CHAPTER 3: The Wedding

Lena.

The venue was a penthouse suite in downtown Manhattan. No flowers decorated the space, no music played. Just witnesses and lawyers scattered across leather chairs, checking their phones and waiting for the formality to conclude.

I stood in the bride's preparation room, staring at myself in the floor-length mirror. The white dress Bridget had bought hung awkwardly on my body—expensive but ill-fitting, chosen by a personal shopper in a rush. She had clearly given them my measurements wrong, whether by accident or spite. No veil. No bouquet. Just a designer dress that didn't fit and made me look like I was playing dress-up. I looked like I was attending a funeral. Maybe I was.

"Five minutes," someone called from outside.

I took a breath and walked out. The ceremony space was minimal—a simple altar, two chairs for witnesses, a stern-faced officiant who looked like he performed a dozen weddings a day. My father and Bridget sat on one side. On the other side sat an older man I recognized as Thomas Blackwood, Julian's father, along with a woman in an expensive suit who was probably a lawyer.

And at the altar, checking his phone, stood Julian Blackwood.

My breath stopped despite everything. He was devastatingly handsome in person—sharp jawline, dark hair perfectly styled, tall and commanding in a tailored black suit. But it was his eyes that stopped me. Grey, cold, piercing. They looked straight through people, assessing value and finding most wanting.

He barely glanced up as I approached. His attention remained on his phone screen, his thumb scrolling through what looked like emails. I reached the altar and stood beside him, my hands clasped to keep them from shaking.

The officiant cleared his throat then Julian finally looked at me.

His face didn't change. No warmth, no interest, not even curiosity. Just a brief, cold assessment before his gaze returned to the officiant. I might as well have been a piece of furniture.

"We are gathered here today," the officiant began, his voice monotone.

I stopped listening. The words washed over me—contract, union, lawfully wedded. None of it felt real. Julian's voice was without emotion as he repeated his vows, like he was reading quarterly earnings to shareholders.

Then it was my turn. "I, Lena Carter, take you, Julian Blackwood—"

My voice shook slightly on his name. I pushed through, forcing the words out. Julian didn't look at me. He studied a point somewhere past my shoulder, his jaw tight with what might have been impatience.

The ring he slid onto my finger was diamond, beautiful but impersonal. It fit perfectly, which meant someone had gotten my measurements. Probably an assistant. I doubted Julian had given it more than thirty seconds of thought.

"You may kiss the bride," the officiant said.

Julian looked at me for a long moment. I saw something move in his eyes—distaste? Then he turned away.

"That won't be necessary."

I felt like entering the ground in that moment. Behind us, someone coughed awkwardly. The officiant shuffled his papers, clearly uncomfortable.

We moved to the table where the marriage certificate waited. Julian signed first, his signature bold and aggressive across the page. As I reached for the pen, he spoke directly to me for the first time.

"You're not Cassandra Carter."

It wasn't a question. I met his eyes, forcing myself not to look away from that cold grey stare.

"No."

His jaw tightened. "I see." He signed the merger documents with sharp, angry strokes that nearly tore the paper. "Well played, Mr. Carter."

My father adjusted uncomfortably in his seat. Bridget just smiled, satisfied.

Julian handed the documents to his lawyer without another word. Thomas Blackwood stood and shook my father's hand, seemingly unbothered by the revelation. Business was business, after all. The bride's identity was just a minor detail.

The ceremony ended without any reception. No celebration, no well-wishes or toasts. The witnesses filed out, and I was left standing in my ill-fitting dress while Julian spoke in low tones with his lawyer.

"The car is ready, sir," a voice said from the doorway.

Julian nodded. "We're leaving."

He walked toward the exit without checking if I followed. I grabbed the small bag containing my few possessions and hurried after him. Outside, a black Mercedes waited at the curb, and a driver was holding the door open.

Julian gestured for me to get in first. His courtesy was purely not out of kindness, the ingrained politeness of someone raised with wealth. I slid into the backseat, and he followed, maintaining a huge distance between us. 

The silence in the car was suffocating. I watched the city lights blur past as the driver pulled into traffic. Beside me, Julian had already returned to his phone, scrolling through messages with focus like I was a non-living thing.

"Let me be clear, Miss Carter—" He paused, something like dark amusement crossing his face. "Or should I say, Mrs. Blackwood?"

I waited, my hands twisted in my lap.

"This is a business arrangement. Nothing more. You will live in my home, attend necessary public events, and maintain the appearance of a marriage. Beyond that, don't expect anything from me. No affection. No companionship. Certainly no love."

I kept my eyes on the window, on the city lights that had never felt more distant. "I didn't expect any of those things."

"Good." He returned to his phone. "Mrs. Billy, my housekeeper, will show you to your room. Stay out of my way, and we'll get through this contract just fine."

Contract. That's all I was. A signature on paper.

We didn't speak again for the rest of the drive. The car wound through Manhattan, eventually pulling up to a towering glass building that seemed to pierce the sky. The driver opened the door, and Julian exited first, again waiting with forced courtesy for me to follow.

The lobby was all marble and modern art, obviously expensive. A security guard nodded at Julian, who strode past without acknowledgment toward a private elevator. I followed, my footsteps echoing on the polished floor.

Inside the elevator, Julian pressed the button for the penthouse. As the doors closed, his phone rang. He answered without hesitation.

"Nate." He paused. "No, I can't meet tonight."

A pause again. I could hear a male voice on the other end, questioning.

"Because I just got married." Julian's jaw tightened. "It's complicated. Fine. Tomorrow."

He hung up and glanced at me, his expression unreadable.

"That was my business partner. He'll want to meet you." Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "Fair warning—Nate has a habit of seeing good in people where none exists. Don't mistake his kindness for anything more than curiosity." 

The elevator doors opened to the penthouse. "And Mrs. Blackwood? Whatever he asks you tomorrow, remember who you actually belong to."