Elena's POV
The cathedral bells tolled, and each heavy chime echoed through Elena's chest like a warning. She clutched her bouquet tighter, her palms damp despite the coolness of the satin gloves. The silk veil draped over her face was beautiful and delicate yet it felt like a shroud.
Every step she took down the aisle in the ivory gown Alexander had chosen for her felt like walking into a gilded prison.
Rows of glittering guests lined the pews, the city's elite, politicians, CEOs, and socialites, their jewels and silk gowns catching the golden light from the chandeliers. To them, she was an anomaly. A nobody. A woman who had somehow climbed her way into a seat that didn't belong to her.
Everyone knew, this wasn't a wedding of love. It was a transaction, a spectacle.
"She's not even from a family name."
"Look at her. Ordinary."
"He could have had anyone. Why her?"
"I heard he only married her to get his grandfather's inheritance."
"Poor thing, she'll be discarded soon.
The whispers weren't whispers to her, they were daggers, sharpened by contempt. She forced her chin higher, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she moved closer to the altar.
And there he was.
Alexander Kane.
Her husband-to-be.
The man who had signed away her freedom with a single signature on their contract.
He stood tall, dark, and unreadable. His jaw was sharp as stone with his black suit tailored to perfection. His hands were clasped in front of him, and not in anticipation but in detached composure. He didn't even look at her, he didn't even flinch or acknowledge her as she finally reached his side. He was the raw definition of stoic.
The priest began the vows, his voice echoing through the cavernous hall. Elena's throat tightened when it was her turn.
"I do," she whispered, her voice trembling against the hush of the crowd.
When Alexander's turn came, his answer was swift, short, and empty.
"I do."
Two words. Devoid of warmth and almost entirely devoid of any sign of life. He sounded bored if anything.
The guests stirred as the priest pronounced them husband and wife and applause rang through the hall. Even the sound of their claps felt too polite and very obligatory.
And then came the moment.
He was supposed to kiss her. Supposed to at least pretend to, she didn't expect him to enjoy it but it was a part of the wedding no?
But Alexander Kane didn't move. He shook the priest's hand instead, his sharp profile turned deliberately away from her.
A ripple of awkward laughter ran through the crowd. Someone gasped loudly from the back and someone else muttered, "Shameless…"
Elena lowered her eyes, her cheeks burning under the veil. The humiliation was sharp, like glass cutting her skin and this time, it actually did hurt a whole lot.
The reception was held in one of the most luxurious hotels in the city with a ballroom dripping with golden light and crystal chandeliers. There were waiters in white gloves floating between tables with champagne and hors d'oeuvres and the guests were continuously buzzing with the story of the kiss-that-never-happened. Perhaps, it would make the morning news even.
At the head table, Elena sat beside Alexander but he didn't look at her. Not even once. He spoke with investors, smiled politely at business associates, and raised his glass when required but couldn't bother to throw a glance her way..
She sat in silence, her hand tightening on her champagne glass.
Then she felt it.
A stare.
Across the glittering ballroom stood a woman who looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. Her dark hair swept into a sleek bun, with lips painted a sultry signature red, her body wrapped in a gown the color of blood.
Isabella Monroe.
Alexander's ex. The woman the tabloids had once called his true love.
She raised her glass in mock salute, her eyes glittering with triumph. The smile on her lips was razor-sharp.
Whispers erupted instantly.
"She actually came?"
"The nerve…"
"Look at her…she knows she still has him."
Elena's stomach twisted. The way Alexander's jaw clenched told her everything, he had noticed Isabella. And for the first time all evening, he looked.
Elena forced herself to keep her expression calm, but inside, her chest burned.
Hours later, when the last of the champagne had been poured and the guests had begun to filter out, Elena followed Alexander into the grand mansion that would now be her home.
The marble floors glistened with the glittering chandeliers, but the house felt like an ice palace, cold and entirely unwelcoming.
Alexander loosened his tie as he entered the master suite. His voice was flat, cutting through the silence around the room.
"You'll take the guest room. Don't mistake this for a real marriage. I don't share my space."
Elena's lips parted, but no words came. She lowered her gaze, hiding the sting in her eyes. "Of course," she said softly. Her pride was all she had left.
She turned to leave, her gown trailing behind her.
That was when she heard it.
The murmur of voices coming from a door left ajar down the hall.
She froze. The sound of her own heartbeat filled her ears as she stepped closer.
"Why her, Alex?" Isabella's voice, silky and amused, floated out. "That little nobody? You'll tire of her in a week."
Elena's breath caught in her throat. Isabella was here? In their home? What for?
Then Alexander's voice came, deep and cold as usual,
"She's just a tool. Nothing more."
Her blood ran cold.
Her hands shook against the doorframe, her bouquet slipping silently to the floor.
Just a tool.
Her chest ached as though someone had driven a dagger into her heart. She bit down on her lip, forcing herself not to cry, not to make a sound.
She turned and walked away, each step heavy, each breath tighter than the last.
Behind her, Isabella's laugh echoed like poison.
And Elena knew, this marriage was the beginning of her greatest humiliation.