The words "I do" left Elena's lips almost without a sound, a fragile whisper nearly swallowed by the grandeur of the church. But to Ethan, that whisper echoed in his chest like the victorious boom of a cannon. Before God and hundreds of witnesses, the contract had been sealed. Elena Watson was now Elena Riels. His wife. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to feel a flicker of triumph.
That feeling vanished in an instant when he looked at his wife's face. There was no happy blush, no relief. Only a cold resignation in her beautiful eyes, as if her soul had already left her body behind at the altar with him. Ethan understood. He may have won the marriage, but the war for his wife's heart had only just begun.
Their wedding reception was a masterpiece of planning. The Ritz-Carlton's Grand Ballroom was transformed into a fantasy forest, with thousands of white lilies—Elena's favorite flower—filling the air with their sweet, intoxicating aroma. Dom Pérignon champagne flowed like water, and the guests, a who's who of the country's most influential people, chatted with a laughter that sounded hollow to Ethan's ears.
He and Elena played their parts perfectly. They stood greeting guests, accepting congratulations, and smiling for hundreds of photos. Ethan rested his hand on Elena's waist, a possessive gesture that felt so right and yet so wrong. Every time he did, he felt the muscles in her body tense for a moment, a subtle rejection only he could feel.
"You make such a lovely couple!" a distant aunt praised. "Ethan, you are so lucky."
"I'm the luckiest man in the world," Ethan replied, smiling and tightening his hold. Elena offered only a faint smile, a beautiful curve of her lips that never reached her eyes.
The most painful moment came when Nathan approached their main table. Elena's face, which had been stiff and polite, suddenly lit up. A genuine light illuminated her eyes as she laughed at a joke Nathan made about a childhood incident. That laugh, free and melodious, was a sound Ethan would have traded all his wealth to hear. And it was not for him. Ethan just sat there silently, a king on his throne, yet feeling like an invisible beggar.
"And now," the MC's voice boomed, pulling Ethan from his contemplation. "Let's welcome to the dance floor, for their first dance as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Ethan Riels!"
Thundering applause erupted. This was it. The moment he could hold his wife legitimately, without pretense.
Ethan stood and offered his hand. "Mrs. Riels?"
Elena stared at his hand for several seconds before accepting it with a slow, reluctant movement. Ethan led her to the center of the dance floor. As he placed one hand on her slim waist and the other took her fingers in his, a tremor ran through him. So close, yet it felt like an invisible chasm lay between them.
A classic ballad began to play. Ethan led them in a slow, graceful dance.
"I know this is difficult for you," Ethan whispered, his voice low, just for the two of them. "But I promise I will make you happy, Elena."
He hoped to see a hint of softness, just a flicker of doubt in his wife's eyes. But what he received was a piercing, cold glare. The smile on Elena's face vanished the moment they were slightly away from the crowd.
As the beautiful music reached its final note and the applause sounded again, Elena immediately pulled her hand from Ethan's grasp.
"If you truly wanted me to be happy," she whispered, her voice as sharp as a shard of ice, "you would know that this is Nathan's favorite song."
Before Ethan could process those stabbing words, Elena turned her back on him. She walked away gracefully, past her own father who was preparing to dance with her. She walked straight toward Nathan, who looked at her in confusion.
In front of hundreds of guests, under the glare of the spotlights, Elena Riels, the bride, extended her hand to her brother-in-law.
"Nathan," she said, her voice carrying clearly in the awkward silence. "Give me this dance."
Ethan's world seemed to collapse. He could only stand frozen, alone in the middle of the vast dance floor, the center of a perfect humiliation.