Chapter 2

The car slowed as it turned onto a quiet road lined with towering trees. Their shadows stretched across the glass like skeletal fingers, clawing at the night. I clutched the bouquet tighter, though its weight felt unbearable, my knuckles white as bone.

The silence between us was thick, suffocating, each second dragging like an eternity.

Kenneth hadn’t looked at me again since he’d spoken. His gaze stayed fixed on the world outside, as if the blur of the city held all the answers he couldn’t find in me.

Finally, the car pulled to a stop in front of a mansion so large it swallowed the night. The house loomed over me, modern, sharp lines of glass and steel, glowing faintly from the lights within. It was beautiful, impressive even, but cold. Cold in a way that made my chest ache.

Home, they would call it. But it wasn’t mine. And I doubted it was his either.

The driver opened the door, and I stepped out, my gown sweeping across the stone driveway. The air was heavy with the scent of rain, though the sky hadn’t yet broken open. Kenneth walked ahead without a word, his strides purposeful, confident, as if he wanted to escape me rather than lead me inside.

I followed. Because what else could I do?

Inside, the house was even colder. Expensive chandeliers hung from the ceilings, the marble floors gleamed, and walls stretched high with art that looked like it had been chosen by decorators, not by someone who lived here.

The house felt empty despite its grandeur. No warmth. No laughter. No sign of life. Just walls echoing with silence.

Kenneth shrugged off his jacket and handed it to a waiting maid, his movements mechanical, practiced. I stood awkwardly by the door, clutching my bouquet like a lifeline until he turned to face me at last.

“You can sleep in the guest room.” His voice was clipped, detached.

A small part of me had braced for this, but the reality still stung. The words confirmed what I already knew, this wasn’t a marriage. It was a contract. And he had no intention of playing the part of a husband.

I lowered my gaze to hide the rush of heat behind my eyes. “Fine.”

Kenneth hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to say more, then turned away. His footsteps echoed against the marble as he disappeared down the hallway, leaving me standing alone in a house that wasn’t mine, wearing a gown that wasn’t mine, carrying a name that wasn’t mine.

And for the first time since the ceremony, the truth cut through me like glass:

I didn’t just lose myself today.

I had been sold.

The maid, an older woman with kind but cautious eyes, approached and gave me a polite nod. “This way, ma’am.”

I followed her up a grand staircase, the gown heavy against my legs. The hallways stretched endlessly, lined with doors that hid pieces of Kenneth’s world I wasn’t welcome to touch. Finally, she opened a door at the far end.

“This will be your room.”

The room was large, beautiful even, with a massive bed draped in soft linen and a window that opened to the night sky. But it felt… empty. Like a guesthouse inside a hotel.

I placed the bouquet on the dresser, petals already bruised from the day’s cruelty. My reflection in the mirror startled me, smudged makeup, pale skin, and eyes hollow with exhaustion. The veil slipped from my head and landed on the floor, and for a moment, I wanted to tear the gown from my body, to shred it until it was nothing but ribbons on the ground.

But instead, I sat on the edge of the bed, my back straight, my hands folded tightly in my lap. Waiting. For what, I didn’t know.

Maybe for the tears to come. Maybe for him. Maybe for something, anything, that might make me feel less like a prisoner.

But nothing came.

Only silence.

Sometime later, the door creaked open. Kenneth stood there, framed by the dim light of the hallway. His tie was gone, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, but his face was still as unreadable as stone.

“I’ll have someone bring you clothes tomorrow,” he said.

I nodded, unsure whether to thank him or stay silent.

He lingered at the doorway, his hand gripping the frame as if he were holding himself back. His eyes scanned the room briefly before landing on me. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw something there, a flicker of guilt, or maybe recognition. But it vanished before I could name it.

“This isn’t what I wanted either,” he muttered finally, his voice low, almost to himself.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Then why agree to it?”

His jaw tightened, his silence heavy. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. But then his eyes met mine, dark and haunted.

“Because sometimes,” he said slowly, “you don’t get a choice.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me in the quiet once more.

That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling. The bed was soft, the sheets cool, but I couldn’t sleep. My mind replayed every moment of the day—the roses scattering on the ground, the vows I didn’t mean, the kiss that wasn’t a kiss, the look in Kenneth’s eyes when he said he didn’t choose this either.

I thought of the girl I had been before all this. The girl who once dreamed of freedom, of healing, of maybe even love. And I realized that girl was gone.

In her place was a woman bound by broken pieces, tied to a man who carried his own shattered past.

And I didn’t know if we would destroy each other—or if, somehow, those broken pieces might fit together.

But tonight, all I knew was that I wasn’t ready to find out.

So I closed my eyes, clutching the pillow like it could keep me whole.

And I let the darkness swallow me.