ELENA'S POINT OF VIEW
As we stepped onto the dance floor, Nathan smiled warmly. "You survived the ceremony. Congratulations."
I laughed softly. "Barely."
"You looked beautiful up there," he said, his tone sincere. "I hope Alex told you that."
"He said I looked presentable."
Nathan's expression twisted into disbelief. "Presentable? That man is hopeless."
I laughed again, and this time it felt real.
We swayed gently to the music. Nathan was easy to talk to. Easy to be around. For a moment, I almost forgot the weight pressing down on my chest.
"Elena," he said quietly, his tone shifting. "If you ever need anything. Anything at all. You can come to me."
I looked up at him. His expression was serious now. Protective.
"Thank you, Nathan."
"I mean it," he said. "Marriage can be... complicated. Especially with someone like Alex."
I didn't know how to respond to that. So I just nodded.
When the song ended, Nathan walked me back to the table. Alex was watching. His eyes were sharp, cold, and calculating.
I sat down beside him, and he leaned in slightly, his voice low.
"Enjoy your dance?"
"Yes," I said carefully.
"Good." His tone was clipped. "Don't make it a habit."
Before I could respond, Victoria appeared, beaming. "It's time for the first dance. Come on, you two."
Alex stood without a word. He extended his hand toward me, and I took it, my pulse quickening.
We walked onto the dance floor together, and the music shifted to something slow and elegant. The guests watched as Alex placed one hand on my waist and took my hand in his.
We began to move.
His grip was firm but careful. His eyes stayed on mine, unreadable as always.
"You're doing fine," he said quietly.
"Thanks," I whispered.
"Don't thank me. Just keep smiling."
I bit back a response. This was Alex. Cold. Controlled. Impossible.
But then his hand tightened slightly on my waist. His thumb brushed against my side, so subtly I almost didn't notice.
My breath caught. I looked up at him, searching his face for something. Anything.
He looked away.
The music faded, guests applauded, and I expected him to walk off coldly like always. But he didn't.
Instead, he stepped forward and gently offered his arm, just enough to keep up appearances. His face remained unreadable, but his movements were smooth, practiced, like a man used to performing for a crowd.
We walked together, side by side, every step measured, like two people in love.
But I could feel the distance between us.
Just before we reached the table, Isabelle appeared with a bright smile and slipped her arm through mine.
"Mind if I steal the bride for a minute?" she said sweetly, already guiding me away.
Alex didn't say a word. He simply nodded once and turned toward his seat, the performance over.
I followed her outside, grateful for the cool night breeze.
"You okay?" she asked gently.
"I don't know," I admitted.
She smiled sadly. "He's difficult. I know. But he's not as cold as he pretends to be." She exhaled and added, "If he chose you to be his wife, it means he has feelings for you. So don't worry, okay? I believe he's in love with you, he just doesn't like showing it."
I looked at her. "How do you know?"
"Because I've known him my whole life." She squeezed my arm. "And I saw the way he looked at you tonight."
I managed a small smile at her words, but inside, I was stunned. If only she knew the truth, she wouldn't be saying any of this. We weren't in love, and deep down, I knew he didn't love me.
Inside, the celebration continued. Laughter. Music. Joy.
But all I could think about was the way Alex had kissed me. The way his hand had lingered. The way his voice had softened when he said my name.
And I realized something terrifying.
I was starting to care.
About a man who wasn't supposed to care back
The morning after the wedding felt strangely ordinary.
Alex and I had moved into his luxurious house. At first, I thought this would be the start of something real, just him and me. But he hadn't done much to make it feel like home. He gave me my own room, which I was glad for because I couldn't imagine sharing the same room with him. We had stayed together before, but I never liked it. He told me there were rooms I shouldn't go near, and of course, he had his own room too. It was clear he wanted his space just as much as I wanted mine.
That morning, after Alex left for work, the house felt too empty. His goodbye was short and cold, and as soon as he was gone, I couldn't stand the silence. I decided to come back to the Reyes mansion because it was where I felt less alone.
No sooner had I arrived than Richard appeared, already on a loud business call with a briefcase in hand. The staff moved efficiently, clearing the last traces of yesterday's celebration, acting like nothing had happened.
And me?
I stayed behind.
I sat in the sitting room with Victoria and Isabelle while sunlight poured through the tall windows. Victoria was embroidering something delicate, her hands moving with calm elegance. Isabelle scrolled through her phone, occasionally giggling and showing her mother something that made them both smile.
They included me in their conversation. They asked me questions. They made me feel welcome.
But I felt restless. Deeply restless.
I shifted for what felt like the hundredth time, my fingers tapping against the armrest. My gaze kept drifting toward the clock on the wall.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The sound started crawling under my skin.
Finally, I blurted out, "I need to do something."
Both women looked up. Victoria paused her stitching. Isabelle lowered her phone.
"What do you mean, dear?" Victoria asked gently.
"I cannot sit here doing nothing. I need to work. I need to keep myself busy."
Isabelle raised a brow. "Work? What kind of work do you do?"
I froze.
My mind jumped to hospital hallways, homes, mop buckets, disinfectant, aching arms, and tired feet.
But I could not say that.
"I used to model," I said instead, choosing my words carefully. "In Italy."
Victoria's face instantly brightened. "Oh yes. Alexander mentioned that. He said you were a model."
I forced a small smile. "Yes. But I do not know where to start here. I do not know any agencies."
"You should talk to Alexander," Victoria said warmly. "He will help you find one. I am sure he will be happy to."
Happy. Alex.
Two words that did not belong together.
"That is a good idea," I whispered.
Victoria stood and smoothed her dress. "Why don't you go see him now? Take one of the cars and one of the drivers."
"Now?"
"Of course. He is at the office, but he will not mind."
Isabelle grinned knowingly. "Tell my statue brother I said hello."
I laughed quietly. "I will."
Victoria accompanied me to the door and rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Elena. And do not let Alexander intimidate you too much."
Her kindness reminded me of my mother. It made something inside my chest ache.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Outside, one of the drivers was already waiting beside the car. He straightened the moment he saw me.
"Good morning, Mrs. Reyes."
I blinked.
Mrs. Reyes.
The name still felt like clothing borrowed from someone else.
"Oh. Yes. Good morning," I replied softly.
He opened the door for me and I slipped inside. The leather seats were impossibly soft. The air smelled new, expensive, unfamiliar. My entire life felt like a costume I was still learning how to wear.
The drive to Reyes Global Holdings passed in a blur of tall buildings and busy sidewalks. My stomach twisted with each passing minute.
When the car finally stopped in front of a massive glass tower gleaming under the sun, I felt suddenly small.
REYES GLOBAL HOLDINGS.
The letters were bold and unforgiving across the entrance.
The driver opened my door. "We have arrived, Mrs. Reyes."
My heels clicked against the pavement as I walked toward the revolving doors. The moment I stepped inside, heads turned. Whispers followed.
"Is that her?"
"Mrs. Reyes?"
"She is so young."
The receptionist stood immediately, her smile bright and professional. "Good morning, Mrs. Reyes. Welcome."
"Good morning," I murmured.
"Is Mr. Reyes expecting you?"
"No. I just wanted to see him."
"Of course. Please take the elevator to the top floor."
Her politeness felt like a spotlight.
The elevator ride was silent and smooth. I watched the numbers climb higher and higher.
Twenty. Thirty. Forty.
When the doors opened, I stepped into a hallway that looked like something out of a magazine. Cold. Beautiful. Intimidating.
At the end stood a large door.
Alex's office.
I took a breath and knocked.
No answer.
So I pushed the door open.
The room was full. At least ten people sat around a conference table. Henry stood at the front, mid-sentence, the screen behind him glowing with graphs and charts.
And there, at the head of the table, was Alex.