Unwanted Wife of Mr. Roswell

The first thing Elena noticed was the silence.

It wasn't the kind of silence filled with peace it was the kind that pressed against her chest, heavy and suffocating, as if the entire world were holding its breath.

She stood at the grand entrance of the cathedral, her fingers tightening around a bouquet of white roses she didn’t choose. She wore a wedding dress she didn’t love, about to marry a man she barely knew.

“Elena.”

Her father’s voice was low and firm. She didn’t look at him.

“You understand what this means,” he continued. “There is no turning back after today.”

"There never was," she thought bitterly.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze. At the far end of the aisle stood Alexander Roswell. Even from a distance, he commanded the room. Tall, composed, and dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, he looked less like a groom and more like a man attending a high stakes negotiation.

Because that’s exactly what this was. A transaction.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, Elena felt something inside her twist. It wasn’t nerves or excitement; it was something colder. The way he looked at her was the way one looks at a prize already won, or a piece of property already owned.

The music began. A soft piano replaced the earlier violin slower, heavier, and hauntingly final.

Elena took her first step. Then another. Each movement felt deliberate, like she was walking toward an execution rather than an altar. The guests whispered as she passed .

“She’s beautiful.”

“Roswell’s bride… lucky girl.”

“If only they’d known each other longer ”

Elena almost laughed. "If only they knew."

By the time she reached the altar, her hand felt numb in her father’s grip. He placed her hand in Alexander’s.

“Take care of her,” her father said quietly but it didn’t sound like a request. It sounded like a closing condition of a contract.

Alexander didn’t respond. Not to her father, and not to her. But his hand closed around hers anyway firm, steady, and unyielding. Elena resisted the urge to pull away.

The ceremony began. Words about love echoed through the cathedral a promises, devotion, forever. They sounded beautiful. They were also entirely meaningless.

Elena’s mind drifted back to the night everything changed.

“Marry him,” her father had said. He had stated it so simply, as if he were asking her to pass the salt at dinner.

“Elena, this is not a request,” he had added when she didn't respond. He spoke of Roswell Industries offering a way out, of securing the family legacy. He spoke of everything except her freedom.

“Do I have a choice?” she had asked quietly. Her father hadn't answered. He didn't need to.

“Elena Rivera.”

The priest’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Do you take Alexander Roswell to be your husband?”

The entire room seemed to freeze. This was the moment. The moment she could say no. The moment she could run. The moment she could choose herself.

“Elena.”

It was Alexander’s voice. Low. Close. She turned her head slightly. He wasn’t looking at her; he was watching the guests. But his words were meant for her ears alone.

“Don’t make this difficult.”

Her breath caught. It wasn’t a threat, not exactly, but it was enough of a reminder that this was never her decision to make. Elena swallowed hard.

“I do.”

The words left her lips before her heart could protest. And just like that, something inside her quietly gave up.

“Alexander Roswell,” the priest turned to him. “Do you take Elena Rivera to be your wife?”

“I do.”

No hesitation. No emotion. It was the easiest part of the entire ceremony for him. When the priest announced them as husband and wife, the applause was loud, celebratory, and deafening. Elena flinched at the sound. She didn’t feel married. She felt sealed.

---

The reception was worse. Now, she had to perform.

“Smile,” Alexander muttered from beside her as a group of investors approached.

“You’re very good at giving instructions,” she whispered back, her lips pulled into a strained curve.

“And you’re very good at following them,” he replied coolly.

They looked perfect together. That’s what everyone said. He stood close enough to seem affectionate she laughed at the right moments. He introduced her confidently “My wife.”

The word felt strange and heavy. By the time the night began to wind down, Elena’s feet ached and her cheeks were sore from the facade. But what exhausted her most was him. Every time Alexander touched her even a light hand on the small of her back it felt calculated.

“Enough,” he said suddenly. The word was quiet but firm.

Elena blinked. “What?”

“You’re tired.” He looked at her briefly.

“You noticed?” she asked, a hint of sarcasm breaking through her fatigue.

“I notice everything.” His tone was calm, but there was something sharp beneath it. “You should rest. We’re leaving.”

“That sounds less like concern and more like a dismissal,” Elena noted softly.

This time, he really looked at her. For a moment, there was something unreadable in his dark eyes. “You’ll learn the difference,” he said.

The Roswell mansion was enormous. Cold. Perfect. Empty. As Elena stepped inside, her heels echoed against marble floors that looked as though they had never been walked on.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Roswell,” a staff member greeted her.

"Home." The word felt like a lie. She was led upstairs, her mind still trying to process the blur of the day. When she reached the door to the master suite, she paused. This was the final step.

She pushed the door open, but a voice stopped her.

“You’ll be staying in the guest room.”

Elena stilled. She turned slowly to find Alexander behind her, already removing his cufflinks as if the conversation were trivial.

“...I’m your wife,” she said quietly, confused by the sudden change in script.

“On paper,” he responded effortlessly. “And in public. That’s where it ends.”

Elena felt a strange twist in her chest—not quite relief, not quite insult. “You don’t even want to try?”

Alexander’s gaze sharpened. “Trying implies there is something to build, Elena. There isn't.”

The guest room was beautiful , soft lights, wide windows, and perfectly arranged. It was also completely unfamiliar. Elena sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ring on her finger. A symbol of forever that felt more like a lock.

Then, she heard it. A faint sound from down the hallway.

Curiosity overrode her exhaustion. She stepped out into the dimly lit corridor. At the far end, a door stood slightly ajar. Elena hesitated, remembering Alexander’s cold boundaries. But something pulled at her.

She pushed the door open. The room was dark and smelled of dust and old perfume. It felt frozen in time. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a photograph on a side table. Her fingers trembled as she lifted it.

It was Alexander. But he looked different he was softer, younger, truly alive. And beside him was a woman. She was beautiful, and they were close , too close.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The voice behind her was cold enough to stop her heart. Elena turned sharply. Alexander stood in the doorway, and for the first time, his expression wasn't controlled. It was pure, dangerous anger.

She hadn't just broken a rule. She had stepped into a part of his life he was desperate to keep buried.