THE WEDDING NIGHT

LYANNA’S POV

The car ride from the cathedral to the Ward estate felt longer than it was silent, claustrophobic, and heavy with invisible chains.

Lyanna sat alone in the back of a matte-black Rolls-Royce Phantom, her white silk gown pristine, suffocating. A garment crafted by luxury, worn like a uniform.

She was no bride, she was just payment for a sin she had no single idea about.

No one had clapped when they stepped out of the cathedral. No rice, no music, no tears of joy. Only stiff silence and cameras that blinked like surveillance drones.

Because this wasn’t a wedding, it was a transaction signed in ink and dread.

Cassian hadn’t said a word after the priest declared them husband and wife.

No kiss. No congratulations. Not even a glance in her direction. He’d signed the register and left. Just like that. Disappeared like he couldn’t bear to share the same air.

The driver had said flatly, “Mr. Ward will meet you later.” No elaboration.

She didn’t ask questions. There was no room for questions in a world like his. Just lots of stupid rules. No disobedience. 

And never reach out to him unless it was a matter of life or death. Apparently, being his new wife didn’t qualify as reasons to be an exception.

The estate gates opened in eerie silence, revealing manicured gardens bathed in moonlight and a mansion that didn’t belong in this century.

A palace carved from marble and glass, cold and gleaming on the cliffside like a warning to anyone foolish enough to challenge a Ward.

The driver opened her door, and she stepped out on trembling legs. Her heels clicked sharply against the stone, a sound too loud in a place so quiet.

A man stood waiting by the door. Dark suit. Sharp eyes. His presence buzzed with controlled menace.

“Mrs. Ward,” he said with all the warmth of a sealed envelope. “This way.”

The title curled in her gut.

Inside the house smelled of polished wood and air conditioning. Everything was stone and chrome and silence. Abstract paintings on the walls. No photos. No fingerprints of a life lived.

She followed the man up two sweeping flights of stairs, through a private wing more like a hotel than a home. When he opened the double doors at the end of the hall, she didn’t breathe.

“This is your suite,” he said curtly. “Mr. Ward prefers efficiency. There’s a phone if you need anything. He won’t be seeing you tonight.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Lyanna stepped inside. The suite was larger than her old apartment, gleaming in ivory and champagne tones. The bed looked untouched.

The closet was fully stocked, with designers she’d never worn but in her exact measurements. Drawers lined with silk lingerie she hadn’t picked. A vanity lined with Dior perfume and diamond hairpins she didn’t recognize.

She’d been… curated. Someone had mapped her body. Chosen her colours. Removed every trace of her past. No books. No trinkets. Not even the photos from her worn shoebox under her bed.

Lyanna Gray had been completely erased.

Now there was only Mrs. Cassian Ward, a ghost wearing silk and a wedding ring. She sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off her shoes. Her feet looked alien on the plush rug. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just stared.

A soft click broke the stillness. The door opened, but no one entered. A tray had been left on a stand, a perfect steak, a baked potato, a bottle of water.

No wine. No dessert. Nothing indulgent. Nothing celebratory. Just calories and silence. She locked the door behind her. Her pulse tapped under her skin like a ticking bomb. Not panic, yet. Not despair. But something close. Something tightening.

She’d done what her father asked. “Please, Lyanna, he’d begged. They’ll ruin us. He said he wouldn’t hurt you.”

She signed the papers. She stood before a priest. She wore the dress. She was the sacrifice.

Now she was alone. In a house that felt like a tomb. She stripped the gown off slowly, almost reverently, and walked into the bathroom. Under the soft light, she looked in the mirror. And didn’t recognize herself.

The girl in the mirror staring back had haunted eyes rimmed with gold, dark waves falling over bare shoulders, lipstick bitten half off, and a silence so loud it hurt.

The makeup couldn’t hide the way her fingers trembled. Couldn’t mask the bruising ache behind her eyes.

Who was she now? A wife that’s not wanted. Married, but will never be touched or loved. Chosen, but only by contract.

She wrapped herself in a silk robe, cold against her skin, and stepped out onto the balcony. The sea wind kissed her cheeks, salty and alive. The Aegean roared below, the sky black and infinite above.

It was beautiful. And she had never felt more trapped. Hair whipped across her face. She let it. Let it sting. Let it blur everything. 

She folded her arms and stared into the night. This wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be. 

Even if Cassian would never love her. Even if he never looked at her as more than a liability. Even if no one ever called her by her first name again. She would survive this. Because that was what she did, she survived.

She stayed on the balcony until the cold seeped into her skin, and the salt stuck to her lashes.

Eventually, she stepped back inside and lay in the centre of the bed, pulling the heavy covers to her chin. But sleep didn’t come. Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two. She stared at the ceiling, the silence pressing into her chest until she couldn’t breathe right. Her hand reached for the bedside phone. Not to call for water or help, but out of instinct.

She hesitated.

Call Dad.

But what would she even say? He gave her away, he traded her like a pawn.
she’s in a palace and she has never felt poorer.

Her thumb hovered over the dial pad, shaking. Then slowly, she put it down.

Instead, she reached for the second phone, the one hidden deep inside her clutch, the one no one in the Ward family knew existed.

She scrolled until she found the contact marked only with a star.

Nina.

Her oldest friend. Her only friend now. She hit call. And for a moment, she was afraid no one would answer. That Nina would be too far away, too asleep, too angry at her for leaving without a goodbye.

But then…

“Ly?” Nina’s voice, groggy but familiar, filtered through. “Is that you?”

Lyanna’s throat tightened. “Yeah. It’s me.”

A pause. Then a sharp breath. “Jesus. Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “I think so.”

“What happened? What did he say? Are you alone?”

“I’m alone,” she whispered. “He didn’t show up. Not even tonight.”

There was a sound in the background, blankets shifting. Nina must have sat up. “What the hell do you mean he didn’t show up?”

“I mean... I haven’t seen him since the church. He signed the papers and vanished.”

“Are you….Ly, are you safe?”

“I think so. The house is beautiful and massive, but it’s so cold.” She laughed bitterly. “Even the food came with a silent warning.”

“What kind of warning?”

“Like... don’t get too comfortable.”

Nina was quiet for a beat. Then softly, “I wish you’d run.”

“I couldn’t. My dad…”

“I know. I know.”

They talked for a long time. About everything and yet about nothing. About the silence of the mansion and the way her own name sounded foreign now. About the sea outside and the way she’d felt like a stranger in her own skin.

Nina didn’t ask questions she already knew the answers to. She just listened.

And Lyanna cried without making a sound.

She hung up only when the sun began to touch the horizon.

And then, finally, she slept.