The moment he walked away, the air felt colder.
I stood alone in the hallway outside the wedding hall, my fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of my dress, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. My reflection stared back at me from the polished marble wall white gown, delicate veil, a bride who looked like she should be glowing with happiness.
Instead, my eyes were wide with fear.
Every secret begins as a little whisper.
His words replayed in my mind, soft and cruel.
"What did you mean?" I whispered to the empty corridor.
No answer came.
A bridesmaid appeared hesitantly at the far end of the hallway. "Madam," she said politely, "the car is ready. Your husband is waiting."
Your husband.
The words felt foreign, wrong.
I followed her in silence, my thoughts tangled and racing. Each step felt heavier than the last. I wanted to run to turn around and demand answers, to scream at him, to rip the mask off his face and see who he truly was.
But I didn't.
Because fear held me in place.
The car door opened smoothly, revealing him seated inside, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
As if he hadn't just shattered my world.
He looked up when I entered.
"Sit," he said simply.
I hesitated, then climbed into the car, my body stiff with tension. The door closed, sealing us inside a space that suddenly felt far too small.
The car moved.
Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy.
I stared out the window, watching the city blur past. My reflection overlapped with his in the glass two strangers bound together by vows neither of us had spoken honestly.
Finally, I couldn't bear it anymore.
"You lied," I said quietly.
"No," he replied calmly. "I omitted."
I turned sharply to face him. "You knew I was marrying you because of my past. You knew what he meant to me."
His gaze remained steady. "Yes."
"And you still let me walk down that aisle?" My voice trembled despite my effort to stay calm. "You still let me say yes?"
He studied me for a moment, as if weighing his response.
"You needed this marriage," he said. "And so did I."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It answers the only one that matters."
Anger flared in my chest. "You're cruel."
A faint curve touched his lips. "Cruelty implies enjoyment. This is necessity."
I laughed bitterly. "You talk like feelings are irrelevant."
"They are," he said flatly. "Yours included."
The words stung more than I expected.
I looked away, swallowing the ache in my throat. "Then why marry me at all? There are plenty of women who would throw themselves at you."
"None of them are you."
My breath caught.
"That's not romantic," I said quickly. "Don't pretend it is."
"I'm not pretending," he replied. "Romance is inefficient."
The car slowed, turning through tall iron gates into a private estate. My heart sank as I took in the massive mansion ahead—cold stone walls, towering windows, a place that felt more like a fortress than a home.
"This is where we'll live?" I asked softly.
"Yes."
"It doesn't feel… warm."
"It's not meant to."
The car stopped. A servant opened the door.
He exited first, then extended his hand toward me. I hesitated before placing mine in his. The contact sent a strange shiver through me—not comfort, not familiarity, but awareness.
His grip tightened slightly, possessive, deliberate.
Inside, the mansion was immaculate and impersonal. Everything gleamed. Nothing felt lived in.
"This is your room," he said after leading me upstairs.
I frowned. "Your room?"
"Our rooms," he corrected calmly. "Separate."
Relief washed over me before I could stop it.
He noticed.
"You look relieved," he observed.
"I didn't expect"
"I have no interest in forcing intimacy," he said. "Not yet."
I stiffened. "Not ever."
His gaze sharpened. "We'll see."
I stepped into the bedroom, setting my bouquet down with shaking hands. "You still haven't answered me."
"About what?"
"About him," I said, meeting his eyes. "My fiance."
A long pause followed.
Then he said, "You're not ready for that answer."
"Don't decide that for me."
"I already have."
I clenched my fists. "You said he's not as gone as I think. What does that mean?"
His expression darkened, something dangerous flickering beneath the calm surface.
"It means," he said quietly, "that some people disappear because they're taken."
My blood ran cold.
"Taken… by who?"
He stepped closer, invading my space, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
"By choices," he said. "By mistakes. By people who wanted what they had."
My heart raced. "Did you"
"No," he interrupted sharply. "Careful. Accusations have consequences."
I recoiled, fear mixing with anger. "Then why say such things? Why torment me?"
"Because lies would be kinder," he replied. "And kindness is not something I offer easily."
Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
"You're a monster," I whispered.
His expression didn't change. "And yet, you said yes."
The doorbell echoed faintly downstairs.
"Rest," he said, turning away. "We'll attend the reception later."
As he reached the door, I spoke again.
"You know him, don't you?"
His hand paused on the handle.
"I know him," he said quietly. "Better than you ever did."
Then he left.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my body trembling.
The man I married wore my fiancé's face.
And somehow… he knew him intimately.