"Do you, Alexandra Carter, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
The priest's voice was calm and ceremonial. To Alex, it sounded like thunder. Her hands trembled inside his—large, steady, too real to be a dream. Her throat burned, but she lifted her chin, forcing the words out.
"I do." They cut her tongue like glass.
The crowd murmured. Silk dresses shifted and pearls nodded in approval.
The priest turned. "And do you, Jake Cole, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do," Jake said before the priest finished; his answer was smooth and immediate.
Their eyes met, and for the first time since the ceremony began, she saw him: calm, practiced, like a man who'd rehearsed winning. Her smile was fractured, whole only at a glance.
"Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Applause erupted. Roses rustled. A few women dabbed at their eyes. Cameras clicked, capturing the moment she wished could vanish instead of being framed.
"You may now kiss the bride."
Jake leaned in. His lips met hers, slow and sure, a kiss that tempted instead of calmed. It lingered longer than a ceremony should allow, heat coiling low in her belly. When he eased back, Alex's breath betrayed her. The ring on her finger was cold and heavy. The crowd cheered, but the floor felt like glass under her soles. He smiled for the cameras; she felt a lock click shut inside her chest.
Her smile stayed in place. But her mind had already slipped into the past.
Two weeks earlier…
Alex had been engaged to another man. Harry. Her mother's choice, the one who'd promised forever. Until she opened that bedroom door, eager to tell Harry about the wedding venue she'd finally chosen, but watched forever collapse in tangled sheets.
The sound reached her first. Laughter. A woman's laughter, shrill and playful. Wrapped in the husky groan of the man who had sworn fidelity only two weeks earlier.
Alex froze in the doorway. The sheets were twisted, and bodies were tangled.
"Harry?" Her voice cracked; plea, question, accusation.
He didn't flinch. He only turned his head slightly, lips curling into a careless smirk, as though she were the intruder.
The woman giggled, burying herself deeper into his chest.
Her breath tripped. The laugh in the bedroom folded over itself, and the room shrank to the size of the engagement ring that had already slipped her hand, rolling on the floor.
Later, she wouldn't remember if she screamed or only stood still. The thing she remembered best was the cold calm that followed, the hollow that comes when there's nothing left to fight for.
By morning, her mother's words haunted her again. "Alexandra, you're twenty-nine. Successful, beautiful. You can't just live like a widow when you were never widowed. You need to move on."
Back To The Present...
"Alexandra," her mother's voice cut through her fog.
She leaned in, graceful in lavender silk and glittering diamonds, her perfume thick with jasmine.
"Smile, darling," she whispered, lips barely moving. "This is a wedding, not a funeral."
She fixed a small, precise smile and let her hands rest where a bride's should. Her palms trembled out of sight.
Rows of polished faces beamed back at her. All waiting for her to perform.
Her mother squeezed her hand. "Liveliness, darling. That's what they came to see."
Something inside her snapped.
Her head turned sharply, eyes flashing through the veil. "Isn't this what you wanted, Mother? A wedding?"
Her voice was low, but it cut like glass.
"You wanted a spectacle. Well, here it is. I gave it to you."
Her mother's smile did not falter, only the crack beneath it showed.
Hours later, the cheers still rang in her ears as Jake's hand gripped hers down the cathedral steps. To him, it was theatre. Every smile, measured. Every touch, solid.
She didn't pull away, she knew what was at stake.
"Smile," he murmured, low and commanding.
Her lips curved, but her eyes—those stubborn, watchful eyes—betrayed her. Jake's jaw ticked. He knew that look. He'd seen it across boardroom tables: a patience laced with rebellion. Useful in rivals. Dangerous in a wife.
The cameras hunted them like wolves until the limo door shut and silence finally settled.
Once inside the limo, she sat stiff, veil pushed back, satin bunched under her fingers. Jake loosened his tie and watched her like a man reading a file. Even caged, she kept her chin high. It almost made him smile. Almost.
"You did well in there."
"Like a trained actress?" she shot back.
"Like a bride."
The word landed cold. She exhaled, looking back at the blurred city outside, celebration for them, mourning for her.
"You'll get used to it," he said.
"And if I don't?"
"Then learn."
She met his eyes. "Why me, Jake? I've seen your type. Models draped on your arm, women you can buy, control, show off. I'm not them. So why me?"
A slow satisfied smirk. "Because I wanted something different. You looked like a fight worth having. And I love a challenge."
Her jaw tightened, but before she could reply, his voice dropped, cutting deeper.
"You don't run, Alexandra. You break, you bend, but you never run. And that's exactly what I need."
She laughed, low and bitter. "Don't romanticize it. We both know this isn't fate. It's a deal."
The contract. The invisible chain tighter than vows.
"Fair enough," he said, tilting his head. "I get my inheritance. You get peace from your mother and her matchmaking crusade. Eighteen months, and we're done. Clean. Simple."
The limo jolted. Light caught her ring, scattering diamonds like a taunt. She stared at it as if it mocked her. "Feels like a funeral."
Jake raised a brow. "You're the one who said yes."
Her eyes snapped to his, burning. "I said yes to the contract. Not to you."
He leaned closer. "Make no mistake. Eighteen months, you said yes to me. Better learn to play the part, baby."
"Can you not call me that, please?"
He smiled, amused by her irritation. The limo slowed, tires crunching over gravel. Alex's gaze snapped to the window and froze.
A house rose from the dark like a dream. white stone, lanterns, a fountain silver in the night. Too perfect. A rented fairy-tale. He saw the flicker in her eyes before she killed it.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "This… isn't your house."
"Of course not. Our show had to sell. Every wedding needs a honeymoon. This is ours, for the weekend."
She turned from the window, ice in her tone. "A rented fantasy. How fitting."
He offered his hand like a man who owned the night. She put hers in his, and something cold sank deeper. This contract wasn't about survival. It was about who would shatter first.
"Welcome to your honeymoon, baby. Cheer up," he said, as he led her into the house.