chapter one

Chapter One

The Unwanted Bride

The white dress felt like a joke.

It wasn't tailored for her—it belonged to someone else. Someone wanted. Someone chosen. Sienna stood in front of the gilded mirror, the delicate lace digging into her skin like a reminder: you don’t belong here.

“You look beautiful,” her stepmother, Vanessa, cooed behind her with a venom-laced smile. “Just don’t embarrass us in front of the Westwoods.”

Sienna didn’t respond. She had learned long ago that silence was safer than defiance.

The whispers in the Westwood estate had already started. Servants passed by with sideways glances, eyes flickering over her dress, her hands, her face. The girl born from scandal, marrying into gold.

She was nothing but an arrangement.

A deal.

A shameful attempt to restore what little dignity her father’s family had left.

“Let’s go,” Vanessa snapped. “Your husband doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Husband.

The word made her chest tighten.

Sienna had only met Damien Westwood twice. Once at the engagement dinner, where he didn’t say a single word to her, and the second time at the legal signing of their marriage documents. He hadn’t looked at her once during the entire process. His attention was on the woman beside him—some blonde bombshell with lips as red as blood and eyes that dripped confidence.

And now, she was going to be his wife.

Sienna blinked back the sting in her eyes and turned away from the mirror. Her mother had died giving birth to her, and her father—rich, powerful, and married—had only taken her in because his wife demanded it to save face. Growing up in his mansion, she was the living reminder of his infidelity. She was treated like dust—swept aside, spoken to only when necessary.

And now they were using her again. Like a bargaining chip.

She walked down the long, marble corridor, every step echoing the emptiness inside her. The private ceremony was being held in the Westwood’s estate garden—lavish, elegant, and filled with people who didn't want her there.

Damien stood by the altar in a black tux, towering, broad, his dark hair swept back, revealing a cold, sculpted face that looked carved from stone. His expression didn’t change when she approached. He didn’t even look at her.

Only when the officiant said, “You may now kiss the bride,” did he finally turn his head, gaze piercing and disinterested.

He didn’t kiss her.

He turned away.

---

The reception was worse. Damien disappeared before the first dance. Sienna was left alone, seated at a massive table surrounded by strangers and whispers.

“She’s not even that pretty.”

“He could do so much better.”

“Poor Damien. First time he’s ever done something for the family.”

She clenched her fists beneath the table, nails digging into her palms. The food was untouched. The champagne warm.

When it was finally over, and the last guest had left, Sienna was escorted to their bedroom.

A cold, empty room with a single large bed, untouched sheets, and no sign of the groom.

The butler cleared his throat awkwardly. “Mr. Westwood… won’t be joining you tonight, ma’am.”

Her voice barely came out. “Where is he?”

The man hesitated, eyes filled with pity. “Out.”

She already knew what that meant.

She stood by the window in her wedding dress for hours, staring out into the darkness. The estate was quiet, the stars mockingly bright. And somewhere out there, Damien was probably in another woman’s bed.

On their wedding night.

She refused to cry.

---

Damien

The woman beneath him moaned his name like a prayer, nails scratching down his chest.

But his mind was elsewhere.

He should’ve gone home. Should’ve at least acknowledged the girl they forced him to marry. But the moment he saw her standing in that dress, something twisted in his chest—something he didn’t want to name.

So he ran.

Sex was easy. It never demanded more than a few hours of his time and a bottle of expensive wine. Feelings? That was a different battlefield. One he refused to fight on.

He left before sunrise. Alone.

When he returned home, the bedroom lights were off. She was curled up on the far edge of the bed, in the same dress, her arms wrapped tightly around herself like armor.

He watched her for a long moment.

Why does she look so… small?

He pushed the thought aside and walked into the adjoining room, slamming the door shut behind him.

---

Sienna

In the morning, she woke up alone.

Again.

There was no note. No breakfast. No soft words.

Just silence.

She peeled off the dress herself. It fell to the floor in a pile of wrinkled lace and forgotten dreams. Her body ached. Not from love. But from rejection.

And yet, she still got ready.

She combed her hair. She applied light makeup. She wore the simple pastel dress laid out for her by a maid. And she went down to the dining room like a perfect little wife.

Damien was already there, sipping black coffee, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t look up when she entered.

“Good morning,” she said quietly.

He said nothing.

She sat across from him, heart pounding, fingers trembling beneath the table.

“I… I just want to make this work.”

He raised an eyebrow, still not looking at her. “There’s nothing to work out. This marriage is a contract. You’re here to play your part. Don’t expect anything more.”

Her throat tightened. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Good,” he said coldly. “Then stay out of my way.”

---

She didn’t cry.

Not even when he left the house that afternoon with another woman clinging to his arm, laughing like they belonged together.

Sienna just stood there.

Alone again.

But something inside her shifted.

If they wanted her to be obedient, fine.

She’d play their perfect little doll. Until she had enough power to burn the strings they tied her with.