The chandeliers of St. Augustine's Cathedral glittered like captured stars, their golden light spilling over marble floors and crimson carpets. Rows of guests sat in hushed expectation, their jeweled fingers clutching programs, their eyes sharp and curious. It was supposed to be the wedding of the year — a merger not only of two powerful families, but of legacies, empires, and wealth.
But as Elena Hayes walked down the aisle in a gown she hadn't chosen, with a bouquet trembling in her hands, the air shifted.
Whispers crackled like sparks through the crowd.
"Wait… isn't that—?"
"That's not Lila."
"Where's the eldest daughter?"
Elena felt each word strike like a stone. She forced her legs to keep moving, though every step was heavy, her knees weak beneath the weight of dozens of stares. Her chest ached as though a band of iron was tightening around it.
I shouldn't be here.
Her sister, Lila, was the one promised to Adrian Blackwood. Lila, beautiful and ambitious, adored by their father. Elena had never been anything more than a shadow in comparison — quieter, gentler, and too easily overlooked.
But last night, her father's decision had been made clear.
"You will marry him," Charles Hayes said, his voice cold as stone. "Lila is not ready for the burden. You will do as I command."
"I… I can't," Elena had whispered, her throat raw from crying. "He's expecting her. Everyone is expecting her. Please, Father, this isn't—"
A sharp crack of his hand against the table silenced her. His eyes, dark with impatience, pinned her in place.
"You are my daughter," he hissed. "You are nothing without this family. You owe us everything — your life, your future. If this is the one chance you have to be useful, then you will not waste it. Do you understand?"
The words cut deeper than any blade. And in that moment, Elena understood she had no choice.
Now, as she reached the altar, her heart drummed wildly against her ribs. She dared to lift her gaze — and met Adrian Blackwood's eyes.
He was taller than she imagined, his frame sharp and commanding in a perfectly tailored black suit. His presence seemed to draw the very air from the room. Dark hair brushed back from a sculpted face, eyes the color of a storm — gray and merciless.
He didn't blink. Didn't even move. He only stared.
Her blood ran cold. He knew.
The weight of that realization nearly buckled her knees. Of course he knew she wasn't Lila. How could he not? His sharp gaze sliced into her, as though peeling away every fragile layer she tried to hide behind.
The priest's voice carried through the silence, reciting vows that felt heavy and distant. Elena's lips parted, but the words lodged in her throat.
I can't do this. I can't—
The priest's question echoed: "Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Her voice came out barely audible. "I… I do."
The hush over the crowd deepened. A ripple of disapproval passed through the guests. Some looked confused, others scandalized, but no one dared speak above a whisper.
The priest turned to Adrian.
Adrian's silence stretched cruelly long. The pause was deliberate, almost mocking. The room seemed to hold its breath.
Finally, his lips curved into something sharp and unreadable.
"I do," he said, his voice smooth and deep, carrying an undercurrent of ice.
The verdict was sealed.
Applause followed — polite, hesitant, uncertain. But to Elena, it sounded like the crash of a thousand doors locking shut.
The ceremony ended in a blur. Elena couldn't recall walking back down the aisle, though she must have — her bouquet crushed in trembling fingers, her head bowed as flashes from cameras captured her humiliation for eternity. She felt like a stranger in her own body, moving on strings someone else controlled.
The whispers hadn't stopped.
"She looks terrified."
"Why her? Wasn't it supposed to be Lila?"
"Adrian doesn't seem… pleased."
No, Adrian didn't seem pleased at all.
He stood beside her, his hand brushing hers only when custom demanded it. His expression was carved from marble, utterly impassive. But Elena felt the force of his silence like a storm pressing against glass — dangerous, waiting to break.
When they finally emerged from the cathedral into the glare of daylight, cameras erupted. Reporters jostled for position, their voices a flurry of questions.
"Mr. Blackwood! Why the sudden change of bride?"
"Mrs. Blackwood, do you have a comment? Where is your sister?"
"Is this a scandal within the Hayes family?"
Elena's throat locked. Her steps faltered, but Adrian's grip closed firmly around her wrist, steadying her — not out of kindness, but control.
Without a word, he guided her into the sleek black limousine waiting at the curb. The door shut, sealing them away from flashing lights and curious stares.
Silence.
Elena sat with her hands clutched in her lap, unable to meet his gaze. Her pulse hammered in her ears, loud enough to drown out her thoughts.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was quiet, but it cut sharper than any shout.
"You're not Lila."
She flinched as though struck. Slowly, she forced herself to lift her eyes. His gaze pinned her — storm-gray, unyielding, furious in its calm.
"I…" Her lips trembled. "My father—"
"I don't care for excuses," Adrian interrupted, his tone flat. "Do you think I wouldn't recognize the difference between two sisters? Do you take me for a fool?"
"No!" Her protest was immediate, desperate. "I didn't choose this. I never—"
Her throat closed around the rest. Shame burned hot in her chest, but beneath it, something stubborn flickered.
"I never wanted this," she whispered, barely audible.
For a long, suffocating moment, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the faint buzz of the city outside.
Adrian leaned back against the seat, studying her as though she were a puzzle he had no patience to solve.
"Your father must think me easily manipulated," he said coldly. "To foist his second daughter onto me like a bargaining chip. Pathetic."
Elena's hands curled into fists in her lap. I'm not a bargaining chip. She wanted to scream it, but the words caught behind her teeth.
Adrian turned his face to the window, dismissing her without another glance.
The ride stretched endlessly, silence pressing down on her until it became unbearable. She stole glances at him — his jaw set, expression unreadable, his presence filling the space with icy authority. She wondered if this was what marriage to him would always be like: silence, contempt, and walls she could never climb.
Her stomach knotted. How will I survive this?
The limousine slowed, and her breath caught when the sprawling silhouette of the Blackwood estate came into view.
It wasn't a home. It was a fortress.
High iron gates loomed ahead, flanked by stone pillars crowned with carved gargoyles. Beyond them, the mansion rose from manicured gardens like a dark sentinel — vast, cold, and intimidating. Its windows gleamed like watchful eyes, its towers casting long shadows across the grounds.
The car rolled up the long drive, tires crunching over gravel. The front doors opened before they even stopped, staff assembled in two perfect lines, their gazes lowered, their faces impassive.
Elena's chest tightened. This wasn't a welcome. This was a judgment.
Adrian stepped out first, his movements crisp, controlled. The staff bowed in unison. When he extended a hand to her, Elena hesitated, unsure if it was an offer or a command. But with dozens of eyes watching, she placed her trembling fingers in his, and he helped her from the car.
The moment her heels touched the stone steps, she felt the weight of the Blackwood legacy pressing down. This was no place for her — and yet, it was now her prison.
Adrian leaned close, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"Remember this, Elena Hayes," he said, her name like ice on his tongue. "You may have become my wife today, but you will never be my bride."
Her heart twisted, but she lifted her chin, fighting the tears that threatened. If this was to be her life, she would not let him see her break.
Not yet.