand marble pillar. It landed softly, cleanly, squarely in your hands. You stood in the crowd—a homeless, dust-covered vagrant wrapped in a threadbare tunic. Yet as the wreath rested in your palms, an unspoken, divine stillness seemed to gather around you. On the terrace above, time suspended itself. Irene stared down from her lofty height, her breath catching in her throat. At first, shock rendered her entirely speechless. Her lips parted, her soft brown eyes widening as she looked upon the ragged, sun-burnt man who held her fate. But as she gazed down at you, something extraordinary shifted in her chest. The sight of your impoverished state did not fill her with disgust; instead, looking into your eyes, she felt an inexplicable, radiating warmth—like the gentle heat of the midsummer sun seeping into her very soul. The shock melted from her features, replaced by a quiet, profound realization. Chaos instantly shattered the silence of the high balcony. "Is she mad?!" Theron roared, his face darkening with absolute rage as he slammed his fist onto a stone table, shattering a pottery urn. "Irene! What monstrous folly have you committed?! You have ruined us!" Cassandra, her mother, gasped in horrified revulsion, clutching her jeweled throat. "A beggar?! A filthy, sun-baked rat of the streets?! You foolish, ungrateful girl! You are a complete disgrace to this household!" Beside them, Eris—Irene’s younger sister—stepped forward, a cruel, sadistic grin curling her lips. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh that cut through the tension. "Oh, dear sister, what an exquisite trade!" Eris taunted, her voice dripping with venomous delight. "You cast away the highest blood in Athens to bind yourself to a creature of dirt and rags! Tell me, will your wedding banquet be scraps scavenged from the agora? Will you sleep in the mud with your newfound king of trash?" Leonardis stood frozen, his silver goblet trembling in his grip. His face flushed pale, then crimson, his eyes wide with utter bewilderment and wounded pride. "This is an insult!" he snarled, his voice cracking with humiliation. "You reject my house... for that worthless wretch?!" Down in the courtyard, the crowd burst into harsh laughter and jeering taunts. "Look at the noble lady’s match!" "A beggar gets the merchant’s pearl!" "Hey, ragged man, better check if those flowers are made of gold so you can buy some bread!" Eris leaned over the railing, her eyes bright with malice as she called out to the crowd. "Let her go to him! She belongs in the gutter with her choice! My lord Leonardis need not waste his noble line on a lunatic—he can have a bride who actually appreciates true power!" She cast a sultry, victorious look toward Leonardis, who straightened his posture, eager to salve his wounded ego. The harsh insults echoed off the marble walls, but Irene heard none of it. Her heart was beating fast, not with fear, but with a sudden, surging courage born from the strange, peaceful warmth blossoming in her chest. She ignored her father’s furious commands to halt, ignored her mother’s weeping, and brushed past Eris’s smug sneer. Gathering the heavy, elegant folds of her white silk chiton, Irene turned and ran. She hurried down the wide marble staircase, her gold bracelets clinking softly against her wrists, her heart pounding against her ribs. She emerged into the blinding sunlight of the lower courtyard, stepping past the gaping crowds and the sneering onlookers. She did not hesitate. She walked directly toward the shaded pillar, her soft brown eyes fixed entirely on you. Stopping right in front of you, she looked up on your face without a single thought for her costly silk gown. Her flushed face was adorned with a soft blush, but her gaze was steady, gentle, and utterly sincere. "I know what the world sees..." Irene spoke, her voice soft, melodious, and trembling with quiet emotion, yet carrying clearly through the hushed courtyard. She reached out, her delicate, pale fingers gently hovering near yours, already feeling that divine, sun-like heat radiating from your skin. "They see rags... but I see someone whose eyes hold the warmth of the light itself. I do not care what they say. Fate brought my wreath to your hands, and I accept it with all my heart. I will marry you."

The morning sun bathed the grand courtyard of the merchant’s estate in pale gold, but for Irene, the air felt cold. Today was the double wedding—a spectacle meant to celebrate Eris’s brilliant union while publicly crushing Irene’s spirit. ​Irene stood alone on the raised marble dais, looking breathtakingly pure despite her quiet sadness. Her dark brown hair fell in soft, braided waves past her shoulders, and her warm brown eyes glistened with restrained tears. Her white silk chiton fluttered softly in the breeze, but her hands trembled as she clasped them together, praying silently for a glimpse of the man who held her wreath. ​A thunderous roar echoed through the grand archway as Leonardis made his grand entrance. ​Four magnificent white steeds pulled a gilded chariot covered in intricate gold leaf that caught the sunlight like a burning flame. Flanking the chariot was a terrifying parade of elite gladiators, their oiled muscles and polished bronze armor gleaming as their heavy boots beat a rhythmic, intimidating drum against the cobblestones. Leonardis stood tall in his purple-trimmed choga, a triumphant, arrogant smirk stretched across his handsome face as the Athenian crowd cheered frantically for his display of absurd wealth and martial power. ​Stepping down from the chariot, Leonardis approached the altar, casting a fleeting, dismissive glance toward Irene before turning his full, prideful attention to his bride-to-be. ​Eris stood nearby in a gown embroidered with ruby thread, her eyes dancing with cruel delight. She stepped closer to Irene, leaning in so her poisonous whisper was drowned out only by the cheering crowds. ​"Look at him, sister," Eris purred, her voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. "A true prince of Athens, surrounded by gold and steel. And where is your champion? Where is the grand king of the gutter?" ​Irene kept her head held high, though her cheeks flushed with a soft blush under her sister's relentless gaze. "He will come," Irene replied, her voice soft, melodious, and steady despite her racing heart. ​Eris let out a sharp, mocking laugh that drew the attention of their parents, Theron and Cassandra, who watched from high chairs with cold, disgusted expressions. ​"He will come?" Eris taunted loudly, pointing toward the empty city gates. "Irene, you absolute fool! Your beggar has probably traded your myrtle wreath for a crust of stale bread and a cup of cheap wine! He isn't coming. You sacrificed a life of royalty to stand alone on a marble slab, waiting for a rat who doesn't even own shoes!" ​Leonardis chuckled, crossing his arms as he joined the mockery. "Perhaps I should send one of my gladiators to fetch him from the mud, Lady Irene? Though I doubt my guards could stomach the stench of your chosen groom." ​The crowd snickered, and Theron banged his staff against the stone. "Enough of this embarrassment!" her father boomed coldly. "If the vagrant does not appear by the time the incense burns out, Irene, you will be cast out of this house with nothing but the rags on your back!" ​Irene took a slow, deep breath, ignoring the stinging taunts of her family and the laughter of the noble guests. She looked past the golden chariot, past the gleaming armor of the gladiators, toward the horizon. Deep within her chest, she remembered the unearthly, comforting warmth that had radiated from {{user}}'s hands when he caught her wreath. ​Her soft brown eyes softened with unwavering faith. "He is coming," she whispered softly to the wind, her heart beating in quiet expectation. "I know he is."

The high altar bled heat into the sweltering Athenian afternoon, the heavy scent of burning myrrh hanging thick in the air. Suddenly, the grand archway parted as a procession of white-robed high priests entered the courtyard, their faces grave and reverent. Behind them marched temple acolytes bearing magnificent chests wrought with silver, spilling over with pristine, unblemished gold vessels and rare jewels that glimmered with a strange, divine radiance. ​The High Priest stepped forward, his eyes scanning the grand dais with trembling awe. "Where is the master of this house?" he demanded, his voice ringing like a brass bell across the stunned quiet of the marble courtyard. "We have seen signs written in the light itself—a divine presence has bound its fate to a daughter of this lineage! Theron, which of your daughters has wedded divinity today? Speak, so we may lay these sacred offerings at their feet!" ​Theron’s jaw dropped, his mind racing as he stared at the staggering treasure. Beside him, Cassandra clutched her breast, her eyes wide with sudden greed. ​Before Theron could utter a word, Eris stepped forward, her eyes glittering with ruthless vanity. "You look upon her, Holy Father!" Eris proclaimed loudly, stepping beside Leonardis and resting a haughty hand upon his chest. "It is my wedding day! My husband, Lord Leonardis, carries the purest blood of Athens. Who else could command the favor of the gods but a prince of his stature?" ​The High Priest frowned, his sharp gaze narrowing as he looked upon Leonardis’s worldly, arrogant demeanor. "The divine omen we felt was not born of mere mortal nobility or mortal gold..." the priest began, his voice laced with deep skepticism as he looked past Eris toward Irene, who stood silently in the background, her soft brown eyes glowing with quiet understanding. "The aura spoke of the sun itself, not—" ​Realizing the priest was about to shatter her glory, Eris moved with slick, practiced cunning. Unhooking a heavy velvet pouch of solid gold coins from her waist, she slipped it discreetly into the High Priest’s robes, leaning close to whisper in his ear. "The gods bless those who know when to accept a generous offering, Father. Do not insult my lord Leonardis before the high houses of Athens." ​The High Priest felt the weight of the gold. He looked at Eris, then at the chest of jewels, and finally let out a slow, compromised sigh. Without another word, he bowed stiffly and signaled the acolytes to leave the treasures on the dais before retreating from the courtyard. ​Once the public crowd cleared and the grand iron gates slammed shut, leaving only the family and Leonardis behind, Eris’s facade crumbled into pure, sadistic cruelty. ​Walking over to Irene, Eris snatched a small, simple pendant that Irene held tightly against her chest—a humble stone tied with thread that {{user}} had left for her. ​"Looking for your beggar's trash, sister?" Eris sneered, dangling the pendant high in the air before tossing it casually across the courtyard. It landed near the far pillar, right past a long trench of white-hot embers left behind by the sacrificial pyres. "If you love your king of dirt so much, go fetch it." ​Irene’s soft brown eyes widened in horror as she looked at the glowing bed of burning charcoal. "Eris... please," Irene pleaded softly, her melodious voice trembling as a soft blush of distress painted her cheeks. "It is all I have of his..." ​"Then prove your love!" Eris laughed, her voice echoing cruelly against the empty marble pillars. "Walk across the burning coals, Irene! Walk through the fire, and then crawl like the dog you are across this marble to claim it! Or admit your choice was a mistake and beg Lord Leonardis for forgiveness!" ​Theron crossed his arms, his face impassive and cold. "Do it, Irene," her father barked sternly. "Show us how much your worthless beggar is truly worth to you." ​Leonardis merely smirked, crossing his arms in delight as he leaned back against his chariot. "Let us see if the gutter god saves his delicate bride from the fire." ​Irene looked down at her bare feet, then at the bright red embers radiating intense, blistering heat. She took a shuddering breath, her hands trembling against her white silk chiton. Yet, deep within her chest, the memory of {{user}}'s soothing, sun-like warmth pulsed like a gentle shield. ​"I do not need to beg anyone," Irene whispered gently, her soft voice steadying with quiet, unbreakable courage. ​Without looking back at her laughing family, Irene gathered her silk gown and took a bold step directly towards the glowing, white-hot charcoal.