The Coldest Honeymoon

The sound of the door clicking shut behind us was deafening. No cheering crowd, no romantic getaway. Just silence. Heavy, uncomfortable silence.

I stood at the threshold of Alexander’s penthouse, my wedding gown still dragging behind me like the ghost of a dream that wasn’t mine. Everything about the place screamed him; sleek, modern, intimidating. Black marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed the glittering city below, and furniture so expensive it looked like it had been ordered straight out of a designer’s fantasy catalog.

And yet, it was cold. Just like him.

Alexander tossed his tuxedo jacket on the couch without a glance at me, rolling his shoulders as though the day had been nothing more than a mild inconvenience. I hated how effortlessly handsome he looked, even disheveled. His dark hair had fallen over his forehead, his tie was undone, and his sharp jawline caught the light. But his eyes—God, those piercing gray eyes—reminded me I was standing beside a man who didn’t want me, just as much as I hadn’t wanted him.

I swallowed hard. “So…this is it?”

He turned, arching a brow. “What did you expect, Elena? Rose petals on the bed? Champagne? A kiss to seal the night?” His tone dripped with sarcasm, each word cutting deeper than it should have.

I flinched, clutching the edge of my gown. “I didn’t expect anything from you.”

“Good,” he said flatly, striding past me toward the bedroom. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his commanding presence swallowing the air. “Because I don’t give what I can’t feel.”

The sting in his words lingered even after he disappeared into the other room. I told myself I shouldn’t care—this was an arrangement, not a love story—but the ache in my chest refused to be silenced.

I dropped into one of the leather chairs, my body finally giving in to exhaustion. The weight of the past month pressed down on me, Damien’s betrayal, my family’s shame, and now this forced union with a man who looked at me like I was nothing more than a debt paid in human form.

I closed my eyes, trying not to let the tears fall.

But his voice came again, sharp, slicing through the silence. “You’ll stay in the guest room.”

My eyes flew open. He stood in the doorway again, holding a glass of whiskey. His tie was now fully discarded, and the white shirt he wore was unbuttoned just enough to reveal tanned skin. The sight should’ve been sinful, intoxicating, but instead, it only reminded me of the impossible wall between us.

“Fine by me,” I muttered, rising to my feet. I dragged my gown toward the hallway, each step echoing like footsteps in a mausoleum.

When I reached the guest room, I shut the door harder than I intended. The lock clicked into place, and I leaned against it, breathing shakily. My reflection in the full-length mirror mocked me; pale face, smudged makeup, eyes swollen from holding back tears.

I was a bride without joy. A wife without love.

The city lights blinked outside the window like distant stars, but they didn’t comfort me. Nothing did.

As I peeled off the gown, I whispered to myself, “One day at a time, Elena. Just survive one day at a time.”

But deep down, I knew survival wasn’t enough. Not when the man who now held my future in his hands seemed determined to freeze me out completely.

And yet, as I slid beneath the crisp sheets of the unfamiliar bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About Alexander King, the man who his power like a crown.

I hated him.

But worse, I feared he would break me more than Damien ever did.

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