POV: Ava Sinclair
They say the dress should make you feel beautiful.
But as I stared at myself in the mirror—wrapped in ivory silk and diamonds that probably cost more than my soul—I didn't see a bride.
I saw a bargaining chip.
Because that's all I've ever been in the Sinclair family.
My father, Richard Sinclair, wasn't a man who believed in soft things.
He believed in numbers, in deals, in building empires out of boardrooms and silence.
He once told me emotions were "luxuries for the poor."
So when his company began to crumble, it wasn't his pride he sacrificed—it was me.
A Sinclair daughter, wrapped in satin, traded for a lifeline.
And who better to sell me to than the man who already knew how to break me?
Grayson Hale.
My first love.
My greatest betrayal.
We were nineteen when we fell apart.
Young. Reckless. Blinded by love and surrounded by enemies who whispered poison.
One day, he was mine.
The next?
Gone.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Just silence, and a shattered version of myself in his place.
Now, years later, he's the CEO of Hale Industries.
Powerful. Untouchable. Ruthless.
And somehow, my fiancé.
Because when Richard Sinclair is desperate, no bridge is too burnt to rebuild—especially if it means saving his empire from collapse.
"Marry him," my father said, like it was a business arrangement.
Because to him, it was.
Grayson gets my hand. Richard gets the merger.
And I get nothing but a lifetime with the man who left me in ruins.
I smooth my hands over the dress, hating how perfect it fits.
Like it knew I'd never escape it.
There's a knock at the dressing room door.
My mother enters, all nerves hidden behind pearls and perfectly powdered skin.
"Ava, they're ready."
Of course they are. This isn't a wedding. It's a transaction.
I'm just the paperwork in a pretty dress.
"Smile, darling," she adds. "This is the best thing that could've happened."
I almost laugh.
The best thing?
The best thing would've been Grayson loving me enough to fight back.
To stay.
Not to vanish and return only when signatures were involved.
When the music starts, it feels like a funeral march.
I walk slowly, counting each step like it might be my last as a Sinclair and the first as a Hale.
My eyes find him at the altar.
And there he is.
Grayson.
Colder. Sharper.
Dressed in a tailored black suit, no tie, no smile—just clean edges and empty eyes.
He doesn't flinch when I reach him.
But his fingers twitch.
Good. Let him feel something. Even if it's regret.
"You look... exactly how I imagined," he says quietly.
"Do I?" I murmur. "Because the man I imagined marrying wouldn't be standing here like this."
His jaw flexes.
And then the priest starts speaking.
The vows blur. I hear them, but I don't feel them.
I repeat after him, numb.
Grayson says his lines like he's sealing a deal, not making a promise.
The ring is cold. Heavy.
I wonder if I can ever take it off.
And when the kiss comes, it's a formality.
Lips barely brushing.
The kind of kiss you give a stranger in front of cameras—not a wife you once swore you'd love forever.
We turn to face the crowd.
Applause erupts.
But all I hear is my heartbeat in my ears.
A slow, steady reminder:
This is not a beginning.
This is a consequence.
Of silence. Of cowardice. Of love that wasn't strong enough to survive the fire.
And now I'm chained to the ashes.
I keep my face neutral as we descend the steps of the altar, my hand tucked into the crook of Grayson's arm. His grip is firm but impersonal, like we're strangers playing dress-up in a romance neither of us believe in anymore.
Only the cameras believe. Only the crowd.
Not us.
His scent hits me — clean cedar, leather, something expensive and sharp — and suddenly I'm nineteen again, breathless in his arms, laughing in the back seat of his car as he promised we'd run away someday. That we'd make it, even if our families didn't approve.
Liar.
My heels click against the marble, echoing through the grand hall like the ticking of a time bomb. I wonder if anyone else can hear it. The countdown to collapse.
Because this marriage isn't built on love.
It's built on poison and paper rings.
And one of us is going to bleed.
Maybe it'll be me — again.
Maybe I'll spend the rest of this marriage pretending to be unbothered, while every glance, every cold word from Grayson slices another piece off my heart until there's nothing left but a hollow echo of the girl I used to be.
Or maybe... maybe it'll be him.
Maybe he thinks he's won — signing my name in ink and calling it closure.
But what he doesn't know is this time, I'm not that wide-eyed, naïve girl he left behind. I've learned how to smile through venom and strike without warning. If I'm going down in this marriage, I'm dragging him with me — no matter how many cameras are watching.
We face the guests now, plastered smiles painted over scars no one can see. Champagne is poured. Applause rises. Somewhere, a string quartet plays a love song that doesn't belong to us.
But Grayson leans in, just close enough that no one else hears him when he mutters,
"Welcome home, Mrs. Hale."
And I whisper back,
"Careful, Mr. Hale. Even queens know how to kill kings."
His lips twitch, barely, like he's amused. But his eyes — those storm-gray eyes that once looked at me like I hung the stars — don't hold laughter. They hold warning.
Challenge.
Like he's daring me to try.
And maybe I will.
Because this palace we're locked in is built on lies, and I'm no longer interested in being the pretty ornament on his arm. If I'm playing queen in this game, then I'll learn to move like one — with blood on my hands and revenge in my veins.
...........