The heavy oak doors of the grand cathedral creaked open, spilling golden light across the crimson carpet. Dozens of heads turned in unison, their whispers echoing under the high vaulted ceiling.
"She's not the one…" a woman murmured.
"Where's her sister? This wasn't the arrangement."
"Poor girl. Imagine being a substitute on her own wedding day."
Elena Hart felt her throat tighten as the whispers surrounded her like invisible chains. Her heels clicked softly against the marble, each step dragging her closer to a fate she had not chosen. The bouquet in her hands trembled so violently that the stems nearly snapped.
Her veil concealed her expression, but she knew the pity in their eyes. She was not the bride people had come to see. She was the one her family had thrown into the fire to save themselves.
And at the end of the aisle stood the man who was now her husband.
Alexander Reid.
The infamous cold-blooded CEO. The king of the corporate world. A man feared for his ruthless business tactics and admired for his towering presence.
Even dressed in an immaculate black suit, he exuded danger more than elegance. His gaze, sharp and unfeeling, fixed on her as though she were nothing more than an inconvenience. His sculpted face showed no emotion, no hint of warmth.
Her heart pounded painfully in her chest.
This wasn't marriage.
This was an exchange.
Her freedom for her family's survival.
---
The priest's voice boomed across the hall, speaking of love, unity, and vows. Each word stabbed at her like cruel irony.
"Do you, Elena Hart, take this man…"
Her lips parted, the words trembling as they fell out. "I… do."
It sounded more like surrender than consent.
"And do you, Alexander Reid, take this woman…"
"I do." His voice was deep, steady, but utterly devoid of feeling.
The priest smiled and raised his hands. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
The world seemed to hold its breath. Elena's pulse quickened. Alexander bent down, his shadow engulfing her. His lips brushed hers lightly—a fleeting touch, calculated, cold. A kiss meant for the cameras, not for her.
Click. Click. Click.
The photographers captured the moment from every angle, but Elena felt nothing except the bitter sting of humiliation. Her first kiss as a bride was emptier than silence.
---
The reception glittered with crystal chandeliers and golden drapes, laughter ringing from every corner. But Elena sat stiffly beside her new husband at the grand table, her smile fragile, her heart heavy.
Alexander barely spared her a glance. His attention was consumed by conversations with other powerful men—business mergers, stock forecasts, overseas ventures. Not once did he look at the woman beside him.
The guests, however, looked plenty.
"She's trembling. Look at her hands."
"She doesn't even compare to her sister."
"Will she last a year in that man's house?"
Their words were daggers wrapped in velvet. Elena kept her eyes lowered, her cheeks burning, forcing herself not to break.
A woman in a crimson dress leaned over with a glass of champagne, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Congratulations, Mrs. Reid. Though, if I recall correctly, this wedding was meant for someone else in your family, wasn't it?"
Elena's fingers tightened around her fork. She forced a smile. "Fate has a way of surprising us, doesn't it?"
The woman chuckled, amused at her composure, then drifted away. Elena's heart raced, but she lifted her chin slightly. If they wanted her to crumble, she wouldn't give them that satisfaction.
At that moment, Alexander finally leaned toward her. His cologne was sharp, intoxicating, but his voice froze her veins.
"Don't mistake this for anything it isn't." His words were low, meant only for her ears. "You are my wife in name only. Keep quiet, follow the rules, and this year will pass quickly. The less you try to matter, the better for both of us."
Her fork clattered against the plate. She stared at him, stunned, humiliation searing her skin. She wanted to demand why he agreed to this marriage at all if he despised her so much. But her pride warred with her fear.
In the end, she bit her tongue and nodded.
---
Hours later, their black luxury car pulled into the driveway of a sprawling estate. The mansion loomed before her, its black stone walls and towering silver gates bathed in moonlight. Beautiful, yes, but in its beauty lay a chilling grandeur that made her stomach twist.
The butler bowed deeply. "Young Master, Madam."
Elena's heart fluttered at the word Madam. For the first time that day, something belonged to her. But the feeling vanished as Alexander strode past the staff without acknowledgment, his footsteps echoing sharply across the marble.
"Your room is in the east wing," he said flatly, his back to her.
Her lips parted in disbelief. "Not… with you?"
Finally, he turned. His gaze was colder than the night air. "I don't share my room. Don't test me, Elena."
Her chest constricted. She swallowed the sting of rejection and lowered her eyes. "I understand."
---
That night, she sat alone in the room prepared for her. The walls were lavish, decorated with silk curtains and crystal lamps, but they felt like prison bars. She slipped out of her wedding dress, folding it carefully as though it still held meaning.
Her reflection in the mirror startled her. Red-rimmed eyes, pale cheeks, trembling lips. She looked like a ghost wearing silk.
For years, she had dreamed of marrying someone who would love her, even if he wasn't perfect. She had dreamed of laughter, warmth, and a partner who would see her as more than a pawn.
But reality had given her Alexander Reid.
She climbed into the massive bed alone, the sheets cold against her skin. Her tears slipped silently onto the pillow.
Her heart whispered: This is not love. This is survival.
Yet, as the clock ticked softly in the silence, another thought formed, steady and stubborn.
If I must endure this year, I won't simply endure. I will prove I am not just a substitute, not a mistake. And maybe… just maybe… I will find the warmth buried beneath his frozen heart.
With that vow, Elena closed her eyes. She did not know what tomorrow would bring, but she knew this: she would not be broken so easily.
The night stretched long and silent. In another wing of the mansion, Alexander sat in his study, a glass of whiskey in hand. He stared at the flickering fireplace, his mind replaying the bitterness of the past he never spoke of.
He thought of his new bride only once before pushing the thought aside.
"She won't last," he muttered to himself. But deep inside, a sliver of doubt tugged at him—an unspoken fear that this woman, unlike anyone before, might slip through the cracks in his carefully built ice.