CHAPTER 4:THE WEDDING FROM HELL

The wedding.

A woman’s dream come true.

Grand. Flawless.

And yet to Selene, it felt like a gilded cage.

The Lancaster Estate—if you could even call it that anymore—had been transformed into a palace. Gold-trimmed chandeliers dangled white roses. A soft classical melody drifted through the air. The world’s elite filled the marble hall, eyes gleaming with curiosity, whispers brushing against diamond necklaces and crisp tuxedos.

But in front of a full-length mirror stood Selene.

Dressed in a gown worth more than everything she'd ever owned. A perfect picture of elegance.

Still, all she felt was trapped.

Her hands trembled as she adjusted her veil, staring at her reflection—a woman cloaked in lace, yet naked in vulnerability.

Behind her, Natasha stood stiffly, fingers wrapped tightly around her arm.

"Selene," she whispered urgently, eyes darting to the door, "You really don’t have to do this."

Selene swallowed hard.

“We can run. I’ll help you.”

She’d dreamed of escape a thousand times—fantasized about it until it became a lullaby in her chest. But seriously, where would she even go?

Damien had power. Connections. Eyes everywhere.

There was no away from him.

A grimace curled on her lips—tightly controlled, painful.

She hated him. Hated what he was doing to her. Hated that even now, he had her cornered.

A knock at the door cut off Natasha’s protests.

One of Damien’s assistants stepped inside, face unreadable.

“It’s time.”

Selene took a deep breath.

Just one year, she reminded herself. Make it through one year… and maybe you’ll finally be free.

—

The grand ballroom shimmered like a scene from a dream—golden arches, crystal chandeliers, white orchids cascading down the walls. The scent of wealth and power perfumed the air.

Selene stepped in.

The music swelled.

Each step she took down the aisle echoed like a countdown. Guests turned, their murmurs full of admiration—but they didn’t know. Couldn’t know.

At the altar stood Damien Lancaster.

Picture-perfect in a black tux, face carved from stone. He looked like a man in love.

Selene knew better.

When she reached him, he offered his hand. His grip was strong—too strong—and cold rushed up her arm the second their fingers met.

"You look amazing," he murmured, just for her ears.

Selene clenched her jaw, refusing to react.

The priest began the vows.

Damien said “I do” with a smirk and no hesitation.

Then all eyes turned to her.

“Selene Carter, do you take Damien Lancaster as your husband?”

Her heart thundered. She wanted to scream.

But her lips moved.

“I do,” she whispered.

And just like that—it was done.

Applause erupted across the hall. Cameras clicked wildly.

Damien pulled her close, his breath brushing her cheek.

“Smile for the cameras, darling,” he whispered.

And before she could brace herself, his lips were on hers—rough, fast, possessive.

To the world, it looked like a kiss of love.

To Selene?

It was a silent claim.

—

The party raged on. Champagne flowed. A towering cake shimmered under the lights. The ballroom pulsed with power, the New York elite buzzing around them.

Damien kept her close, his hand never leaving hers. Flashbulbs burst around them.

“So, Mr. Lancaster,” a reporter asked, leaning in, “what made you fall for Selene?”

Damien didn’t miss a beat. He turned to her, his voice smooth.

“How could I not?”

Selene forced a smile. Just enough to fool them.

The media called her lucky. Said she’d captured the heart of New York’s most elusive bachelor.

If only they knew the truth.

—

Later, tucked away in a private lounge, she yanked her hand free.

Damien poured himself a drink, chuckling softly.

Selene stood stiff, fingers digging into her palms.

He liked this—her resistance. Her rage.

Hatred burned in her chest like fire as he stepped closer.

“Get used to this,” he said softly, tone unreadable.

His cologne wrapped around her like chains.

“It’s just a game, really,” he continued, voice quieter now. “A game I plan to win.”

She clenched her fists harder.

She would not let him break her. Not now. Not ever.

—

The penthouse was a masterpiece—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing skyline, marble floors gleaming, designer furniture like art pieces.

But for Selene?

It was a prison.

Silence hung heavy… until Damien broke it.

“You’ll get used to this.”

She turned to see him watching her, calm as ever.

At the far end, the house staff stood silently. Faces expressionless—but judgment lingered in their eyes.

They thought she was a gold-digger. A pretty trap.

Selene saw it in their stares. Felt it in the air.

Her hands clenched again.

She wanted to scream the truth.

Instead, Damien stepped closer.

“There are rules,” he said quietly.

She raised her chin, defiant.

“No work. No contact with certain people. You’re a wife in public, remember?”

He smirked and gestured to the contract on the table. Her shaky signature gleamed at the bottom.

“You agreed to this.”

Selene bit the inside of her cheek.

She had signed.

Because she hadn’t had a choice.

—

Later that night, she tried to leave.

The elevator didn’t move.

She hit the button again. And again.

It wouldn’t budge.

Damien had locked her in.

Rage surged through her veins as she stormed back into the living room.

He sat there calmly, sipping whiskey like he owned the world.

“What the hell is this?” she demanded.

He didn’t even glance up.

“You think I’d let you wander off?”

Finally, he looked at her—and smiled.

“You’re not a prisoner, Selene.”

He set his glass down and stood.

But his next words made her blood run cold.

“You belong to me now.”