The wedding hall felt like a strange, silent theater. There were no joyful cheers, no celebratory music, no excited laughter. Just the hushed, respectful murmurs of the world's most powerful people, all gathered for a union that felt nothing short of a hostile takeover. I stood next to him, my new husband, feeling the heavy fabric of my wedding dress and the even heavier weight of a promise that wasn't mine to make. The hall was filled with faces I only knew from news reports—corporate tycoons, political figures, and men with sharp eyes and sharper suits who seemed to blend into the shadows. Their silence was more deafening than any noise, a testament to the power of the two families uniting.
He was like a marble statue, cold and perfectly sculpted. His name was Arnav, and he was the heir to an empire I didn't understand and didn't want to. 'The Silent Hand.' The name itself gave me shivers. Papa always said they controlled everything from the shadows. But I lived in a world of emotions and memories, where every moment was a beautiful painting. My family's company, Aethel, was built on the beauty of human feelings, preserving the emotional essence of humanity's greatest moments. My work was to feel and remember; his was to erase and control.
The priest spoke, his words echoing in the silence. Every chant, every ritual, was carving an empty space inside me. A hollowness that had been growing since Papa had spoken to me last night, his voice filled with a regret I'd never heard before. He had shown me a small, ancient-looking scroll with two family seals. "My child, this is for our protection. A promise I made to his father years ago. The stakes... they're higher than you can imagine." He didn't have to say more. His trembling hand told me everything I needed to know. The promise was more than a contract; it was a shackle. It was a deal made in a different time, under circumstances so dire, even my father, a man who built an empire on emotional bonds, had to sacrifice his own daughter's happiness.
When the moment came to place the garland on him, my hand hesitated. I felt a knot form in my stomach. The air around him was so still, so devoid of life, that I felt a shiver despite the warmth of the lights. Our eyes met, not in a romantic glance, but in a brief, analytical exchange. His eyes were like two dark, empty voids. They held no warmth, no joy, no resentment, no sadness. Nothing. It was then I truly understood the irony. I, who lived in a world of feelings, was being married to a man who had none. A man who was a void.
The ceremony was over quickly. As he turned to leave, his hand brushed against mine. A simple touch, but it sent a shockwave through me. It wasn't the warmth of a new bond, but the electric jolt of two opposing forces colliding. He didn't flinch. His expression remained unchanged, as if he hadn't even noticed. He was an iceberg, and I was a burning star. His touch felt like a complete absence of energy, a vacuum that threatened to suck all the warmth out of me. It was a physical manifestation of his personality, cold and empty.
Later, in a grand suite that felt more like a prison than a home, I stood by a window, watching the city lights. The room was beautiful, filled with fresh flowers and expensive furniture, but it felt hollow. A knock sounded. He came in, his movements precise and efficient, like a well-oiled machine. He didn't look at me, his gaze scanning the room as if searching for a threat. He walked over to a table, picked up a small, shimmering data chip, and turned to leave. It wasn't a casual action; it was a mission he had to complete.
"So," I said, my voice shaky. "Is that all? The vow is complete. Now what?"
He finally looked at me, his gaze still unnervingly blank. "The promise was fulfilled. The arrangement is now in effect. You can live your life as you wish. Just don't interfere with mine." His words were like a pre-recorded message, delivered with no inflection, no hint of a human emotion behind them.
With that, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in a room that was supposed to be our 'first night.' My husband had left me for his work, and I had never felt more alone, more lost, and more certain that this was the end of my life as I knew it. Aethel's daughter, who protected emotions and memories, was bound to a man who had neither. My life, my purpose, my very being felt erased by his presence and his absence.