never imagined my wedding day would feel like a funeral.
The hall was dressed in white—white flowers, white drapes, white lights glowing softly from crystal chandeliers. Everything looked pure, perfect, and painfully beautiful. Cameras flashed from every corner, capturing smiles that didn't belong to me. My lips were curved, but my heart felt heavier than it ever had in my entire life.
This wasn't a celebration.
It was a sacrifice.
I stood at the end of the aisle, my fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of my dress, forcing myself to breathe. The gown was expensive, custom-made, and far too beautiful for a bride who felt like she was walking toward her own execution. With every step forward, my chest tightened, as if invisible walls were closing in around me.
At the altar, he waited.
Tall. Calm. Impossibly composed.
His black suit fit him perfectly, sharp and intimidating, just like the man wearing it. He stood with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. His face held no trace of emotion—no excitement, no nervousness, not even mild curiosity.
Cold eyes. Calculating eyes.
Eyes that looked at me as if I were nothing more than a contract waiting to be signed.
This man was going to be my husband.
And he hated me.
I didn't know the full story behind his resentment. Only fragments—whispers, half-truths, warnings my mother refused to explain. All I knew was that my family had somehow crossed him, and he had decided this marriage would be the price we'd pay.
The first time we met, he hadn't even bothered with pleasantries.
"This is not a love marriage," he had said, his voice flat and emotionless, as if he were discussing a business merger. "You'll get what you want. I'll get what I want. Don't expect anything else from me."
I remembered how my hands had trembled in my lap as I nodded.
What I wanted was simple—to save my family. To stop the bank from seizing our house. To keep my father out of prison and my mother out of the hospital. I would have done anything for that.
Anything.
What he wanted, however, remained a mystery. And that scared me more than his hatred ever could.
Soft music filled the hall as the ceremony began, but the sound felt distant, like it was coming from another world. I barely registered the priest's words. My thoughts were trapped in memories—of sleepless nights, unpaid bills, my father's defeated eyes, my mother's silent tears.
Once you marry him, there's no turning back.
My mother's voice echoed in my head, breaking just as it had that night. She had held my hands so tightly, as if she could keep me from stepping into this fate simply by refusing to let go.
I reached the altar.
Up close, he looked even more unreal. Perfect features carved in stone. Not a single emotion slipped through his carefully controlled expression. When our eyes met, there was no warmth—only distance. Indifference.
The priest asked him the first question.
"I do," he replied immediately, without hesitation.
The words struck harder than I expected. Not because they were sincere, but because they were empty.
Then the priest turned to me.
My throat tightened. For a moment, I wondered what would happen if I said no. If I turned around and ran. The image lasted only a second before reality crushed it.
There was nowhere to run.
"I do," I whispered.
The moment the words left my lips, they tasted bitter. Final.
Applause filled the hall, loud and overwhelming, but it felt wrong—like celebrating something that had already died. Someone placed a ring on my finger. Gold. Heavy. Cold. A reminder of the cage I had just stepped into.
When the ceremony ended, he leaned closer, his voice low enough that only I could hear.
"Don't misunderstand," he said quietly. "This marriage changes nothing between us."
I swallowed hard, nodding. "I know."
"Good." His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Then we won't have any problems."
I wasn't sure whether that was a promise or a threat.
The reception passed in a blur. Congratulations, forced smiles, endless photos. He barely touched me unless the cameras demanded it. His hand on my waist felt distant, possessive in a way that made my skin prickle—not with desire, but with unease.
By the time we arrived at the mansion that would now be my home, the weight of the day finally crashed down on me.
The house was massive. Cold. Silent.
A place that didn't feel like home at all.
A servant showed me to the master bedroom, murmuring polite words I barely heard. The door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded far too loud in the empty space.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at me wore a crown of diamonds and exhaustion. A bride who looked more like a prisoner than a newlywed.
The door opened again.
He stepped inside, loosening his tie, his gaze flicking to me briefly before moving away.
"You'll have the room," he said. "I'll use the study tonight."
I blinked, surprised. "You don't have to—"
"I do," he cut in. His tone was firm, final. "This marriage exists only on paper. Don't forget that."
Then he turned and left, the door closing once more.
I let out a shaky breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Alone at last.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, my ring catching the light above me. Somewhere deep inside, a quiet fear took root.
This marriage wasn't built on love.
It wasn't even built on trust.
It was built on secrets, resentment, and something far darker than I was ready to face.
I didn't know it yet, but the man who had just become my husband would soon turn my world upside down.
And the hatred in his eyes would be the beginning of a love I never saw coming.