"I now pronounce you husband and wife."
The words echoed in my ears like a final verdict.
Before I could even react, he took my hand—firm, steady, like he was used to being in control—and slid the ring onto my finger.
Applause filled the hall.
Smiles.
Cheers.
Celebration.
But none of it reached me.
Because this wasn't a wedding.
It was a transaction.
"Smile," he whispered under his breath.
I forced my lips to curve, even though it felt unnatural. Cameras flashed instantly, capturing a moment that meant nothing to either of us.
To them, we were a perfect couple.
To me, this was the beginning of something dangerous.
⸻
The reception was exhausting.
People kept coming—congratulating, smiling, talking.
"You're so lucky," one woman said, eyeing me from head to toe.
Lucky?
If only she knew.
I stood beside him, silent, playing my role. But he… he was different.
Calm.
Collected.
Perfect.
Like this was just another business deal to him.
"You're doing well," he said suddenly, not looking at me.
I frowned slightly. "At what? Pretending?"
"At not causing a scene," he replied.
I let out a small laugh. "Don't get used to it."
This time, he turned to look at me. His eyes were sharp, studying me like I was something he couldn't quite figure out.
"Trust me," he said quietly, "I won't."
⸻
Hours later, we finally left.
The moment we stepped into the car, the silence between us became suffocating.
No music.
No conversation.
Just tension.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His face was unreadable, his focus straight ahead.
"Are you always this quiet?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"Yes."
That was it.
No explanation.
No effort.
Just one word.
I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my seat.
Great.
I had just married a stranger who barely spoke.
⸻
When the car finally stopped, my breath caught.
The house—no, mansion—stood tall and intimidating, its bright lights cutting through the night.
Of course.
A man like him wouldn't live anywhere ordinary.
As we stepped inside, I felt it immediately.
Cold.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
This place didn't feel like a home.
"Your room is upstairs," he said, already walking away.
I blinked. "Your room?"
He stopped and turned slowly.
"I don't share."
For a second, I just stared at him.
"So… we're married, but living separately?"
"We are married on paper," he said calmly. "Nothing more."
Something about his tone annoyed me.
"Don't worry," I replied, folding my arms. "You're not my type anyway."
A flicker of something crossed his face—brief, almost unnoticeable.
"Good," he said. "That makes things easier."
⸻
Later that night, I sat alone in the unfamiliar room.
Everything was perfect.
Too perfect.
The bed.
The furniture.
The silence.
I looked down at the ring on my finger, my expression hardening.
"They think they've won," I whispered.
My grip tightened slightly.
"They think they've trapped me."
A slow smile formed on my lips.
"But they have no idea who they've just brought into their home."
Because I wasn't weak.
I wasn't helpless.
And I definitely wasn't done.
This marriage…
Was just the beginning.