Chapter 5

The church smelled of lilies, the kind of flowers brides loved… but I couldn’t smell anything but betrayal.

I stood at the altar again — except this time, my groom wasn’t Ethan.

It was Damien Vale.

The man who never smiled at me.

The man who once told Ethan I was “too soft to survive in their world.”

The man who had just, two days ago, made the coldest marriage proposal in history.

The cameras flashed from every corner, journalists pretending this was the society wedding of the year instead of a scandal control operation.

Damien’s hand slid into mine. His touch was warm, steady, and infuriatingly confident.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the priest.

“I’m not,” I lied, my voice barely a whisper.

“Then stop crushing my fingers,” he replied dryly.

If it weren’t for the hundred eyes on us, I’d have yanked my hand away.

The priest began: “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—”

I didn’t hear the rest. My mind kept replaying Ethan’s smirk as he left with my sister. How their laughter echoed like a cruel melody. How my parents’ company’s stocks were already plummeting.

When it was time for the vows, Damien spoke without hesitation.

“I, Damien Vale, take you, Clara Hayes, to be my lawfully wedded wife…” His voice was smooth, clear, but empty of tenderness. He was saying the words because they were necessary, not because he believed in them. “…for better or for worse.”

My turn came.

“I, Clara Hayes, take you, Damien Vale…” My throat tightened, but I forced the rest out. “…to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

Damien slid the ring onto my finger — a massive diamond that probably cost more than my parents’ mansion. His hand lingered just long enough for the cameras to capture the perfect shot.

“You may kiss the bride,” the priest said.

I froze. Damien didn’t.

He took a single step forward, his palm cupping my cheek, and before I could protest, his lips brushed mine.

It wasn’t passionate. It wasn’t gentle.

It was a performance. A calculated move to tell the world: She’s mine now.

The crowd erupted in applause.

As we walked down the aisle together, I felt my heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

Halfway out the door, Damien leaned in so only I could hear.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Vale. The war starts now.”

The limousine’s tinted glass made the outside world a blur of flashing cameras and curious stares.

I sat beside Damien, my new husband — a title that still tasted bitter on my tongue. His suit jacket was flawless, his posture perfectly upright, his gaze fixed out the window as if I wasn’t even there.

“Are you going to ignore me the entire ride?” I finally asked.

Damien’s eyes slid toward me. Calm. Cold. Dangerous.

“I don’t ignore people,” he said. “I simply choose when they’re worth speaking to.”

I bit back my retort. If this marriage was going to be bearable, I couldn’t rise to every provocation.

The car slowed, and when the gates came into view, my breath caught. Damien’s mansion wasn’t just large — it was palatial. Wrought iron gates guarded acres of manicured gardens, fountains sparkled under the sunlight, and the three-story stone facade looked like it had been pulled from an old-world estate in France.

“You live here alone?” I asked, half in disbelief.

He glanced at me. “Did you expect a penthouse with glass walls and a rooftop pool? That’s Ethan’s style. I prefer something… quieter.”

The gates opened, and the limousine glided down the driveway. Staff members in crisp uniforms were already lined up, heads bowed.

“Welcome home, sir,” the butler greeted.

Damien’s gaze flicked to me. “This is Mrs. Vale. Treat her with the same respect you give me.”

I could feel their eyes on me — polite, but curious. They’d probably heard every whisper about our rushed wedding.

Inside, the mansion was even more overwhelming. Marble floors stretched into endless hallways, crystal chandeliers hung from cathedral ceilings, and every corner seemed to hold some priceless art piece.

Damien led me upstairs to a set of double doors. When he pushed them open, I was met with a bedroom the size of my old apartment — a king-sized bed, velvet curtains, and a balcony overlooking the gardens.

“You’ll stay here,” he said.

I frowned. “And where will you be?”

“In the east wing.”

So much for being newlyweds.

Before I could reply, he added, “We’ll maintain appearances in public. Behind closed doors, you’re free to live as you please… within reason.”

“Within reason?” I echoed.

“Don’t embarrass me. Don’t give the press anything to twist. And don’t—” he paused, his gaze locking on mine, “—mention Ethan.”

His voice was low, but the weight in it made my chest tighten. I wanted to ask why, but the answer was obvious: Damien hated Ethan just as much as I did. Maybe more.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I wandered onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing my skin. From here, I could see the city skyline in the distance — and in the reflection of the glass door, I saw Damien standing in the shadows, watching me.

“How long have you been there?” I asked.

“Long enough,” he said, stepping forward. “You’re not safe, Clara. Not in my family’s world. Stay close to me, and you’ll survive.”

It wasn’t a threat.

It wasn’t comfort either.

It was a warning.

And I had a feeling I was only just beginning to understand what I’d gotten myself into.