The church bells tolled softly in the distance, their sound carried by the gentle evening breeze that swept through the quiet countryside. The sun had already dipped halfway beneath the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Inside the small chapel, candles flickered, casting long shadows across the wooden pews. It was a place meant for joy, for love, for celebrations witnessed by family and friends. But tonight, it was empty, save for two people standing before the altar—two people whose hearts beat with secrets too heavy for the world to know.
Eleanor Hart stood rigid, her delicate fingers clutching the bouquet of white lilies so tightly that her knuckles turned pale. Her ivory lace gown clung to her slender frame, shimmering faintly under the candlelight. Every part of her appearance screamed of a bride ready to be loved openly, celebrated fully, and cherished forever. But deep inside, she knew the truth. There would be no smiling relatives waiting outside, no friends showering them with confetti, no proud father walking her down the aisle. This marriage was not meant for the world's eyes—it was meant only for them.
Opposite her stood Damian Blackwood, a man whose name was whispered with awe and respect in the business world. In his perfectly tailored black suit, he looked as striking and untouchable as always, his sharp jawline set with determination, his storm-gray eyes fixed on her. Damian rarely allowed emotions to flicker across his face; he was a man of control, of power. Yet tonight, there was something in his gaze, something softer, something almost… protective.
"Are you sure about this?" Eleanor's voice broke the silence, trembling as it echoed through the chapel. She hadn't meant to sound so weak, but her nerves betrayed her.
Damian's expression didn't waver. "I wouldn't be standing here if I wasn't." His voice was deep, steady, as if he could command the world to bend to his will with just a few words.
She bit her lip, lowering her gaze to the bouquet. "It's just… it feels so wrong, marrying in secret. What if people find out? What if—"
"They won't." Damian stepped closer, his presence overwhelming yet oddly comforting. He reached out, taking her free hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding. "This is the only way to keep you safe, Eleanor. You know that."
Safe. The word echoed in her mind. She had heard it so many times from him in the past few weeks, ever since their worlds had collided in the most unexpected way. A powerful businessman like Damian Blackwood had no reason to get involved with someone like her—a quiet woman who worked as an event planner, trying to build a modest life far away from drama. But fate had thrown her into the middle of a corporate war, one she hadn't asked to be a part of.
She looked up, meeting his unwavering gaze. "You're really doing this for me?"
A rare flicker of emotion passed through his eyes. "I don't do things I don't mean, Eleanor. You know that by now."
Her heart pounded in her chest, torn between fear and something far more dangerous—hope. She hadn't wanted to fall for him. She had tried to keep her distance, to remind herself that this marriage was nothing but a shield, a legal tie meant to protect her from those who wanted to hurt her because of him. But standing here, with his hand holding hers so firmly, she couldn't deny the pull she felt toward him.
The priest cleared his throat softly, breaking the moment. "Shall we begin?"
Damian gave a single nod, his thumb brushing against her knuckles in a silent reassurance. Eleanor swallowed hard, trying to focus on the words being spoken. The ceremony was simple, brief—far from the fairytale wedding she had imagined as a little girl. But when the priest asked if she took Damian Blackwood as her lawfully wedded husband, her voice didn't waver.
"I do," she whispered.
And when it was his turn, Damian looked straight into her eyes, his tone unwavering, commanding.
"I do."
The words sealed something inside her chest, something she couldn't name.
"You may kiss the bride," the priest said with a small smile, oblivious to the tension hanging between them.
Damian didn't hesitate. He cupped her face gently, his calloused fingers brushing her cheeks. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as if he were afraid to break her. Eleanor's heart raced as he leaned in, his lips pressing softly against hers. It wasn't passionate, not yet, but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, and for a fleeting moment, the world outside ceased to exist.
The priest signed the marriage documents quickly, leaving them alone in the chapel. When the doors finally closed behind him, the silence returned, heavier this time. Damian was the first to speak.
"You're my wife now, Eleanor," he said quietly, almost as if he were reminding himself. "No one can touch you."
She searched his face, trying to find any trace of affection, any sign that this was more than just a calculated move. But Damian Blackwood was a man who built walls around his heart so high that even she couldn't see past them. Still, when his gaze lingered on her a second too long, she wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was something there.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He arched an eyebrow, the corner of his lips twitching slightly. "You're thanking me for marrying you?"
Her cheeks heated. "I mean… for protecting me. For doing this even when you didn't have to."
Damian studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice softer than she had ever heard from him, he said, "I had to, Eleanor. Whether you realize it or not."
Her breath caught. She wanted to ask him what he meant, but before she could, he offered his arm. "Come. We need to leave before someone sees us."
They walked out into the night, the cool breeze rustling through her veil. His sleek black car waited outside, its engine already running. Damian opened the door for her, a gesture that felt oddly intimate despite the circumstances. She slid inside, and he joined her moments later, his presence filling the confined space.
The drive was silent at first, the soft hum of the engine the only sound. Eleanor stared out the window, watching the darkened city blur past. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, relief, and something she dared not name.
Finally, she spoke. "What happens now?"
Damian kept his eyes on the road. "Now, you move into my house. You'll stay there until this is over."
Her head snapped toward him. "Your house? But—"
"It's not up for debate," he interrupted firmly. "You're my wife now. That makes you my responsibility."
The word wife sent an unfamiliar warmth through her chest, even though she knew this was not a real marriage—not in the way she had once dreamed. Still, something about the way he said it, so possessive and sure, made her heart flutter.
Eleanor took a deep breath, leaning back against the seat. She didn't know what the future held, or how long they could keep their marriage hidden. But as she stole a glance at Damian, who sat beside her with the same unshakable confidence he always carried, one thing became certain.
This was no ordinary marriage. And somewhere deep down, she feared it would change everything—especially her heart.