Ch 2: I Do

“Whenever you’re ready,” the officiator tells us tadjusting his robe properly, his voice telling me this is not his first nor twelfth wedding of today.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I mutter, inhaling deeply to relieve my stomach knot. Is this what they call wedding blues? I tighten the hold on my flowers.

“I can’t believe this is happening!” Cassy yells from behind me, she’s fixing my white sparkly gown—it’s not anything dramatic, just a simple but stunning silk slip that shimmered faintly in the soft light.

This is happening. Fast. Real.

I stand in front of this impossibly good-looking stranger, and I’m able to see his face—in bright light now.

I nod at the man on the altar, telling him I’m ready, ignoring the hammering of my heart.

The officiant scanned the paperwork, then looked up with a practiced smile.

“Andrew Thorne, please repeat after me…”

Andrew. That was the name of the man I was marrying.

His voice is steady, deep, like velvet wrapped around a blade. I don’t even hear the words, just the sound of him, rolling over me. He says my name once, Sage Moreno, and it cuts straight through the haze.

I look at his eyes, they weren’t just dark — they were absent. What’s he thinking right now? What kind of man did I get myself entangled too? What exactly is he going to gain in this?

The chapel glows with gold light and white roses, expensive and perfect and far too pretty for the deal we’re making. It as if I intruded into someone else’s wedding.

“Sage!” Cassy yells again from the pulpit drunk snapping me out of my thoughts.

I send her a glare. This place is way too quiet for her noise.

The officiant coughs politely.

I drag in a sharp breath. There’s a photographer. Less than a dozen people in suits—his people. And Cassy, slumped and grinning like she’s watching a rom-com—I am kinda happy she’s here, because tomorrow I am going to tell her that we both made this decision.

I drag in a sharp breath. There’s a vision I once imagined—a wedding dress, and a bunch of people surrounding me with love I never had the chance of experiencing.

I bite my lip, fighting the sudden surge to whimper out the regret and pity that is clawing at my throat.

Then, with a voice steadier than I feel, I say, “I do.”

The officiant slid a sleek black folder across the altar. Inside was the marriage license—the real deal.

“Sign here,” he said, motioning to the line below his signature.

At this point I had to inhale and exhale through my mouth to get air in my lungs—since apparently my nose decided to bail on me out of nervousness.

Andrew picked the pen and signed his name quickly.

He stands and faces me when he was done. Watching my composure. I don’t know what else to do.

He takes a step closer to me,close enough that I feel the heat from his.

Hisbhands find mine in a second. He presses the pen into my fingers, his grip lingering long enough to make my skin burn.

“Your turn.” He whispers and step back. Watching me, my composure and making it aware that this is the last chance I have to go back.

Our bodies and inches apart making me hold my breath. his dark eyes never leaving mine.

I hesitated for a second—then scribbled my signature. A man in a suit brought with him a box that contained the ring. A ring? I looked at the diamond, contemplating whether I should just run away with it. He handed me a ring for me to wear. I raised a questioning brow at him.

“For the photographer.” He explained plainly. I took it and wore it.

I could hear from the pew, I hear Cassy sniffle. Is she…crying?

It is official. I, Sage Moreno, am married to a man I met today.

For two million dollars.

After the ceremony, Andrew pulled out a leather folder and handed it to me—this time, the real contract.

“This spells out everything. You sign, you get half the money.” I flip through the dense legal jargon, my stomach sinking. God, how foolish am I? I didn’t even ask for terms. It’s all so cold and businesslike. A reality check in black ink.

“I’ll have some people take you and your friend to the hotel,” he says. No question, just command. “It’s too late for you to go home.”

I want to complain about him not asking me if I’m okay with it—but why wouldn’t I be? He was literally giving me a roof over my head.

I nod.

He starts to say something else, but his phone buzzes. Without apology, he turns and walks away, taking the call.

A silent staff member appears like a ghost, gesturing politely for us to follow.

I guess that’s our cue.

Cassy stumbles beside me, our hands linked. She hums a wedding march off-key while gripping her heels in one hand. “I want a hot tub and French fries,” she mutters as we enter the sleek black car waiting outside. I tap her palms in comfort. It’s funny how effortlessly she fits into all this luxury—as if she’s done it a hundred times. Like this is the kind of life meant for her.

The hotel is…stunning. Glittering chandeliers. White marble. A concierge who bows like we’re royalty. My brain’s too fried to register it. How rich is this man?

The suite is obscene—bedroom, living room, a view like a painting. Our bags are already here, though I don’t remember packing them.

Cassy makes a beeline for the minibar, popping a tiny bottle of champagne like she’s celebrating. I don’t stop her. Not tonight.

She flops onto the couch. “You just got married,” she giggles. “This is insane. Also—I love it for you.”

I laugh, hollow. “Yeah—say that again tomorrow when you’re sober.”

My dress is still on, my hair a mess of pins and curls. I walk into the bathroom and stare at myself. Married. That word lands with a strange weight. This was supposed to be a transaction. A business deal. But there was a ceremony, a signature, a kiss.

No—there wasn’t a kiss.

Thank God.

I hear a knock at the door and go to it.

It’s a hotel staff member holding a sealed envelope.

“For you, Mrs. Thorne,” he says.

I blink at the name about to tell her she’s in the wrong room—wait— it’s my name.

That’s me now. For now.

Inside is a black card key and a short note:

“This key is for the penthouse next door. If you need anything, send a message. —Andrew.”

My pulse flutters. He’s here.