3

The grand hall glittered under the cold glow of crystal chandeliers, their light casting sharp reflections on the polished marble floor. Guests filled the room, their eyes following the bride as she made her way down the aisle. But for Livia, every step felt heavy-each footfall echoing like a ticking clock counting down to the life she was about to surrender.

Faces blurred around her, but all she could see was Damian standing at the altar-calm, distant, and unreadable, like a statue carved from ice.

When she reached him, the preacher's voice broke the silence, beginning the wedding vows.

Livia took a slow, steady breath, fighting the lump rising in her throat. Her voice was soft but clear. "I, Livia Shelby, vow to be your wife and follow your rules."

Damian's reply came cold and unyielding, lacking even a trace of warmth. "I, Damian Alexander, take you as my wife. You exist to serve me."

No promises of love. No tender words. Just a decree.

Livia swallowed hard and nodded quietly, the bitter truth settling deep in her chest like a stone she could never swallow.

Now standing beside her husband-Damian Alexander-Livia was officially his wife. To the outside world, this was a marriage envied by many women across the country. Smiles and congratulations came her way, but behind those smiles were bitter thoughts from women who wished they were the ones Damian had chosen.

Today, Livia looked beautiful in a white wedding dress, her face carefully adorned with a smile. She was good at acting-better than anyone knew.

Beside her, Damian was the picture of handsome confidence in his tailored suit, drawing admiration from the women around them.

As the congratulations poured in, Damian leaned close and whispered in her ear, "Keep your head up. You don't need to bow to them."

Livia lowered her gaze obediently. "I just need to lower my head to you."

"Exactly."

And on this day, Livia realized just how powerful her husband truly was.

But inside, she was far from happy. Her right hand was clenched into a fist, trembling and slick with sweat.

Her father-the man who had sold his daughter-wore a satisfied smile. The company was saved, and his honor restored.

Her stepmother smiled too, pleased to finally rid herself of the girl who wasn't her flesh and blood.

Her half-sister, Lisa, stood stiffly among the guests, her smile brittle and forced. Bitterness shadowed her eyes. When their father had offered both their photos to Damian, she'd been certain she'd be the obvious choice-stylish, polished, everything a powerful man would want on his arm. But Damian had chosen Livia. Quiet, plain Livia.

And now, standing in her designer heels, Lisa could only watch as her less glamorous sister stood beside the man she secretly wished had picked her.

Livia's gaze met Lisa's, filled with cold hatred.

...

While the others enjoyed the party, one figure slipped away, weighed down by disappointment. David, Livia's half-brother, though born from a different mother, cared deeply for her. He felt the sting of failure-he hadn't been able to protect his sister from their father's greed.

Ignoring the flirtatious glances and polite greetings from the guests, David walked briskly through the corridor and stepped into an empty lounge just off the main hall. The noise of the celebration faded behind him.

"Sister Livia?" he called softly, startled to find her sitting at the far end of the room.

She was alone-except for the two suited guards stationed nearby. Through the tall windows, garden lights spilled a warm, golden hue into the room, brushing against her white wedding gown. She looked like a doll in a display-beautiful, fragile, and heartbreakingly still.

David's brows furrowed. "Are those... guards?"

Before he could step closer, one of the men grabbed his wrist.

"Let go of him!" Livia stood quickly, her voice calm but firm. "It's alright. He's my brother."

The guards exchanged glances before releasing him. "Apologies, young lady." They bowed slightly, returning to their posts without a word.

David approached and sat beside her. The moment his fingers touched hers, he felt it-her hand was ice cold, trembling slightly.

"Why are you here, sitting alone like this?" he asked.

Livia offered a faint smile, her eyes red-rimmed. "Damian said I looked tired. Told me to get some air. The guards came with me. His orders."

David's jaw tightened. "I'm sorry, Sis."

She blinked. "For what?"

"For failing you. For not being able to protect you from our father's greed... If going bankrupt meant you didn't have to go through this, I would've welcomed it."

Livia glanced toward the guards, her voice dropping. "David, don't say things like that. My husband is... a good man."

He scoffed. "Is a man still good if he accepts a girl as debt payment? Neither he nor our parents are saints."

She placed a gentle hand on his head, smoothing back his hair like she used to when they were children. "Watch your mouth."

"What, will I die if he hears me call him out?" he muttered, bitter.

Her voice grew soft, urgent. "Yes. Maybe not today, but someday. You don't understand the kind of man he is, David. I don't either-not fully. And that's what scares me."

He looked at her, helpless and aching. "How can you survive this?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "But I will. Somehow."

A sharp knock interrupted them. One of the guards stepped forward. "Young lady, the young master requests your return to the hall."

Livia straightened, folding her handkerchief. "I'm ready."

She turned to David and forced a small, brave smile. "Come on. Smile, walk tall. Pretend like we belong here."

***