The Wedding Without Love

Amara had always imagined her wedding day as something beautiful. A small church, flowers in her hair, her mother smiling in the front row, tears in her father’s eyes as he gave her away.

But there were no flowers today. No music. No warmth.

Only the cold, echoing silence of the grand Hale estate’s private hall, where a marriage was about to be sealed—not with love, but with signatures and contracts.

She stood in a simple ivory dress chosen not by her, but by Lucian’s assistant. It fit her body perfectly, but it felt heavy, like chains around her shoulders. Her hair had been pinned back tightly, every strand in place, as if perfection could make her worthy of standing beside him.

Lucian Hale was waiting at the altar, dressed in a tailored black suit. He looked every inch the powerful billionaire the world admired: tall, striking, untouchable. But there was no trace of joy in his expression. His lips were set in a firm line, his dark eyes as cold as ever.

The officiant cleared his throat and began the vows.

Amara’s voice trembled as she repeated the words, her heart aching with every promise she knew meant nothing.

“To have and to hold, in sickness and in health…”

Her throat tightened. In sickness. How she wished these words were real, that someone truly vowed them to her mother.

She forced herself to continue, even as her hands shook.

When it was Lucian’s turn, he repeated the vows in a voice steady and deep, but hollow. His eyes never softened, not even for a second. He didn’t look at her—he looked through her, like she wasn’t a bride but a piece of paper he’d signed.

At last, the officiant declared them husband and wife.

The room erupted into polite applause from the small group of businessmen and family allies seated nearby. To them, this was just another deal sealed, another empire merged.

Lucian stepped closer. Amara’s heart fluttered in her chest, half-hoping, half-dreading. He leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to her ear.

“Don’t fool yourself,” he whispered, so only she could hear. “This is business, nothing more.”

The applause still rang in her ears, but all Amara heard was the shattering of her own heart.

After the ceremony, the guests moved into the banquet hall for a short celebration. Tables groaned under the weight of expensive dishes and champagne, but Amara had no appetite. She sat quietly beside her new husband, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap.

Lucian’s ex—the woman who had walked in during the contract signing—was here too. Dressed in scarlet, she mingled with the crowd, her laughter like poisoned honey. She made sure her gaze lingered on Amara, her smile taunting.

Amara avoided her eyes. She couldn’t bear the humiliation.

“Smile,” Lucian ordered under his breath, his hand brushing hers as though to make the act look real. “They’re watching.”

She forced a smile, her lips trembling.

Hours dragged on like years, and finally, the guests left, leaving only the sound of footsteps echoing in the empty halls.

The car ride to Lucian’s mansion was silent. Amara stared out the window, her chest tight, while Lucian typed on his phone as though she didn’t exist.

When they arrived, the staff greeted them formally. “Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Hale.”

Amara’s chest ached at the words. Home. Could this ever be home?

Lucian didn’t pause. He led her inside the massive mansion, its marble floors shining beneath the chandeliers, its walls lined with priceless art. The house was breathtaking, yet it felt colder than the winter wind outside.

Amara followed him up the sweeping staircase, her heart pounding.

He opened the door to the master bedroom. It was vast, with tall windows and a bed large enough to swallow her whole. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if this was where she was expected to stay by his side as his wife.

But Lucian’s cold voice cut through her thoughts.

“You’ll sleep here,” he said, motioning to the smaller adjoining room. It was beautifully furnished but felt more like a guest chamber.

Her eyes widened. “You mean… not here?”

Lucian’s gaze was sharp, unyielding. “Don’t even think about touching my bed, Amara. This marriage is for the world to see, not for me to feel.”

Her chest tightened painfully. She bit her lip, fighting the tears threatening to fall.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment, as if daring her to protest. Then he turned away, loosening his tie.

“Remember your role,” he added coolly. “A perfect wife in public. Silent in private. Break the rules, and you’ll regret it.”

He stepped into the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the air.

Amara stood frozen, her hands clenching at her sides. Her wedding day had ended not with love, not even with warmth, but with rules and warnings.

Her dream of marriage had been buried under marble walls and cold vows.

She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed in the smaller room, her heart breaking.

And for the first time as Mrs. Hale, Amara cried herself to sleep.