The church bells tolled with cruel irony, their chime echoing across the marbled halls as though announcing not a union, but a sentence.
Elena sat rigid in the back of the limousine, her fingers twisting against the lace of her gown. The dress was exquisite, ivory silk stitched with pearls, the kind every little girl was supposed to dream of wearing. But to her, it felt suffocating, a shroud of surrender.
Her reflection in the tinted glass revealed a woman trapped. Her crystal blue eyes, once bright with life, were dulled with the weight of betrayal. Her father's words still rang in her head, sharp and merciless.
"If you walk away from this, Elena, you destroy us all. Do you want your mother and me thrown out onto the streets? Do you want our name dragged through the mud? This marriage is not for you; it is for this family."
She had wanted to scream that a family built on lies and greed was not worth saving. But she hadn't. She had sat in silence, watching her father's desperate face, and in that silence, her fate was sealed. She had tried though.
Elena was an obedient child. She never questioned her family or said anything to them. Always good and followed their decisions for her blindly. But she refused her father's decision on this marriage. Told him she didn't want it. It was the first time she stood against him for herself, but it was a futile attempt because she gave up in the end; rather, her father emotionally blackmailed her into it.
She had no other option but to surrender. Elena was homeschooled, and she had no friends. No connection to the outside world except for the internet, and she wasn't even allowed to have any social media accounts. She was forced to become an introvert since childhood because her father was cautious of his enemies in the business world. A part of her thought that her father must've used to blackmail his enemies with their family, which was why he wouldn't let his family out of the estate all the time.
The limousine halted.
A hand appeared outside the door, crisp in a black glove. Damian Blackwood's bodyguard and driver held out his hand for her to take, but Elena lowered her gaze. She didn't hold his hand and quietly stepped out, her heels clicking against the polished stone. The bodyguard stepped back silently, observing her refusal.
The world was dazzling, with golden chandeliers, crimson carpets, and the murmur of the elite gathering to witness the spectacle of a billionaire's wedding. But beneath the shimmer was something colder. Every whisper, every stolen glance at her trembling frame carried a bite of mockery. She didn't like people staring at her. For the first time, she was out in so many people like this, and almost every pair of eyes was dead set on her. It was making her nervous to the point that her fingers trembled.
Her eyes darted u,p and at the altar, Damian Blackwood stood like a carved statue. His tuxedo was immaculate, his posture commanding, his expression unreadable. He was handsome beyond words, but there was a cruel, icy aura surrounding him. His eyes were so cold and emotionless. Not once did his dark eyes flicker toward her as she walked the aisle, as though she were no more than a pawn being moved into position.
She breathed in sharply when she came to stand in front of the huge man, who looked no less than a mountain, and his intimidating presence made her stomach twist up in knots. His presence was too consuming, and his rich, manly cologne was making her head spin.
The vows passed in a blur. They were asked to hold hands. She trembled when he held her small hands in his big, warm ones; his hands were so big and veiny, they engulfed her whole hand. But they were warm, and the touch was tender. When the priest asked if he would take her as his wife, Damian's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. And in that brief second, he met her eyes. Her heart quivered at the scrutiny, and it skipped a couple of beats. He looked away before she could even blink, but she'll never forget that cold look in his dark, obsidian eyes. Elena lowered her gaze, inhaling deeply to calm her nerves down.
"I do," he said flatly, as though he were signing off on a contract rather than pledging his life. His tone was flat and bored, and here she was hoping from the bottom of her heart that he'd leave her alone and stop the wedding. Elena wasn't even smiling. The refusal to marry him was all over her face, and yet he wasn't getting the cue.
Elena's voice shook when her turn came, but the silence pressing in on her left no room to refuse. There was hushed silence after the priest asked her if she would take him as her husband. She didn't speak; she couldn't. It felt as if there was a huge obstruction, like a stone in her throat. She swallowed the lump down her throat so when Damian squeezed her hand enough, a deadly warning for her to defy the deal. It made her heart stutter. Her hand began to tremble more in his hold as she mustered up the courage to give up on her happiness.
"I… do."
Applause rippled through the crowd, though muted, restrained, as if even the guests knew this was no love story but a transaction. Her heart shattered at the cheers of the misery that would follow her in the future.
At the banquet that followed, Damian finally turned to her. His gaze, sharp and glacial, pinned her in place. His words were low, meant only for her, but each one struck like a chain tightening around her throat.
"Don't make the mistake of thinking this is a marriage," he said, his tone rich with disdain as he leaned further closer to her ear, causing her to step back in fear and surprise at the proximity. But he didn't let that happen. In one swift move, he grabbed her small waist and jerked her to his side, causing her breath to hitch and her heart seized to beat, feeling the heat of his body pressing on her side. "You are here because I allow it. Because your father begged for it. Nothing more." His voice was cold as ice.
Elena's throat burned with humiliation, yet she forced herself to hold her head high. She would not let him see her break.
So, you'll give anything if someone begs, then surely, soon enough, you'll become a beggar yourself. She thought angrily.
"I understand," she tried to make her voice firm, but it sounded shaky as she tried to pull away, and he let her go with a little jerk as if touching her made his skin burn. She clenched her jaw in defiance, though her heart was thumping wildly. But her fragile defiance shattered moments later.
As the night deepened, Damian rose from the head table. Murmurs spread like wildfire as he extended his arm, not to his new bride, but to a woman draped in scarlet, her lips painted the same color as her gown. Without a word to Elena, Damian left the hall with the woman clinging possessively to his side as she watched him leave in pure shock.
Millions of thoughts raked through her mind in that moment, but the loudest was that, if he loved that woman, then why did he marry her?
The whispers turned venomous, daggers aimed at Elena's already bleeding pride. She sat frozen in her wedding dress. Her clutching her white dress in tight fists. The image of abandonment, her fists clenched tight enough to draw blood beneath the lace gloves.
And in that moment, Elena knew the truth.
He didn't marry her to teach her father a lesson. It was far more than that. This was not a union. This was a gilded cage. And Damian Blackwood had no intention of letting her forget it.
The banquet doors slammed shut behind Damian and the other woman, leaving Elena alone, humiliated, hurt, and seething with a vow only she could hear. 'This may be your game, Damian Blackwood, but I will not play the role of your broken bride forever.'