Chapter 8

ZARIA

The day arrived like a sharp blade, it was all too fast, bright and loud. Just a few days ago I was at an auction to be sold for a price and today I stood in front of the mirror, my reflection a lie wrapped in satin and lace…. getting married to a man who now sees me as the devil herself. The wedding dress was custom, hand-stitched by some famous designer, a gown fit for royalty. I barely felt like a person, let alone a bride. My hands trembled as the stylists adjusted the hem, one of them gasping softly as she took a step back.

"You look... breathtaking," she whispered.

“Like a dream,” another cooed, circling me with a spray of perfume….a choking one at that.

"Better than the other one," another said under her breath.

My ears perked.

"The other one?" I asked quietly.

She stiffened, eyes wide. “Nothing. I didn’t mean…”

"Darian’s finally with the one he should’ve been with all along," a third added, thinking I couldn’t hear.

A thin and hollow one, because none of this was real…none of them know it isn't.

“Do I look like a woman in love?” I asked no one in particular.

The room stilled.

“You look... like Mrs. Wolfe,” the first stylist finally said, her eyes cast downward.

The cameras clicked endlessly when I walked down the aisle. Flash after flash after flash. My feet moved on autopilot, each step toward Darian feeling like a betrayal to myself…and him. He waited at the altar, a vision of elegance in his perfected black suit. His smile was dazzling but his eyes were not, instead they were stone.

When I reached him, his hand found mine and his grip tight.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured for the crowd, the press, the illusion.

“Thank you,” I whispered back, throat dry.

“Keep that smile. They’re eating it up,” he added under his breath, lips barely moving.

The vows came. He spoke his flawlessly, each word soaked in practiced charm. When it was my turn, my voice cracked on the second line. I tried to keep going.

He leaned in, his smile still in place. "Don’t mess this up," he said softly, his breath hot against my cheek.

“I wasn't planning to,” I muttered.

The audience swooned at what they thought was a romantic moment. I swallowed hard and finished the vow. The officiant announced us as husband and wife then we kissed.

And for a split second, I felt it.

That old spark….the rush. A cruel memory of when things between us had been secret and beautiful. I saw us behind closed doors again, stealing kisses in the Wolfe estate, laughing quietly in corners of rooms we weren’t supposed to share.

But this wasn’t the same mann and I wasn’t the same woman.

“You hesitated,” he said against my lips before pulling away. “Don’t let it happen again.”

After the ceremony, the illusion continued. We arrived at a charity gala hand in hand, a parade of flashing lights and forced grins. The paparazzi screamed our names and the reporters called us perfect.

“Zaria, over here! Show us the ring!”

“Mrs. Wolfe! What does it feel like marrying the most powerful man in the city?”

He played the role well. Whispered in my ear. Kissed my cheek. Held me close. But every touch was calculated and every smile rehearsed.

“You’re selling it well,” he murmured between clenched teeth as we posed.

"I learned from the best,” I said through my teeth.

"You always did know how to lie with a smile."

In the car ride home, the mask came off.

He sat stiff beside me, his jaw clenched.

"Are you enjoying the spotlight?" he asked coldly.

“Are you?” I shot back. “You looked thrilled playing the doting husband.”

“I can fake anything,” he said with a shrug. “Even love.”

I turned to him slowly. "This isn't what I wanted."

He laughed once, bitter. "No? Then what did you want, Zaria? To run away again? To leave another body in your wake?"

"Darian, I didn’t…."

"Don't give me that crap," he snapped. His eyes burned. "Weren’t you aware of it all before you let him die? Before you betrayed him... before you betrayed me?"

“I never wanted him dead,” I whispered.

“But you didn’t stop it.”

“I couldn’t….”

“Didn’t,” he corrected. “You didn’t. You made your choices. Now you get to wear them like that pretty white dress.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.

"I meant what I said. I will make you suffer. Every day. Until you have no sanity left. Until there is nothing in you I can recognize."

He didn’t yell and that was the terrifying part. He said it with complete calm and it broke something in me.

“Then why marry me?” I asked, voice hollow. “Why go through all this?”

“Because keeping you close is more satisfying than letting you rot somewhere far away.”

“And what about love?”

His eyes flicked to me with disinterest. “That word died with Roman.”

We reached the estate in silence. The staff greeted us with polite bows. Darian didn’t even glance at me as he barked instructions about our next appearances. Public duties. What I would wear. What I would say. What not to say.

“Soft colors only. No red. I don’t want the press thinking you’re mourning,” he said sharply.

“I am mourning,” I muttered.

He didn’t reply.

Then he walked off to his wing of the house, leaving me in the vast emptiness of mine.

I stood there a moment, feeling the walls close in.

One of the maids stepped forward hesitantly. “Ma’am, would you like something to eat? Or tea maybe….”

I shook my head. “No.”

She lingered a second too long with pity in her eyes. I turned away before I could see more of it.

I rushed into the bathroom, with my chest tight and hands trembling. I barely made it to the sink before the nausea took over.

I vomited violently, gripping the porcelain like it could anchor me to something real.

I thought it was stress, until I looked down.

Blood!!