03. Curse This Wedding!

The rooftop venue glimmers under the morning sun, but none of it feels real to me. I sit alone at a table tucked into the garden’s corner, far from the laughter and clinking champagne glasses. This isn’t a wedding; it’s a transaction wrapped in extravagance. Guests buzz around like bees in a gilded hive, chatting and congratulating, oblivious to the suffocating weight in my chest. 

 Maximilian’s friends and family swarm through the garden, each one effortlessly fitting into this world he dragged me into three days ago—a world I don’t belong to. 

 “Oh, the bride is beautiful! What a dress!” 

 “I heard the wedding was arranged quickly. No one expecting this marriage before.” 

 “Strange, isn't it? But look at this—he spared no expense, proofing everything.” 

 “She’s lucky. It’s Maximilian Milton, after all. Who wouldn’t want to be in her shoes?” 

 Lucky. That word cuts through me. I glance at the ring on my finger, a sparkling band I never wanted. My thumb rubs the cold metal as if trying to erase it. There was no moment of happiness, no vows that felt like promises—just a short, impersonal ritual that ended with this: the title of Mrs. Milton and an empty place at the table. 

 A woman to marry, a world to leave behind. That’s all this is. I scan the rooftop but find no trace of him. Maximilian is nowhere, just as he has been since the ceremony ended. It’s like I’ve married a ghost. 

 Two women nearby giggle over their wine, drawing my attention. 

 “Do you think she knows?” 

 “Mm… I don’t think so.” 

 “She looks completely clueless about why she’s here. Kinda sad tho."

 They whisper loudly enough to catch my interest, though I can’t tell if it’s intentional. But then I catch a glimpse of Jax across the rooftop, and my focus shifts. He laughs easily with some of Maximilian’s people, fitting into their world as if he belongs. How does he know them? The question gnaws at me, returning no matter how often I try to push it aside. What exactly did Jax do here before? 

 I stare at him, wishing he would stay on the other side of the party. But he catches my eye and, with that infuriating smile, walks toward me. He pulls out the chair beside me and sits as if we’re old friends. “Is this what a bride does on her wedding day? Stay away from people?” 

 “Stop acting like we know each other,” I snap, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “I’m the wife of the leader of the Milton Group now.” 

 Jax leans back casually, unfazed by my words. “I’m quite hurt to hear that. I used to be the older brother you loved the most.” 

 I clench my fists, heat rising to my face. “If I could,” I hiss, “I would love to kill you with my own hands.” 

 For a moment, something flickers across Jax’s face—it looks almost like understanding—but it vanishes, replaced by a bitter smile that only deepens my hatred. 

 “In the end, I’m still going to die anyway,” he murmurs, his voice low and calm. He takes my right hand and gently pulls it to his lips. “You don’t need to stain your delicate hands with my blood.” He kisses my hand, tenderly, full of false honor. I feel disgust and quickly pull my hand away. 

 I stand abruptly, clenching the heavy fabric of my dress as I turn toward the door. Before I can take more than a few steps, two guards rush toward me, blocking my way. 

 “Madam,” one says stiffly, “Mr. Milton wants you to stay here until the party is over. It won’t be long.” 

 I feel Jax’s eyes on me, but he remains silent, watching with mild interest. Narrowing my eyes at the guards, I snap, “Should I defile this sacred feast with my pee?” 

 “Then let us guard you, madam.” 

 “Oh, please! Stop treating me like a prisoner. I just need a room with fresh air—one that doesn’t have Maximilian’s people breathing down my neck!” 

 Jax leans back in his chair, interrupting. “Let them watch you, Ari. Just make sure you don’t run away.” 

 His words hit me like a slap, igniting my fury. I yank off my wedding ring and slide it onto my middle finger, pointing it at him to see. 

 “This fucking thing,” I grit out, “is a sign that I’ll never escape Maximilian’s cage. Thanks to you for locking me in!” 

 Jax smirks, but there’s no joy in it—just bitter amusement that makes me want to slap him. I whirl around and head for the door. The dress drags behind me, its weight pulling at every step, but I finally reach the nearest staircase. My heart hammers with frustration as I descend to the next floor and walk to the restroom. 

 As I walk down the corridor, my irritation deepens. At every door stands a man—guards with sharp eyes and stiff postures. They’re everywhere, like shadows haunting my every step and blocking any hope of slipping away unnoticed. 

 I quickly slide into the restroom and lean against the sink, gripping the cool marble edge. My chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, frustration bubbling inside me like boiling water. 

 Why didn’t I refuse this marriage? Why didn’t I fight harder? 

 The anger I’ve been holding back breaks free, and I can’t stop shaking. My reflection stares back at me from the mirror—a bride in an exquisite dress, drowning in lace and floral patterns. But all I see is someone powerless, someone who let herself be caged. 

 I remember how Jax used to be my shelter—my protector when the world turned cold. He knew me better than anyone, the one I trusted. How could the person who loved me so much be the one to destroy me? 

 I squeeze my eyes shut, but that only makes it worse. Tears fall, hot and angry, streaking black down my cheeks. I scrub at them with trembling fingers, but the mascara smudges, making a mess of my face. 

 “Fuck, Maximilian! He’s nowhere and leaves me here to taste this hell myself!” I hiss under my breath, thinking of him. “Was marrying me just another task on his to-do list? He loves to make everything worse!” 

 I recall his words from our conversation at the dining table, frowning as I grip the edge of the sink tighter. “What danger was he talking about?” I whisper to my reflection, my voice dripping with frustration. 

 The woman In the mirror—me—looks stunning in the luxurious dress Maximilian insisted I wear. Every detail screams wealth and beauty. Yet all I feel is disgust. 

 I brush my fingers over the lace-covered bodice, but its beauty feels like a lie. I don’t recognize the person staring back at me. I hate her. I hate what I’ve become—someone trapped, dressed like a queen but treated like a prisoner. 

 “If I could just get my phone,” I mutter bitterly, blinking away fresh tears. “I’d call Sarah. She’d help me escape.” But they took everything—my phone, my belongings, my freedom. 

 “Why are they treating me like this? What have I done to them?” My voice breaks as I crouch on the cold tile floor, clutching the skirt of my dress as if it might stop the world from spinning out of control. 

 A sharp knock on the door makes me jolt. I sniff, wiping the last of my tears with the back of my hand. “What now?” I whisper, exhaustion weighing on my chest. 

 “Mrs. Milton, are you finished? Can you come out now?” A calm, steady voice—definitely another guard, not the one from earlier. 

 “Fuck it,” I mutter, straightening my gown and swallowing the lump in my throat. I yank the door open and stumble back slightly, nearly running into him. 

 “Mrs. Milton, can we go now?” His tone is polite, but something about it is unsettling. He’s dressed like one of Maximilian’s men—same uniform, steady gaze, unreadable face. I bite my tongue and nod; there’s no point in arguing. 

 The guard gestures for me to follow, and I do, though every step feels like I’m walking deeper into the unknown. When we reach the elevator, he presses the down button. 

 I blink, startled. “Down?” 

 Heart thudding, I glance sideways at him. I thought I’d be taken back to the top floor—to the party where Maximilian’s people are waiting. Why are we going down? 

 The guard shifts slightly, sensing my hesitation. “What’s the matter, madam? Aren’t you going to the first floor?” 

 I stare at him, trying to read the expression behind his impassive face, but it reveals nothing. Before I can respond, a voice cuts through the silence—sharp and urgent. 

 “Madam!”