Chapter Seven: Bound by Vows

Skyla's pov

“I can’t do this.”

The words slip out before I can stop them, my hands trembling as Emma fastens the last button on my gown. The silky white fabric clings to me like a second skin elegant but suffocating. My heart pounds so loudly it drowns out the distant hum of the wedding march playing in the chapel below.

“You can and you will,” Emma says softly, squeezing my shoulders. “Look at me, Sky.”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. She looks beautiful sleek black dress, lips painted a daring red but beneath the glamour, her worry is clear.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I murmur, shaking my head. “This isn’t real.”

Emma sighs, her hands lingering on my shoulders. “I know. But you’re stronger than this. And maybe… maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”

A bitter laugh escapes my throat. “I’m marrying a man I barely know because my father threatened to destroy my life. It doesn’t get much worse.”

Emma flinches, but her voice stays firm. “And yet, here you are. Standing tall, looking like a damn queen.” She pauses, her tone softening. “Do this on your terms, Sky. No one can take that from you.”

Before I can respond, a knock sounds at the door. My father.

“It’s time,” he announces, his voice cool and business-like. No warmth. No hesitation. Just the sound of a man who always gets what he wants.

I draw in a shaky breath as Emma leans in close. “I’m right here. And remember, if you ever need to leave ”

“I know,” I whisper. “Your door is always open.”

Her eyes search mine, but before she can say more, I turn toward the door. There’s no point in dragging this out. Every second feels heavier, like the walls are closing in.

A minute later, I’m standing at the chapel entrance, my arm tucked into my father’s. My heart thunders in my chest as I stare down the aisle.

Alonso Ignacio waits at the end of it.

Tall. Imposing. His black tuxedo is a study in perfection just like the man wearing it. His face, as cold as the marble beneath my feet, gives nothing away. But his eyes… they burn into me, dark and unreadable.

A shiver runs through me, and I can’t tell if it’s fear or something else.

“You’re doing the right thing,” my father murmurs, his fingers curling tight around my arm. “Don’t forget that.”

His grip is firm like a warning. Like he’s daring me to mess this up.

I want to scream.

But instead, I smile.

I’ve gotten good at pretending.

The walk feels endless, the weight of every unspoken truth pressing down on me. My gown trails behind me, whispering against the marble floor, but my legs feel heavy like they don’t belong to me.

I keep my chin up. If I falter now, I’ll never recover.

When we reach the altar, Alonso extends his hand. His touch is warm unexpectedly so. For a moment, I falter, staring up at him. There’s no trace of warmth in his expression, just the same distant mask he’s worn since the day we met.

But beneath that… there’s something else. A flicker of hesitation?

It’s gone before I can name it.

The officiant begins speaking, but his words barely register. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out everything else. I only catch fragments love, honor, duty.

Things that mean nothing in a marriage like this.

“Skyla Parker,” the officiant’s voice pulls me back to the present, “do you take Alonso Ignacio to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

I swallow hard, the weight of the question heavier than I expected.

This is it. The point of no return.

“I, Skyla Parker, take you, Alonso Ignacio, to be my lawfully wedded husband.” My voice is steady, but it doesn’t feel like mine. “I promise to stand beside you, to honor and respect you. I vow to be a mother figure to your child and to fulfill my duties as your wife, for as long as this union shall bind us.”

The words taste like lies on my tongue. But I say them anyway.

When I finish, I force myself to meet his gaze. Alonso’s face remains impassive, but something flickers in his eyes something too fleeting to grasp.

His turn.

“I, Alonso Ignacio, take you, Skyla Parker, to be my lawfully wedded wife,” he says smoothly, the words falling from his lips like a script he’s memorized. “I vow to protect and support you. I promise to provide for you and to ensure you want for nothing, for as long as this union remains.”

No love. No warmth.

Only duty.

“And now,” the officiant says, “you may kiss the bride.”

I brace myself for it ,the kiss that will seal this deal. My heart hammers against my ribs as Alonso takes a step closer.

For one insane moment, I wonder if he’ll surprise me. If maybe just maybe he’ll drop the cold façade and kiss me like he means it.

His hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. My breath hitches, and for a heartbeat, the world feels impossibly still.

And then

He leans in, his breath warm against my skin. But instead of capturing my lips, he presses a kiss to my cheekbone.

Soft. Brief.

Like I’m something fragile he doesn’t want to break.

A murmur ripples through the crowd, a mixture of surprise and speculation. My stomach twists in response.

When he pulls back, his expression is unreadable. Cold. Distant.

The rejection cuts deeper than it should.

I force a smile for the cameras, letting them capture the perfect image of a happy bride. But inside, a single question burns:

Why didn’t he kiss me?

Was I already a disappointment?

Alonso offers his arm, and I take it, my fingers curling against the expensive fabric of his tuxedo. Together, we turn to face the crowd. Applause erupts loud and bright but it feels distant, like I’m hearing it through glass.

I scan the sea of faces, searching for one in particular. When I find Emma, she’s already watching me. Her smile is warm, but her eyes tell a different story.

If you need to leave, you know where to find me.

I tear my gaze away before the truth can unravel me.

Beside me, Alonso stands tall, his posture flawless. To the world, we are the perfect newlyweds - glamorous, poised, untouchable.

But as we step away from the altar, arm in arm, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.

And what happens now?