The morning after the wedding dawned bright and cold, and I hated the sun for having the audacity to shine.
I woke in silk sheets that didn't feel like mine, in a bed that didn't smell like home. The faint scent of roses and expensive cologne lingered in the air, a reminder of the night before, even though nothing had happened between us. Not physically, anyway. Emotionally? I felt bruised, even though no one had touched me.
The silence in the suite was heavy. Blake was gone. I wasn't surprised.
I got up, stretched the stiffness from my limbs, and padded across the floor to the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city. Velmora looked as dazzling as ever—like a city that never cared how hard you cried the night before.
Last night's reception was already making waves across social media. My phone buzzed with texts, mentions, headlines:
"Heir and Heiress Tie the Knot in Winter Spectacle."
"A Billion-Dollar Marriage Unites Corporate Giants."
"Is It Love or Strategy? Inside the Cater-Aldridge Union."
I didn't bother opening them.
Love or strategy?
It wasn't either. It was a survival deal wrapped in white lace and roses.
I went through the motions of the morning: a shower that didn't refresh me, coffee that didn't soothe, clothes that felt too tight even though they fit perfectly. Every little detail of this life was manicured and luxurious—and completely wrong.
When I stepped into the lounge area, there was a note on the marble counter:
> "Meeting with the board at 11. I'll pick you up if you want to ride together. —B"
No 'husband.' No 'love, Blake.' Just an initial. Like we were co-workers. Co-CEOs of this performance.
I left the note where it was.
The staff arrived soon after to escort me to the spa suite for post-wedding recovery treatments. Evelyn had arranged it. A facial, a massage, some light brunch. I declined everything except the coffee.
At noon, I was scheduled to meet with Sarah at the Cater International building to go over press coverage, damage control, and public messaging. Because this marriage wasn't just a merger—it was a brand. And our brand needed polishing.
The black town car that pulled up to the suite didn't contain Blake. Just Oliver, his assistant, who gave me a nod and opened the door silently. I was grateful for the lack of questions.
When I arrived at the office, Sarah was already waiting for me in the conference room, a tablet in her hand and an apologetic look on her face.
"Morning, Mrs. Aldridge," she teased, trying to lighten the mood.
I gave her a look.
She winced. "Too soon?"
"Far too."
She pushed a coffee toward me and handed me the tablet. "We need to go over the headlines. A few of them are more speculative than flattering. Some outlets are already guessing there's tension."
I snorted. "Brilliant observation."
She smiled gently, then got to work. We combed through coverage, sorted through social buzz, and prepared the appropriate responses. I approved a statement about how Blake and I were 'honored' to unite our families and were 'looking forward' to a shared future. I nearly choked typing the words.
Sarah watched me closely. "You okay?"
I hesitated.
"No," I said finally. "But I will be."
She nodded. That was enough for now.
By the time we wrapped up, it was mid-afternoon. I had a pounding headache and an email inbox full of congratulations I didn't want to read.
Then came the message from Blake:
> "Dinner with Evelyn tonight. She wants us both there. 7 p.m. at her penthouse."
Short. Direct. I didn't respond.
I didn't want another performance. I didn't want to sit next to him in silence and pretend this was working.
But I knew Evelyn. She'd notice if I didn't show. And I couldn't be the one to make waves—not today. Not after the PR team had just spun gold out of our empty smiles.
So I went home. Changed into something demure. Slipped the heirloom necklace she'd given me around my neck, because maybe it would make her smile. Because maybe she still believed this marriage could become something beautiful.
Because someone had to believe.
When I arrived at her penthouse, Blake was already there, talking quietly with her on the terrace. He looked up when I entered, but he didn't move toward me. He didn't say hello.
We ate dinner with Evelyn in a glowing dining room filled with soft music and wine. She beamed the entire time, asking about the honeymoon we weren't going on, the future house we hadn't discussed, the children we hadn't even remotely considered.
Blake was polite. I answered what I could. But every answer felt like a lie wrapped in hope.
After dessert, Evelyn hugged me tightly.
"I'm so glad you're in the family now," she said, voice thick with sincerity.
I wanted to cry. But I didn't.
I smiled instead.
Later, back at the suite, I stood on the balcony with a glass of wine, staring out at Velmora's skyline. Blake walked in quietly, loosened his tie, and leaned against the frame.
We didn't speak.
We didn't need to.
This was our life now.
Gilded.
Silent.
Fragile.