Chapter Six: The Wedding of the Century
Amara had never imagined her wedding day would arrive like this—dressed in silk worth more than her apartment, standing beneath chandeliers dripping with crystal, and about to marry a man she barely knew.
The bridal suite of the luxury hotel hummed with activity. Stylists flitted around her, adjusting curls, applying final touches of makeup, ensuring every detail screamed perfection. Amara sat in front of the gilded mirror, staring at her reflection in disbelief.
The gown was breathtaking: a fitted bodice adorned with pearls, the skirt flowing like liquid moonlight. On her finger sparkled a diamond ring that could pay off her family's debts three times over. She should have felt like a princess. Instead, her chest felt tight, as though she were a pawn on someone else's chessboard.
"You look stunning," Lila whispered, slipping into the room. Her eyes widened at the sight of Amara. "Oh my God, if I didn't know this was fake, I'd think you just won the lottery in husband material."
Amara let out a shaky laugh. "It's surreal. More like a role in a play."
"Then play it well," Lila said softly, squeezing her hand. "Because the whole world is watching."
And indeed, they were. Beyond the suite, paparazzi buzzed outside the hotel like a swarm of bees. Tabloid headlines screamed about Ethan Knight's secret bride, speculation running wild. The press had been denied entry, but that didn't stop the frenzy.
When the doors opened, Amara's heart stumbled. She stepped into the grand ballroom where rows of elegantly dressed guests whispered behind champagne flutes. The air was thick with curiosity, with judgment. Cameras from Ethan's carefully selected press partners captured every angle.
And there he was.
Ethan stood at the altar in a tuxedo tailored to perfection, his broad shoulders straight, his face carved in stoic composure. He didn't smile when he saw her. But his gaze locked on hers, steady, unwavering, as if daring her to falter.
Amara's legs wobbled as she walked down the aisle, each step echoing louder in her ears. By the time she reached him, her pulse was racing.
"You clean up well," Ethan murmured under his breath, offering his arm.
"So do you," she whispered back, though her throat was dry.
The officiant's voice rose above the murmur of the crowd. Words of vows—spoken like tradition but hollow with pretense—filled the air. Amara repeated them, her voice trembling, while Ethan's tone carried that same cool certainty that both unsettled and anchored her.
When the moment came for the kiss, her stomach lurched. This was the part the cameras would devour. She braced herself, tilting her chin up.
Ethan leaned in, slow and deliberate. His hand brushed her cheek lightly, and though she knew it was for show, the warmth of his touch sent a spark racing down her spine. Their lips met—not long, not deep, but long enough to make the audience sigh and the flash of cameras explode like fireworks.
When they pulled back, Ethan's arm slid around her waist, drawing her close. To the world, it looked tender, romantic. To Amara, it was a performance—yet one that left her breathless all the same.
The reception blurred into toasts and laughter. Amara smiled until her cheeks ached, clinking glasses with strangers who congratulated her on "winning Ethan's heart." The irony almost made her choke.
Later, as they stood for their first dance, Ethan's lips brushed her ear. "Remember, every eye is on us. Don't forget your role."
Amara forced a smile, letting him guide her across the dance floor. "I won't forget," she murmured.
But inside, a tiny voice whispered: What if this doesn't stay pretend?
---