The wedding ceremony took place in a grand palace, where glittering chandeliers and golden tapestries created a dazzling yet suffocating atmosphere for the young bride. Anna, dressed in a shining white gown, smiled mechanically at the guests, her heart heavy with despair that no luxurious surroundings could erase.

Beside her stood Ivan Sergeyevich, a tall man with aristocratic bearing and cold gray eyes. His custom-made suit and carefully measured movements spoke of a life accustomed to control and possession.

Anna’s parents were radiant. To them, this marriage symbolized stability and success — a ticket to financial security. They paid no heed to their daughter’s feelings; in their minds, she was now safe and well provided for.

The reception that followed was lively, filled with laughter, music, and endless toasts. Anna moved like a doll, her smiles stiff, her spirit numbed. She felt like a beautiful item on display, an object traded for promises of prosperity.

Late that night, after the last guest had left, Anna found herself alone with Ivan. He guided her through silent, vast corridors to a luxurious bedroom adorned with thick curtains and plush carpets.

Sitting in an ornate armchair near the fireplace, Ivan watched her silently for a long moment before speaking.

— I have a request for you, he said calmly.

Anna tensed. Her heart pounded with fear. She braced herself for the worst.

But Ivan’s next words stunned her.

— Take off your wedding dress.
— Not for the reason you think, he added after a brief pause.

Anna blinked, confused.

— I want you to burn it, Ivan said.

She stared at him, speechless.

— This dress is a symbol of a deal you were forced into, a golden cage. It does not represent your happiness or your freedom. Tonight, I give you your life back. Burn it, Anna, and start a new story — one you will write yourself.

He handed her a small box of matches.

— The choice is yours. You are free.

Anna’s hands trembled as she took the matches. For the first time in months, a faint spark of hope flickered within her.

The flames devoured the dress quickly, casting a surreal glow around the room. Anna stood barefoot on the cold floor, watching the white fabric curl and blacken, her invisible chains melting away with the smoke.

At dawn, she awoke alone. Ivan was gone.
On the bedside table lay a letter.

«This house is yours. A bank account in your name holds enough money for you to start over. You are free. Live for yourself, Anna.»

She clutched the letter to her chest, tears streaming down her face — tears not of sorrow, but of overwhelming relief.

For the first time in her life, her future was her own.
It was the beginning of a new life.