Chapter 1: A hollow beginning

I stood in front of the two large oak doors as the delicate bouquet of white roses shook in my fingers. The carvings within the wood were so detailed they almost seemed intimidating. It truly was hard to believe that in a moment, I would walk through them into a life I was not so sure I was ready for.

It wasn't very reminiscent of a wedding day, even to me. No overwhelming joy, no nervous anticipation of a beautiful beginning, just heavy, obliging weight squarely upon my chest. I looked down at the sleek satin gown my mother insisted on; the thought of its price still wrenched at my stomach. Beautiful indeed, but it felt more like an armor than something a bride would wear. "Lila," my mother whispered beside me, firm but pleading. "Stop fidgeting. You're marrying into the Blackwell family. Do you know what that means for us?"

Of course, I knew, how could I not have? The Blackwells were untouchable, wealthy beyond my imagination, and my mother's closest friend, Margaret Blackwell, was the one who arranged this union. It was supposed to be a dream, marrying a billionaire, sealing a future of lavish comfort.

But it wasn't a dream; it was an arrangement.

"I know, Mom," I said in a low voice, barely above the hum of my heartbeat.

I wasn't in this for the money. I wasn't naive to the advantages my family would acquire from this union either, but that wasn't my motivation. I'd fallen for Ethan Blackwell when I saw his photograph, tall, dark-haired, and devastatingly handsome with striking grey eyes that seemed to carry the weight of the world. I told myself maybe, just maybe I was what he needed to make him happy.

But the Ethan I had met two weeks ago wasn't the man I had built up in my mind. 

The memory of our first meeting was fresh in my head and still hurt like an open wound. Ethan had barely looked at me, his cold steely gaze scanning me as if I was some object to be appraised. His handshake was firm; his words firm and cool.

"I don't want this," he'd said baldly after our parents left us to ourselves in his sprawling study. "But I'll do it for my mother."

It wasn't what he said that broke me, but the way he said it. Like I was nothing. Like I wasn't worth more than the ink on our marriage contract.

I swallowed hard as the doors creaked open, and it hit me like a freight train. The grand ballroom at the Blackwell estate was dazzling, draped with soft whites and golds, a fairytale setting most women could only dream of. People turned to look at me; curiosity and envy etched on their faces.

But my eyes were not on them. They were on him.

Ethan Blackwell stood at the end of the aisle, impossibly tall and composed in a sharp black tuxedo. His face was a mask, unemotional, unreadable. I searched for anything that might hint as to what he was feeling but there was simply nothing there. 

He doesn't want this, I reminded myself.

And yet, I moved forward, one step after another, my satin heels clicking against the marble floor. I didn't look at the crowd, didn't think about their whispers or the weight of their stares. My gaze stayed fixed on Ethan, even as the lump in my throat grew larger with each step.

When I finally reached him, he reached out to me, his movements mechanical, his touch cold. His fingers wrapped around mine, firm but unfeeling, and I resisted the urge to pull away. 

"You look. fine," he said under his breath, his tone clipped. 

Fine. Not beautiful, not stunning. Just fine. 

"Thank you," I murmured, my voice shaking.

The officiant began the proceedings, and his words became a drone of meaningless sounds. I couldn't hear him, too caught up in the ache building in my chest. Every vow, every promise spoken felt like a mockery, cruelly taunting what a marriage was supposed to be.  

"Do you, Ethan, take Lila to be your lawfully wedded wife?"  

"I do."

His voice didn't break, but somehow, the words sounded strange, coming from him. 

"And do you, Lila, take Ethan to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

I faltered, my heart pounding so loudly in my ears that I was certain it was audible to everyone in the room. I glanced up at Ethan; his smoky grey gaze looked right back at me, with little to no respite. For one blistering moment, I considered running. Flinging myself around, snatching this strangling gown off, and running from this whole charade.  

But I didn't.  

"I do," I whispered.

The applause that followed was deafening, but it wasn't a celebration. It felt like the clang of a prison door slamming shut.  

The reception was even worse.

Ethan barely spoke to me, instead spending most of the evening entertaining his business associates and hobnobbing with the elite crowd. I stood awkwardly beside the wall, sipping champagne I didn't want and forcing a smile I didn't feel.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Blackwell," someone said from behind me, her voice reaching my ears just before her designer gown appeared like an ethereal visitation under the chandelier with her. Her razor-sharp tone was cloaked in politeness as her eyes, sharp and watchful, hawk-eyed me.

"Thank you," I replied, voice tight.

"It must be such an adjustment for someone like you," she added, and the condescension was palpable in her tone. "But don't worry, you'll learn how to fit into this world eventually." 

I clamped my teeth over her retort and instead forced a tight smile, nodding to excuse myself to find a quiet corner.

I finally found Ethan across the room,his head tilted to listen as a gorgeous blonde in a form fitting gown laughed at whatever it was he'd just said. She touched his arm with the back of her hand and he didn't pull away.

The tension in my chest drew up another notch.

This is what you signed up for, I told myself.

But no matter how many times I told myself that, it didn't take the edge off the ache.  

By the time we left for the honeymoon suite, exhaustion had overcome heartbreak. The silent ride to the estate's private wing was unbearable, tension so thick it could suffocate me. Ethan didn't say a word, just stared out of the window, his jaw tight.

As we entered the suite, he stopped at the door, his broad shoulders rigid as he turned to face me.

"This doesn't mean anything," he said harshly, his voice like a blade as he shrugged off his jacket and placed it on a chair. "This marriage is for my mother. Expect nothing from me, Lila."

It cut deep, but I didn't let my tears fall, no matter how much they threatened to. "I didn't marry you for your money, Ethan."

There was bitterness in the laugh that followed his words; he glared at me with hot, angry grey eyes. "Of course you didn't," he said. "That's what they all say."

No words got beyond that before he tugged a jacket from the back of the chair and beat out the door, slamming it with force.

The silence around me was deafening. The echoes of his last words felt cold and weighty beneath the seal of his rejection.

For the first time that day, I let my tears fall.