People say you never forget the face of the person you love.
They're wrong.
You don't forget it not because it's unforgettable, but because it becomes a wound that never heals. A picture burned so deeply into your mind that even time is powerless against it.
I learned that truth on the day I got married.
The wedding hall was silent in that heavy, suffocating way that only expensive places manage to be. White roses lined the aisle, their scent thick in the air, sweet enough to make my head spin. Crystal chandeliers hung above, throwing soft golden light onto polished marble floors.
Everything was perfect.
Too perfect.
My hands trembled beneath the lace gloves as I stood at the entrance, my arm looped through my uncle's. The orchestra began to play, slow and ceremonial, each note echoing through my chest like a countdown.
This was it.
Marriage.
A contract dressed up as love.
I inhaled deeply, forcing my feet to move as the doors opened and all eyes turned toward me. Guests whispered softly, admiring, judging, speculating. I felt their stares like needles against my skin.
I kept my gaze lowered.
I didn't want to see him yet.
I already knew what kind of man I was marrying cold, distant, powerful. A billionaire who needed a wife for appearances, and I needed protection for my family. A deal made with calm voices and steady signatures.
No emotions involved.
That was what I kept telling myself.
Step by step, I walked down the aisle. My heartbeat grew louder with every movement, until it drowned out the music, the whispers, even my own thoughts.
Then I lifted my eyes.
And the world stopped.
The man standing at the altar looked exactly like the man who disappeared three years ago.
Same sharp jawline.
Same straight nose.
Same eyes dark, deep, and impossibly familiar.
My fiance.
My missing fiance.
The one who vanished without a trace on a rainy night, leaving behind a shattered engagement ring and a lifetime of unanswered questions.
My breath left my body in a silent gasp. My knees weakened, and I stumbled.
"Careful," my uncle murmured, tightening his grip on my arm.
I couldn't hear him.
I couldn't hear anything.
All I could see was that face.
No.
It couldn't be.
This was impossible.
My heart pounded so violently it hurt. My vision blurred as tears welled up, but I forced them back, afraid that if I blinked, he would disappear.
But he didn't.
He stood there calmly, tall and composed in a black tailored suit, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable.
He was real.
He was here.
My lips parted, and a name almost escaped.
But before I could say it, his eyes met mine.
And that was when I knew.
This man was not the one I loved.
The eyes were the same but empty. Cold. Detached. They held no recognition, no warmth, no shock at seeing me.
Only sharp assessment.
Like I was a problem he had already calculated the solution for.
Fear crept into my chest, wrapping around my heart.
The music ended. I reached the altar in a daze, barely registering when my uncle placed my hand into his.
His palm was warm.
Too warm.
The man leaned closer, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
"Don't faint," he said calmly. "It would complicate things."
I froze.
That voice
It wasn't the voice I remembered whispering promises to me under moonlit skies.
It was colder. Deeper. Controlled.
I stared at him, my throat tight. "You" My voice broke. "Who are you?"
His lips curved slightly not a smile, but something close to amusement.
"That," he said quietly, "is a question you should not ask today."
The officiant cleared his throat and began speaking, his words blurring together into meaningless noise.
I stood there like a statue, my mind screaming.
If this wasn't my fiance… then why did he have his face?
Why did he look at me like he knew me better than I knew myself?
I swallowed hard. "You look exactly like someone I loved."
"I know."
The word was soft. Too soft.
My chest tightened. "How can you say that so calmly?"
"Because," he replied, eyes forward now, as if listening to the vows, "panic won't change reality."
Reality.
That word felt cruel.
The officiant asked if anyone objected.
For one terrifying second, I wanted to scream.
Instead, silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.
"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the officiant asked.
I didn't hear the rest.
I looked at him again, searching for something anything that would tell me this was all a mistake.
He finally turned to face me fully.
Up close, the resemblance was devastating.
But there were differences.
My fiance used to smile with his eyes. This man didn't smile at all.
My fiance's touch was gentle. This man's grip was firm, possessive, unyielding.
And my fiance would never look at me like I already belonged to him.
"Say yes," he murmured.
I shook my head slightly. "I don't even know your name."
His gaze darkened.
"You know it," he said. "You've said it many times before."
My heart skipped painfully.
The guests waited. The officiant cleared his throat again.
Time pressed down on me from all sides.
My family needed this marriage. They needed his protection. Walking away now would destroy everything.
I closed my eyes.
"Y-yes," I whispered.
The word tasted like betrayal.
The officiant moved on. "And do you take this woman"
"I do," the man interrupted smoothly, before the question even ended.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
His hand tightened around mine.
The ceremony concluded in a blur. Applause filled the hall, but it felt distant, unreal.
I had just married a stranger wearing the face of the man I loved.
As we walked back down the aisle, his grip never loosened.
When the doors closed behind us, cutting off the noise, he finally spoke again.
"You did well," he said calmly.
I yanked my hand free, turning to face him. "Who are you?"
His eyes lowered to me, sharp and unreadable.
"My name," he said, "is the least dangerous thing about me."
A chill ran down my spine.
"And your fiancé?" he continued softly. "He's not as gone as you think."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "What do you mean?"
He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear.
"I mean," he whispered, "every secret begins as a little whisper."
Then he straightened and walked away, leaving me frozen in the hallway newly married, deeply afraid, and trapped in a mystery that had already begun.