If the ceremony was a performance, the reception was a circus.
The ballroom of the Aldridge Grand Hotel glittered under golden chandeliers, every inch draped in opulence. The theme was winter elegance, which meant crystal centerpieces, white roses, and soft silver linens. The kind of event most girls dreamed of having. The kind of party people planned a year in advance.
Except I hadn't planned any of it.
I hadn't picked the menu. I hadn't chosen the song for our first dance. I hadn't even picked the gown I wore now—the second of the day—fitted and sleeveless, sequined and elegant. I looked like the perfect bride. I played the part well.
And I hated every second of it.
Beside me, Blake was all poise and polish. His smile had been perfected over the years—pleasant enough for photos, neutral enough not to invite questions. We moved together, greeted guests, accepted congratulations from CEOs, politicians, and old-money relatives I didn't recognize. It was a blur of names, nods, and practiced charm.
I downed my second glass of champagne in less than an hour.
"Celine, darling," a woman gushed, clutching my hands. I couldn't remember her name—possibly a cousin from the Aldridge side. "You two are just radiant. You look like royalty."
"Thank you," I said with a polite smile, ignoring the way Blake's fingers tightened slightly around my waist. He was keeping me steady, or maybe just maintaining the illusion.
The band switched from classical to jazz. Someone toasted us from across the room. I heard my name more times that night than I had in the last month combined. And each time it felt like a thread unraveling.
"Care to dance?" Blake asked suddenly.
I blinked. "Now?"
"We're being watched," he murmured, just low enough for only me to hear.
Of course we were. The press was still present in limited capacity. The photos from this night would make headlines. *The Billion-Dollar Bride. The Golden Union.*
I took his hand.
He led me to the center of the ballroom. The guests circled around as the music softened into a slow, cinematic swell. Flashbulbs went off. Murmurs quieted.
We moved together. Graceful, measured. Like two people who had practiced this a hundred times. In reality, we hadn't spoken privately since the kiss at the altar.
"You dance well," I said stiffly.
"So do you."
We kept our distance as best we could without drawing attention. But his hand was firm on my back, his gaze steady. There was something unsettling about how easily we moved in sync.
"This doesn't change anything," I said.
"I know."
"I still don't want this."
"I know."
We twirled once. My dress fanned around me like a cloud. People clapped quietly.
"I don't love you," I whispered.
He didn't flinch. "I wouldn't expect you to."
"And I'm not going to fall for you."
His jaw tightened slightly. "Noted."
We stopped as the music ended. The applause was polite, elegant. We bowed slightly to the crowd, still playing our roles. Then returned to our seats at the head table.
My smile stayed fixed, but my fingers curled into the fabric of my gown beneath the table.
Sarah appeared briefly with a glass of water and a quiet glance of concern. I gave her a small nod. I could do this. I could survive a party. I'd survived worse.
"Ladies and gentlemen," someone announced, "it's time for the bride and groom to cut the cake!"
Because of course it was.
The cake was a towering, five-tiered monstrosity in white and silver. Sugar flowers. Edible pearls. A sculpture of perfection. We posed, held the knife together, sliced a piece. Blake handed me a forkful.
"Don't you dare," I whispered.
He smirked slightly. "I wasn't going to."
We fed each other civilly. More claps. More flashes. Another round of drinks.
As the night wore on, the crowd began to loosen. A few guests took to the dance floor. Laughter replaced politeness. Music turned modern. But we stayed seated, hands never quite touching, eyes never quite meeting.
"I'm leaving after the toast," I said under my breath.
Blake nodded. "I'll stay a little longer for appearances."
"This is exhausting."
"Yes."
We sat in silence. For once, it wasn't tense. Just... numb.
My father approached with two glasses of whiskey and raised one to us. "To survival," he said with a knowing smile.
"To mergers," Blake added dryly.
"To masks," I muttered.
We all drank.
Eventually, Evelyn came over to kiss my cheek and fuss over my necklace. "You looked beautiful, dear. I'm so proud of you."
"Thank you," I said, surprised by how much I meant it. At least she believed in this fantasy. Someone should.
When I finally excused myself and left the ballroom, I didn't look back.
I didn't want to see the stares, the expectations, or the husband I barely knew.
I stepped into the elevator, alone, bouquet in hand.
And I exhaled for the first time all day.
---
The suite was enormous. Lavish. A penthouse level room at the Aldridge Grand, decorated in candlelight and petals like some fairy tale ending. There was champagne chilling, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and a note in elegant calligraphy that read, "For the bride and groom."
I ignored all of it.
I slipped out of my heels, wincing at the ache in my feet, and tossed the bouquet onto a velvet chair. The silence wrapped around me like a second dress. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the window overlooking Velmora's skyline.
This was supposed to be the happiest night of my life.
Instead, it felt like the quiet before a storm.
I didn't know how long I sat there, back straight, mind racing. Long enough for the sound of the door clicking open behind me to pull me out of my trance.
Blake stepped in. He had taken off his jacket and undone the top buttons of his shirt. His tie hung loosely around his neck.
Our eyes met in the reflection of the window.
"You're back early," I said, my voice calmer than I felt.
"There was nothing left to smile at," he replied simply.
He didn't approach. Just stood near the entrance like he was unsure if he belonged there either.
"Don't worry," I said, turning to face him fully. "I'm not expecting anything from you tonight."
"Good. Because I wasn't going to offer anything."
It wasn't cruel. Just honest.
We stared at each other across the room—husband and wife, strangers still.
"I'm taking the bedroom," I said.
He nodded. "I'll stay in the lounge."
There was a moment—a flicker—where it felt like we both wanted to say something more. But we didn't. We never did.
I watched as he disappeared into the other half of the suite, and the door clicked shut behind him.
I stood up, walked to the mirror, and slowly began removing the pins from my hair. One by one. My curls fell over my shoulders like unraveling silk.
I was married.
Legally bound to a man I didn't know. Didn't trust. Didn't love.
And yet, a part of me mourned what this night could've been. What it should've been.
I got ready for bed in silence, slipped between cool sheets, and turned off the lamp.
In the darkness, I stared at the ceiling and let the truth settle like dust over everything:
This was only the beginning.
And I was already exhausted.