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Chapter Two: The Wedding Without Love
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2025-12-29 04:40:31Chapter Two: The Wedding Without Love
The chapel smelled of fresh roses, a scent that should have brought warmth, but instead it felt like a cruel reminder of what I had lost. My white gown clung to me awkwardly, heavy with silk and expectation, as I walked down the aisle. Every step echoed in the hollow space, matching the emptiness in my chest. The congregation’s murmurs floated around me like ghosts. Everyone here believed this was a celebration, a day of love. But I knew better. This was a business transaction disguised in satin and lace. A marriage contract. A sentence. My life, no longer my own. I forced a smile as I approached the altar, my fingers clutching the bouquet as if it could protect me. Father’s proud gaze met mine, though his eyes were tinged with worry. I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. This was the only way to save him, to save my family. And yet… Ethan Blackwood was nowhere to be seen. The whispers started almost immediately. “Where is he?” “Didn’t Ethan Blackwood attend?” “Isabella, I thought this was your wedding.” I kept walking, ignoring the rising panic in my chest. I had imagined it would be unbearable, standing there alone. But standing here, facing the crowd and the reality of the contract, I realized I had grown numb to the despair. Each step felt like a rebellion, a declaration that I wouldn’t break completely… yet. The priest cleared his throat, glancing around the chapel as if expecting the groom to appear at any second. His eyes finally landed on me, and he nodded solemnly. “We shall proceed,” he said, voice echoing in the high ceiling. The words “Do you, Isabella Hart, take Ethan Blackwood…” hung in the air, heavy and meaningless. My lips moved, repeating phrases I didn’t feel. Pledges of love, loyalty, devotion. Words that belonged to someone else, spoken by someone who had been forced into them. I glanced toward the empty seat where Ethan should have been. The polished oak gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows. But the man I had feared, despised, and perhaps… secretly longed for, was not there. Not a single sign of him. A hand squeezed mine, breaking my thoughts. Father. His eyes pleaded silently for me to keep going. And so I did. I finished the vows with as much composure as I could muster. Each word, each promise, felt like a betrayal—to myself, to my heart, to everything I had believed in. The moment came to exchange rings. I slid the cold metal onto my finger, staring at it in disbelief. This tiny circle, a symbol of commitment and love for most, was my chain, my binding to a man who would never be truly mine. I could hear the whispers growing louder. Some sympathetic, some judgmental. But no one noticed the silent tremor in my hands. No one could understand the storm raging inside me—the anger, the fear, the aching hope that maybe… just maybe… Ethan would appear. The ceremony ended. Applause and camera flashes filled the chapel. People smiled, took photos, congratulated me. Yet each smile felt hollow. Every flash of the camera reminded me that the world would see my face, but never the truth behind my eyes. Alone, I walked to the back of the chapel. Father followed, murmuring reassurances that sounded meaningless to my ears. “He’ll come,” he whispered. “He’ll show up.” I wanted to believe him, I wanted to hold onto the faint thread of hope. But deep down, I knew better. Ethan Blackwood was not a man to act on emotion or compassion. He was a man of control. A man who had already made his intentions clear: one year, obedience, survival. Love was a foreign concept to him. And yet… the thought of him not being here… not seeing me standing there, gave me a strange mix of relief and heartbreak. The reception hall was a blur of color and laughter, and I drifted through it like a ghost. People offered congratulations; I nodded politely, smiled when expected. But each word, each gesture, felt rehearsed. Nothing was real. And perhaps that was the point. This marriage, this contract… nothing about it would ever feel real. Then, as I stepped onto the balcony to escape the crowd, I felt it. The quiet before a storm. The subtle shift in the air. And for a fleeting second, I thought I saw him—standing at the edge of the property, just beyond the crowd, watching. Ethan Blackwood. The man who had broken me, who had driven my family to desperation. Watching, but not approaching. Observing, but not intervening. My heart twisted painfully. Relief, fear, and something darker—something I refused to name—flooded me all at once. He was here. And he wasn’t. I wanted to scream at him, demand answers, force him into my presence. But I didn’t. I only let the realization settle: Ethan Blackwood played by his own rules. And if I wanted to survive this, I would need to play by mine. That night, I lay in the guest room of the sprawling mansion that now legally belonged to my name and my obedience. The contract sat on the dresser, a constant reminder of my new reality. I stared at the ceiling, the events of the day swirling in my mind. Alone, yet tethered to a man who could ruin me with a word. And then it hit me: this was just the beginning. One chapter closed, but the story had only begun. Ethan Blackwood had left the first impression, but the next move… would be mine. And I vowed silently: if he thought I would crumble without him there, he was gravely mistaken. 
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