The suite was enormous, with windows stretching from floor to ceiling, flooding light across polished marble floors that shimmered like water. Velvet drapes framed the glass, their deep gold threads catching the sun as though woven with fire. A chandelier floated above, its crystals scattering rainbows across the walls and making the air glow with color. Everywhere I turned, there was beauty too intentional to be accidental: vases of fresh white lilies on the tables, their fragrance subtle yet commanding, silk cushions embroidered with patterns that lured the eye, and portraits in gilt frames that seemed to observe in silence from the walls.
It resembled less a room and more a stage set, curated so meticulously it felt as though the estate itself had been awaiting my arrival. Even the air carried a quiet welcome, perfumed, deliberate, almost rehearsed, as though every detail conspired to remind me that this night was not mine alone, but part of a grander performance, a story others had written long before I stepped into it.
Jaxon strode inside and let the door thud shut behind us, smothering the hum of the world outside. The stillness that followed enveloped us, solemn and deliberate, almost ceremonial, as though the house itself inclined its head in acknowledgment, offering silence as a blessing.
"This is…" I faltered, breath trapped between awe and unease, my fingers grazing the velvet arm of a chair sculpted with precision. "This is beautiful."
Jaxon's gaze settled on me. "It's yours," he said. The words reverberated through the room like a promise, like the final flourish on a gift too extravagant to touch.
I pivoted, drinking it all in. Every corner radiated design meant to dazzle, to remind me I was not merely stepping into a marriage but into a legacy, into a life gilded with gold. For a heartbeat, I surrendered to it, let myself love the brilliance, the sheer spectacle of being desired so completely that even walls and chandeliers seemed to stretch open in welcome, as though the room itself conspired to hold me within its glow.
I placed my veil on a chair, watching it quiver with the rhythm of my breath. "It feels… overwhelming," I confessed. "Everything is so perfect."
He smiled, a tilt of his lips, warm yet measured. "Perfection can feel like a suit of armor you cannot remove," he said, "but it does not have to suffocate you."
I yearned to believe him. I longed to release the tight coil knotted in my chest. Yet even as I ventured deeper into the room, my mind refused to silence the thought that I was being assessed, weighed, judged. The estate itself pulsed with awareness, every polished surface gleaming with expectation, every shadow waiting.
I drifted toward the window, tracing the horizon with my eyes. The city lights flickered in the distance, indifferent to the small dramas unraveling within a single room. And yet, inside me, the same nervous pulse throbbed. What had once appeared like a dream now loomed like a challenge, a trial I was not sure I could endure.
Jaxon approached, his presence steady. "You are thinking too much," he murmured, not as a rebuke but as an observation. "Trust me. Trust yourself." His breath lingered near my cheek, his nearness wrapping around me like a vow I was not certain I deserved.
I ached to trust him, this golden man who had chosen me above a world of polished heirs and perfect facades. But trust was slippery, and my fears, deep-rooted, inherited, familiar, relentless, were not so easily cast aside.
Outside, the estate had quieted. The gates had closed, the music faded, and the cheering of friends and neighbors seemed impossibly distant. But within these walls, another kind of sound lingered—expectations, secrets, promises unspoken. A restless weight settled in the room, heavier than the velvet curtains that sealed the windows. It pressed against my chest, thinning the air, making each breath shallow.
My pulse quickened though nothing stirred, the hush broken only by the faint ticking of the gilded clock on the mantel. Even that small rhythm grated, counting the seconds I could not escape. I clenched the edge of the sheets, knuckles whitening, while uncertainty crept over my skin like a cold draft. Every shadow seemed alive, every shift of the wind a whisper that tonight held more than vows—it carried truths waiting to surface.
And I could not help but wonder what tonight would unveil.