THE CEREMONY FROM HELL

I stood at the back of the ceremony space and tried to remember how to breathe.

Five hundred faces. Five hundred strangers and not-quite-strangers waiting to watch a wedding that shouldn't be happening. The string quartet was playing something romantic that made me want to scream.

White roses everywhere. Crystal chandeliers. Perfect rows of chairs filled with Manhattan's elite wearing their designer clothes and fake smiles.

Everything was beautiful.

Everything was wrong.

"Smile," my father hissed in my ear. His grip on my arm was bruising. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

"I feel like I'm going to a funeral," I muttered back.

"Eve..."

"Just get this over with."

The music changed. The bridal march.

Every head turned toward me.

I watched it happen in slow motion, the confusion rippling through the crowd like a wave.

"Is that Sophia?"

"Wait, she looks different..."

"Isn't the bride supposed to be blonde?"

"Which sister is that?"

They weren't even trying to whisper. I heard every single word as my father pulled me forward, giving me no choice but to walk.

One step. Another. Another.

The aisle stretched out forever. Miles and miles of white carpet leading to an altar where HE stood.

Damon Sterling.

Even from a distance, I could see how rigid he was. Shoulders tight. Jaw clenched. Hands curled into fists at his sides.

He looked like he wanted to murder someone.

Probably me.

Next to him, Marcus Long, his best man leaned over and whispered something. Damon didn't react. Didn't move. Just stared straight ahead as I walked toward him.

Closer. Closer.

The whispers got louder.

"That's definitely not Sophia..."

"Where's the real bride?"

"What the hell is happening?"

"Did they switch at the last minute?"

My face burned under the veil. Everyone could see this was wrong. Everyone knew I was the replacement. The backup. The sister nobody wanted.

I focused on Damon because looking at the guests made me want to throw up.

As I got closer, I could see his eyes. Those steel-gray eyes that had looked right through me in the study an hour ago.

They were cold. Empty. Dead.

Like he'd shut down every emotion and locked them away somewhere I couldn't reach.

Like he'd already checked out of this marriage before it even started.

We reached the altar.

My father placed my hand in Damon's.

His hand was ice cold. Not just cool—actually cold, like he had frost in his veins instead of blood. His grip was firm but completely impersonal. The way you'd hold a briefcase. A tool.

Not the way you'd hold your bride.

Our eyes met for the first time since the study.

I expected anger. Hatred. Something.

What I got was nothing. Just empty coldness that made me feel like I was staring into a void.

"Hi," I whispered, because the silence was killing me.

He said nothing. Just looked away.

Great start to a marriage.

The officiant, some old guy with kind eyes who had NO idea what kind of disaster he was officiating, smiled at us like this was normal.

"Dearly beloved," he began, his voice carrying across the silent garden. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Damon Alexander Sterling and..."

He paused. Actually paused, clearly thrown.

"...Eve Morgan."

He'd been about to say Sophia. I heard it in the hesitation. Everyone heard it.

More whispers. More confusion.

The officiant cleared his throat and continued. "Marriage is a sacred bond. A commitment made not just between two people, but before God and this community of witnesses."

I barely heard him. I was too aware of Damon standing next to me, so close I could smell his cologne, expensive, masculine, making me dizzy. Too aware of five hundred people staring at my back. Too aware of how wrong this all was.

"Marriage requires love, trust, and commitment," the officiant droned on.

We had none of those things.

"If anyone here has objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace."

The silence that followed was horrible.

Please, I thought desperately. Someone please object. Someone please end this.

But no one spoke.

The moment passed.

"Damon," the officiant said gently. "Your vows."

Damon's jaw clenched so tight I thought it might shatter. For a second...just one second, I thought he might actually refuse. Might tell everyone this was insane and walk away.

But then he spoke.

"I, Damon Alexander Sterling..." His voice was flat. Mechanical. Like he was reading a grocery list. "...take you, Eve Morgan, to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part."

Zero emotion. Zero warmth. Not even anger.

Just nothing.

Like I was nothing.

"Eve." The officiant turned to me. "Your vows."

I opened my mouth and nothing came out.

My throat had closed up completely. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do this.

Five hundred people stared at me. Waiting.

Damon stared at me. Waiting.

Say it, I told myself. Just say the damn words and get this over with.

"I..." My voice cracked. I had to try again. "I, Eve Morgan..."

I was marrying my sister's boyfriend.

My sister's EX-boyfriend, technically, but that didn't make it better.

I was marrying a man who'd told me I was beneath him. Who'd spent three years with Sophia. Who was only doing this because the alternative was worse.

"...take you, Damon Sterling..."

This was wrong. So wrong.

"...to be my lawfully wedded husband..."

Lies. Every word was a lie.

"...to have and to hold, from this day forward..."

We wouldn't hold each other. Wouldn't touch each other. Would barely look at each other.

"—for better or worse—"

It was already worse.

"—for richer or poorer—"

He was rich. I was poor. That's why I was here.

"—in sickness and health—"

"—until death do us part."

The words tasted like poison in my mouth.

"The rings," the officiant said.

Marcus handed Damon a ring, a massive diamond that caught the afternoon sunlight and threw rainbows everywhere. It was stunning. Probably cost more than I'd make in ten years.

It was also meant for Sophia.

Damon took my left hand. His grip was businesslike. Impersonal. Like he was handling merchandise.

He slid the ring onto my finger.

It was heavy. So heavy. Like a weight dragging me down.

I took the platinum band Marcus offered me. My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped it.

Reached for Damon's hand.

His hand was completely steady as I slid the ring on. Not even a tremor. Total control.

Like this meant absolutely nothing to him.

"By the power vested in me," the officiant said, smiling like this was a happy occasion, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Husband and wife.

The words didn't feel real.

"Damon," the officiant said. "You may kiss your bride."

Oh God.

Damon's entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched so hard I heard his teeth grind together.

He turned toward me and for just a second, something flickered in those cold gray eyes.

What? Disgust? Resignation? Hatred?

I couldn't tell.

His hand went to my waist, grip firm, controlling, zero gentleness.

He leaned down.

I tilted my face up because that's what you do. That's what five hundred people expected to see.

His lips touched mine.

It wasn't a kiss.

It was lips making contact for half a second. A brush of skin. Nothing more.

No pressure. No warmth. No feeling whatsoever.

He pulled back immediately, already turning away from me.

The guests applauded.

Some enthusiastically, the ones who had no clue what just happened.

Some uncertainly, the ones who could tell something was very, very wrong.

Damon took my hand, his grip just tight enough to control, to steer, to make sure I went where he wanted and we turned to face the crowd.

I forced my face into something resembling a smile. It felt like my face was cracking. Like I was wearing a mask that didn't fit.

We started walking back down the aisle.

That's when I saw them.

My mother in the front row, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. But those weren't tears of joy. Those were tears of relief. Relief that her precious business was saved.

Catherine Sterling next to her, wearing a thin, cold smile. Looking at me like I was something unpleasant she'd stepped in.

Sophia's friends clustered together in the third row, whispering frantically. Pointing at me. Their phones were out. They were probably texting Sophia right now. Girl, you'll never believe what happened at your wedding...

More whispers as we passed.

"That's definitely not Sophia..."

"Wonder what happened..."

"She looks terrified..."

"Poor girl.. "

"Poor DAMON, you mean. What a mess...