"Aslin Ventura, do you take Mr. Alexander Líbano to be your husband?"
"I do."
The words came out clear and strong. Aslin smiled up at Alexander, her heart so full it felt like it might burst. This was it. The moment she'd dreamed about since she was a little girl playing bride with bedsheets and wildflowers.
Alexander looked perfect in his black suit, his dark hair swept back, his jaw clean-shaven. Handsome didn't even begin to cover it. Every woman in the church probably envied her right now. Aslin Ventura, the lucky girl who'd caught the eye of Alexander Líbano. Wealthy, successful, untouchable Alexander.
The priest continued speaking, but Aslin barely heard him. She was too busy memorizing this moment.
Alexander's hand in hers, warm and solid.
She squeezed his fingers gently. He didn't squeeze back.
"You may kiss the bride."
Alexander leaned down. His lips brushed hers, soft and brief. Polite. Like he was kissing his aunt at a family gathering. Then he pulled away and turned to face the crowd, offering his arm.
Aslin took it, still smiling. Of course he was reserved. Alexander had always been private about affection. It was one of the things she'd found charming when they first met. He wasn't like other men who made grand gestures and empty promises. He was steady. Reliable. Real.
The reception was beautiful. Her mother had outdone herself with the planning. Their first dance was to a jazz standard. Alexander held her properly, led her smoothly through the steps.
But he never looked at her face. His eyes stayed fixed somewhere over her shoulder, distant and unreachable.
"Are you happy?" Aslin whispered.
"Of course." His response was automatic. Empty.
"You seem far away."
"Just tired. It's been a long day."
She wanted to push, to ask what was really wrong. But their families were watching. Friends were taking photos. This wasn't the time. Tonight, when they were alone, she'd talk to him. Really talk to him. They'd open a bottle of wine, curl up together, and she'd finally break through that wall he kept around himself.
Tonight everything would be perfect.
The penthouse Alexander owned downtown was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, modern furniture in shades of gray and white, art on the walls. Aslin had only been here twice before. Alexander had said he wanted to wait until after the wedding to really share his space with her.
She'd thought it was romantic. Now, standing in the massive living room in her wedding dress, she felt small. Out of place.
"I'll get us some wine," Alexander said, already moving toward the kitchen.
Aslin followed him. "Alexander, wait."
He paused, his back to her.
"Can we just... talk? For a minute?" She moved closer, reaching for his hand. "I feel like I barely saw you today. Like you were somewhere else the whole time."
"I was right there beside you." He pulled his hand away gently, opening a cabinet. "Red or white?"
"I don't care about the wine." Frustration crept into her voice. "I care about you. About us. This is our wedding night, and you're acting like I'm a stranger."
Alexander set down the wine bottle. Finally, he turned to face her. His expression was carefully neutral, giving nothing away. "What do you want me to say, Aslin?"
"I want you to tell me what's wrong. Why you've been so distant. If I did something—"
"You didn't do anything."
"Then what is it?" She stepped closer, close enough to touch him. "Talk to me. Please."
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Pain, maybe. Or regret. Then it was gone, shuttered behind that same polite mask.
"I'm tired," he said again. "Can we do this another time?"
But Aslin was tired too. Tired of being patient. Tired of pretending everything was fine when clearly it wasn't. She'd spent six months dating this man, and sometimes she felt like she didn't know him at all.
She reached up and loosened his tie, then started unbuttoning his shirt. If he wouldn't talk, maybe they could connect another way. Physical intimacy had always been easier for him than emotional vulnerability.
Alexander caught her hands. "Aslin—"
"Just let me in." She looked up at him, not bothering to hide the desperation in her voice. "Please."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then something in his expression shifted. Resigned. He pulled her close and kissed her, deeper this time. His hands moved to her back, finding the zipper of her dress.
They made it to the bedroom. Alexander was gentle. But there was something missing. Some spark or connection or warmth. He touched her like he was following a script. Like he was thinking about something else the entire time.
Afterward, he fell asleep almost immediately. Aslin lay beside him in the dark, listening to his breathing, feeling more alone than she'd ever felt in her life.
Something was wrong. Something had been wrong from the beginning, and she'd been too in love to see it.
She slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him. She wandered through the rooms, restless and aching.
Alexander's study was at the end of the hall. She'd only glimpsed it once before. He'd asked her not to go in there, said it was his private space for work. But she wasn't looking for work documents. She was looking for answers.
The room was neat.
Aslin moved to the desk. A silver picture frame sat facing down. She picked it up and turned it over.
Her breath caught.
It was Alexander. Younger, maybe five years ago. He was smiling, really smiling, in a way she'd never seen. His arm was around a woman. She was beautiful in a wild, untamed way. Dark hair tangled by wind, eyes bright with laughter, wearing a simple sundress and no shoes.
Aslin's hands started shaking.
She knew that face. She'd grown up with it. Fought with it. Loved it.
Iris.
Her sister. Her older sister who'd disappeared three years ago. Who'd left home after some huge fight with their parents and never came back. Who Aslin had tried to find, tried to contact, but it was like Iris had vanished completely.
Alexander knew Iris.
Alexander had been with Iris.
Aslin set down the frame with trembling fingers and pulled open the desk drawer. More photos. Dozens of them. Alexander and Iris at the beach. Alexander and Iris at some mountain cabin. Alexander and Iris tangled together in bed, her head on his chest, both of them peaceful and happy and so clearly in love it made Aslin want to vomit.
"Put that down."
She spun around. Alexander stood in the doorway, wearing only his pants. His face was no longer neutral. He looked stricken. Caught.
"You knew her." Aslin's voice shook. "You knew Iris. You were with her."
Alexander said nothing.
"How long?" The photos slipped from her fingers, scattering across the floor. "How long were you together?"
Still nothing.
"Answer me!" She was shouting now, tears streaming down her face. "You married me today. You stood in that church and made vows, and the whole time you were thinking about my sister. Weren't you?"
Alexander's jaw tightened. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat.
"Put that down."