The morning after the wedding felt unreal. Sunlight spilled through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the room, but it did nothing to warm the tension that lingered in the air. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, trying to convince myself that what happened last night was just a dream. But the faint scent of his cologne, lingering on the sheets, reminded me otherwise.
He was sitting in the armchair across the room, arms crossed, eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the window. There was a silence between us, heavy and suffocating, as if every word might ignite a storm we weren't ready to face. I wanted to speak, to break the fragile barrier, but the truth weighed too heavily on my tongue.
"You're quiet this morning," he finally said, his voice low but not unkind.
I glanced up, meeting his gaze for a fleeting second before looking away. "I… just didn't sleep well." The lie came out easily. I wasn't used to hiding behind words, but with him, it felt safer.
He stood and walked toward the balcony, the morning breeze brushing against his dark hair. "Neither did I," he admitted, almost too quietly to hear. "But that doesn't mean we can ignore what's happened."
Ignoring him wasn't an option. Not after last night, not after the vows that had tied us together in a bond I never wanted. My chest tightened. "We didn't choose this," I whispered. "Why are we pretending we did?"
He looked at me then, really looked, and I felt an unsettling flicker of something unspoken—regret, maybe, or something darker. "Because life doesn't always give you a choice. But it gives you decisions. And how we move forward… that's still ours."
His words should have comforted me, but instead, they made me restless. Moving forward with him seemed impossible. Every glance, every hesitant step toward normalcy was like walking on broken glass. And yet… there was something compelling about the way he carried himself, the subtle way his presence filled the room even without touching me.
I wanted to hate him. I wanted to run as far from this life as I could. But as I watched him gaze out over the city skyline, I realized that anger and fear weren't the only emotions tangled up in this forced marriage. There was curiosity too—terrifying and undeniable.
"What now?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He turned to me with a faint, enigmatic smile. "Now… we survive," he said. "Together, whether we like it or not."
I swallowed hard. Survive. Together. The words felt heavier than any promise, yet lighter than any threat. And in that moment, I understood that this marriage wasn't just a trap. It was a battlefield. And somehow, we were both soldiers.