The city lights shimmered below like scattered diamonds, but Elena barely noticed. Her thoughts swirled like a storm—she could still feel the weight of the wedding, the forced smiles, the hollow laughter.
Behind her, a shadow approached silently. Damien.
"Elena." His voice was soft, but it carried that same cold edge she had felt since the first time she'd truly looked at him. She stiffened.
"I… I needed some air," she said, her fingers clutching the railing.
He stood beside her, silent. Close enough that she could feel his presence, yet distant in the way that made her chest ache. She wanted to turn to him, ask him why he was so unreachable, why every smile felt like an act, why her heart couldn't find a place in his world.
Instead, she asked the only thing she could manage: "Are you… okay?"
Damien's gaze drifted over the skyline. "I'm fine."
Elena's heart sank. That single, simple sentence held nothing—no warmth, no reassurance, no life. And yet, in some strange, infuriating way, she found herself leaning slightly closer, wanting to believe there was more behind the mask.
Minutes passed in silence. She watched him fidget once, then cross his arms, a small sign that he was human beneath that impenetrable exterior. For a fleeting moment, Elena wondered if maybe, just maybe, he wasn't entirely the wrong man—if he had secrets, yes, but perhaps there was a part of him that could love.
But the doubt clawed back immediately. I married the wrong man, she reminded herself. Don't forget.
The reception inside was fading behind them. Laughter, music, and clinking glasses became background noise to her racing thoughts. She remembered how, during the vows, she had searched his eyes for a flicker of warmth and found none. Not a single spark.
"Why are you so… distant?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
Damien finally looked at her, his expression unreadable. "I'm not distant. I'm… careful."
"Careful?" she repeated, confusion tightening her chest. "Careful about what?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned back toward the city, his jaw tense. "About everything," he said finally.
Elena's heart sank further. Everything. The word was heavy with unspoken secrets. She wanted to demand answers, to scream, to run. But all she did was stay silent, letting the cool night air mix with her swirling panic.
For the first time that evening, she noticed something else—the faint scent of cologne he always wore, clean and sharp. A memory surfaced, of their first date, when she had thought the world was new and safe. She shivered, wondering how something that had once felt so thrilling could now feel so cold.
Damien's hand brushed hers accidentally—or not—and Elena jumped back, startled by the warmth she had craved all night. He didn't comment, didn't apologize. He just glanced at her briefly, the faintest flicker of emotion passing through his eyes before it vanished.
"You're… different than I imagined," Elena said, testing the waters. "Not… not in a bad way. Just…"
He raised an eyebrow, lips curling into the faintest smirk—a motion so subtle that if she hadn't been staring, she would have missed it. "Different?" he repeated. "You mean… disappointed?"
Elena's stomach dropped. He knows. Somehow, he already knew the unease that had been gnawing at her. How could he?
"I—No, I didn't mean that," she stammered, cheeks burning. "I just… I didn't expect…" Her voice trailed off, lost in the tension that seemed to stretch between them.
Damien's gaze softened ever so slightly. "Expectations are dangerous things," he said. And then, without another word, he turned and walked back inside, leaving Elena alone with her thoughts, the cool wind, and the sudden realization that she didn't even know who her husband truly was.
Elena's chest ached. The wedding—supposedly the happiest day of her life—felt more like a cage. A cage built of silk and smiles, but a cage nonetheless. And as she followed him back inside, her steps hesitant, she knew one truth more terrifying than anything else:
She had married the wrong man.
And she was only beginning to understand just how wrong.