Ava stood in front of the gilded mirror, dressed in a gown that fit like it was stitched into her skin. It was everything a girl might dream of-silk, lace, a train that swept the floor-but nothing about today felt like a dream.
No friends. No family. No joy.
Just vows written in ink and exchanged for her mother's life.
The stylist pinned a delicate diamond clip in her dark curls. "You look stunning," she offered softly.
Ava nodded, giving a half-smile. "Thanks," she whispered, her reflection unrecognizable.
The door creaked open, and Damien stepped in—no warning, no knock. His eyes scanned her slowly, stopping at her face.
"You clean up well," he said, like it was a compliment.
She turned to face him fully. "You know, some grooms wait at the altar."
"I don't like altars," Damien replied coolly. "Too symbolic. This isn't a love story, Ava."
She lifted her chin. "I'm aware."
He studied her for a moment. "After today, the press will have questions. Smile when needed. Stay by my side at events. And don't go digging."
"Digging for what?"
He ignored the question. "Your role is simple—act the wife. Be quiet. Keep your secrets. I'll keep mine."
Before Ava could respond, he was gone, leaving her standing in the silence he seemed to carry with him wherever he went.
**
The ceremony took place in the Devereux estate's private chapel—a room of stained glass and shadows. Only a handful of guests attended: lawyers, business associates, no one who would ask questions.
Ava walked down the aisle alone.
No music. No whispers of awe. Just footsteps echoing in a room colder than the winter air outside.
Damien stood at the end, dark suit, colder gaze.
The officiant rushed through the vows. Ava repeated them without thinking. Every word felt foreign on her tongue.
"Do you, Ava Whitmore, take Damien Devereux—"
"I do."
"And do you, Damien Devereux, take Ava Whitmore—"
"I do," he said without hesitation.
They signed the register. No kiss followed. Just a camera flash and a firm handshake with the lawyer who witnessed it all.
Married.
Just like that.
Ava felt nothing. No flutter in her chest. No nervous butterflies. Just the sensation of being locked in a deal that no longer belonged to her.
**
The reception was just as emotionless. A private dinner with hushed conversations and clinking wine glasses. Damien hardly looked at her, and when he did, it was with calculation, not affection.
Ava picked at her food.
Across the table, an older woman leaned in. "You're braver than I thought," she said with a wry smile. "Most women don't survive him."
Ava blinked. "Excuse me?"
The woman sipped her wine. "He doesn't love. Doesn't trust. And certainly doesn't play well with others. You're not his first contract bride, are you?"
Ava's blood ran cold. "No. I wasn't told that."
The woman tilted her head. "Then you should start asking better questions, Mrs. Devereux."
Before Ava could press for more, Damien appeared beside her, placing a hand on her back. "You've met my aunt Genevieve, I see."
"She was just telling me-"
"That dinner is over," he interrupted. "Come."
He led Ava away without another word. As soon as they were out of earshot, she jerked her arm free.
"Is that true?" she demanded. "Am I just one of many contract brides?"
Damien's expression remained unreadable. "You said it yourself-this isn't a love story. Stop trying to make it one."
She swallowed her pride, but the sting lingered.
"Then what is this, Damien?"
He stepped closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "It's survival, Ava. Just like you wanted."
And with that, he left her standing in a hallway full of oil paintings and secrets.
**
Later that night, Ava stood on the balcony of her new bedroom-if it could even be called hers. The city lights blinked in the distance. Far below, the ocean whispered, like it knew all the things she couldn't say aloud.
She heard the door open behind her but didn't turn.
"I'm not your enemy," Damien said.
"No? You treat me like a transaction."
He exhaled. "Because that's what this is."
"I may have signed papers, but I'm still human," Ava said, turning toward him. "I still feel things. I still bleed."
He didn't respond immediately. Then he said, "Feeling makes you weak. And I don't keep weak things close."
"Well," she said, voice trembling, "then maybe you married the wrong woman."
His eyes darkened, but he didn't speak again. He left her on the balcony, alone with the wind and her wedding ring.
**
The night passed slowly. Ava lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind a storm.
Damien was a riddle, wrapped in armor.
But she hadn't come here to fall in love.
She came to protect the only family she had left.
And if that meant unraveling Damien Devereux piece by piece… so be it.