Scarlett Monroe stood still in front of the antique mirror with its golden frame, inside the bridal suite that had just been arranged that very morning. The ivory white gown she wore felt too big, too foreign, too grand for something that held nothing more than formality. She exhaled deeply, staring at her reflection with vacant eyes. Her gaze traced the neatly pinned hair, the natural makeup applied by Asher Blackwell's chosen professional artist, and the golden nude lips. There was no joy there. No trace of a bride's smile. Only the resigned expression of someone who had chosen to endure for her family, for the one sister she had left.
She clasped her hands in front of her stomach, trying to calm the erratic beating of her heart. Outside the door, footsteps grew fainter the staff making their final rounds, ensuring everything was in place. Everything had been prepared perfectly. Even her life was now neatly arranged on sheets of paper filled with clauses. This marriage wasn't about love. It wasn't about hope for the future, nor the dreams of a little girl waiting to be joyfully wed. It was a transaction. One year, and then it's over.
"Asher is waiting downstairs," said a dark-haired woman standing at the doorway perhaps one of Asher's personal assistants. Her voice was polite, but flat. As if she knew this wasn't a happy day.
Scarlett gave a slight nod. With slow steps, she descended the grand staircase toward the private hall prepared for the ceremony. The space was quiet, occupied only by a pastor officiating the vows, two witnesses from Asher's company, and the man himself—Asher Blackwell.
He stood tall in a perfectly tailored black suit, his hair neatly styled, and his cold face revealing no emotion. But when their eyes met, there was a flicker of something hard to decipher. Perhaps guilt, or just a shadow cast by the chandelier's light.
Without many words, the ceremony began. They stood side by side, hands not held, distance maintained. Only the pastor's voice echoed, reading the terms of the marriage contract and the conditions they had to agree upon. There were no rings exchanged, no kiss to seal the vows. Just signatures, legality, and the affirmation that they were now husband and wife at least on paper.
When it was done, Scarlett glanced at Asher. "So, we're officially married?"
Asher nodded. "Legally, yes. Mrs. Blackwell."
His tone was calm, cold, professional.
Scarlett exhaled. "Well then. Congratulations to us."
There was a faint trace of sarcasm in her voice, not lost on Asher. But he didn't respond. He simply nodded and walked out of the room first.
That night, Scarlett sat on the balcony of the vast bedroom overlooking the dazzling New York skyline. She still wore her gown, though the veil and accessories were gone. Her legs were curled onto the chair, arms wrapped around her knees, seeking comfort. The night breeze swept gently through the city, carrying the scent of its relentless pace.
She didn't hear the footsteps approaching until a cup of warm tea appeared before her.
"Chamomile. To help you relax," Asher said, his voice calm but weighty, as always.
Scarlett turned quickly, slightly startled. "Thank you," she murmured.
She accepted the cup and took a small sip. The warmth flowed down her throat, easing the dryness that had lingered all day, soothing the thoughts spinning in her head.
They sat side by side on the balcony of Asher's vast home. The night wrapped around the city, accompanied by cool winds and distant traffic sounds. The silence between them was strange not awkward, but filled with everything left unsaid.
"Why did you choose me?" Scarlett asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
She knew she had asked this before. She knew Asher had already answered. But the question still stirred inside her, demanding something deeper.
Asher turned to her, his expression blank. "I've answered that. Do you still want to ask the same question?" he said, raising one brow, his tone light but edged with warning.
"I'm still curious," Scarlett replied, eyes fixed on the city lights. "Your answer was too cliché. You said I wouldn't fall in love with you. But how do you know that? I'm human, Asher. I have a heart. I have feelings if you've forgotten."
Asher let out a deep sigh, staring at the night sky before replying, "Because you won't mess with my personal life. You don't chase status. You're not looking for love. And most importantly you won't try to change who I am."
"I already know all that," Scarlett replied softly. "But still... no other reason?"
Asher looked away, his tone sharper now. "That's all. Nothing more."
Scarlett bit her lower lip, eyes dropping to the cup in her hands. "About love, how can you be so sure I won't fall in love with you?" she asked, this time in a quieter voice.
Asher looked at her again. His gaze turned cold, like a steel door closing shut.
"Is that the kind of question I need to answer?" he asked flatly.
"I don't know the answer. That's why I'm asking," Scarlett responded calmly, suppressing the swirl of emotions in her chest.
Asher stayed silent for a moment, then leaned forward slightly. His voice low and firm. "I'm a businessman, Scarlett. In business, research is everything. Before I signed this contract, I studied you. I know your background, how you survive, how you think, and how you handle pressure."
Scarlett gave a bitter smile, nodding slowly. "So, I was a fit candidate for a fake wife, huh? After all your research?"
"You're not fake. Just... temporary."
The words stung. But Scarlett didn't show her disappointment. She kept her gaze on the city in front of them, trying to distract herself. Silence returned, filled with all the things they didn't say.
Asher stood. "I won't intrude on your first night. You can sleep in this room. I'll move to the study."
Scarlett looked up, confused. "We won't share a room?"
"There's no need. The contract doesn't require it."
And without waiting for a response, Asher walked off the balcony, leaving behind the scent of tea and silence. Scarlett pulled the blanket draped on the chair around her. On her first night as the wife of a billionaire, she felt lonelier than ever. No embrace, no holding hands—only a cold agreement that would last for the next 365 days.
The days that followed began with rigid routines. Breakfast was prepared by a private chef, but Scarlett rarely came down. She often stayed in the bedroom, reading or planning a small business she hoped to start once the contract money was transferred.
Asher remained busy with work, coming home late and barely speaking to her. But slowly, small gestures began to appear. A warm cup of coffee left outside her door each morning. Her favorite chair added to the balcony. An air filter installed because Asher knew she was prone to colds in winter. These attentions were subtle, almost invisible. But Scarlett began to notice them. And that was what scared her. Because in a marriage that was never meant to have love, her heart was starting to waver.