Till death do us part

Violet

I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror. A sad, broken blonde, veiled in a nose-length white netting bandeau, stares back at me. It’s the wedding today, the onset of my misery.

I’m wearing a white sparkling gown with a fitted bodice. Its thigh-high slit runs down, flowing at the end, a beautiful embellishment of beads and sequins.

The dress has a V-neckline decorated with embellished overlays, and the long sleeves are sheer and adorned with sequins. A silver necklace runs along my neck. 

Our wedding is going down in history as one of the most expensive weddings, and I know it’s one of Ethan’s plans to get people prejudging and badmouthing me after I end our relationship.

“You look great, Violet.” My mom gestures for the lady in charge of my dressing to leave.

“How are you taking the lies on social media, Mom? Everything people know about us is a lie.”

Mom walks over, slowly. “None of those reflect our lives, sweetheart.”

“I warned you, girl, didn’t I?”

Our heads swing toward the door, my heart fluttering in fear.

“You finally trapped my son in your web of—”

“Let me stop you there, Verity.” Unease settles in my stomach as Mom steps closer to her. “You don’t speak to my daughter like that while I’m here.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Rebecca Sinclair.”

“Another whore.” She scoffs. “Behind the great man you see is a tired mother. I won’t sow for whores to reap.” She turns on her heels and storms off, leaving behind a disturbing silence.

Mom walks over to me and takes my hands, and for the first time since the whole disaster, I see fear and pain in her eyes. “Sweetheart. You don’t have to do this. We’ll just use some of our savings and send you away—”

I take her hands in consolation. Mom has never sounded this scared before. She wanted this marriage until now. I can tell the situation surpasses her. “Mom. Walk me to the altar.” The one thing I live for is my family. Even so, I'm afraid.

I sail down the aisle with a hand placed in my mother’s, my eyes riveting on the man who’s going to become my husband in some minutes. Fake husband, but legally married.

Taking in the splendid and extravagant look of Gotham Hall doesn’t fit the moment, neither does glancing at the guests, so I just stare at the smile on his face. A front meant to deceive the world, but our eyes hold the real truth, communicating it to each other.

Mom places my hand in his, which symbolizes a transfer of responsibility and care for me, but on the darker side, a transfer of pain.

To think it was supposed to be mine and Pete’s day today, but Ethan ruined our union. Tears scald my eyes, but I keep them at bay.

The officiant introduces the ceremony and says the opening prayer. Our voices steady, our eyes fixed, we take turns reciting the marriage vows, promising to love and cherish each other. 

To us, it’s a promise to hate and forsake each other.

I don't miss the victory and excitement in his eyes and his smile when he says the last line of the vow, “till death do us part.” Yet, I manage to say the vows.

It's just a three-month contract.

Anxiety claims me during the ring exchange, making my finger tremble, and the ring nearly falls, but he catches it, slipping it around my ring finger like nothing happened. The rage in his eyes when he looks at me gives him away, and I see the warning in his eyes.

The ring exchange symbolizes love, commitment, and unity that represents marriage, but it’s the opposite for us. It represents a constant reminder of my misery.

The officiant pronounces us husband and wife. Cat and mouse.

I gasp inaudibly as I feel my feet leave the floor, and in the following second, his lips are on mine, the kiss so intimate and deliberate, surpassing all levels of pretense.

The guests, both ones against us, clueless ones, and the ones for us, erupt into cheers and applause.

“You’re forgetting your role, Mrs. Coleman. Need a spank to keep you reminded?” he whispers.

Calling me that name paints me with a kaleidoscope of emotions. Revulsion, anger, fear, sadness. Sinclair suits Violet better, Dalton would’ve been much better.

He doesn’t put me down. He holds me in bridal carry, carrying me out of the building, and the guests throw rice and confetti at us. All I do is smile, a shallow smile. He still doesn’t put me down as we get to the Limousine and he sits me in it. The driver zooms off after Ethan gets in, bound for the reception venue.

The banquet hall is massive, with opulent, and sophisticated decorations. Each white chandelier that hangs from the ceiling not only gives a warm and inviting feel but creates a romantic and festive ambiance. 

There’s an excess of food and drinks of different varieties. Guests chat and refresh, their voices meddling in the uplifting aria opera blaring softly in the hall. It feels like they’re all feasting on my misery.

I’m standing in a corner with Avra, my work buddy. Across the white and reflective dancefloor with the monogram of our initials in the middle, is Ethan and a group of men chatting and laughing.

Everyone ostracizes me. Some ladies are giving me dirty glares and giggling with their friends. The jealousy in their eyes is hard to miss. If only they know the real story.

“A college romance turning into marriage. That's a match made in heaven. Why did you keep it a secret? God, you needed to see how the women at work went haywire when they realized you're the lady behind Ethan's obsession with blonde women.”

Point of correction: a match made in hell. I kept my relationship with Ethan a secret, that’s one of the biggest lies on social media. Rumors have it that Ethan only dates blonde women.

“Congratulations, friend.”

I turn and see Lucia approaching, her gait elegant as always. I felt lucky to have a friend like her at first, but that was until my breakup with Ethan brought out her true colors.

I can see the rage and jealousy she's trying to hide in those green eyes. I feel for her, though, just as much as I feel for myself and my boyfriend Peter.

“Excuse us, please.” She flashes Avra a grin, which Avra returns and walks off. “Once again, you’ve taken what belongs to me.”

“I never took Ethan from you back in college. Not even now.”

She scoffs, fury and defeat swimming in her eyes. “Who’s his sweetheart now? Me. And who’s his enemy? You, the girl he loved.” She fakes a smile. “I love your paintings. They’re masterpieces.”

“Thanks,” I say flatly.

She folds her arms, smirking. “You’re versatile. An artist, beautician, a fashion designer, even… a stripper.”

Her last word sends my heart fluttering in fear as I gape at her, memories flocking back to me. That’s my past, one I wish will remain buried.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” She gestures to the stage.

My eyes are yet to settle there when I hear the clinking sound of a spoon repeatedly tapping a glass.

I gasp in terror as I see Jerome, the traumatic memories rushing back to me, bringing tears to my eyes but I beat them back. Jerome was my boyfriend from three years ago. He got me a job as an exotic dancer when I had nothing.

Sharing my gains with me wasn’t enough, he gave me out to four men to rape me for money. Money he didn’t even share with me. I can never forget that moment of myself in a room with rapists.

“Why, Lucia?”

“Enjoy.” She walks off.

“I want to make a toast to my best friend, Violet,” Jerome says. His eyes, blazing with menace, rivet on me.

He’s going to say something to stir chaos. Amongst the throng, I feel Ethan’s raging eyes on me, but I don’t bother looking at him. My eyes are rather on Jerome as I battle with my fear.

I’m sweating in an air-conditioned room, my heart hammering against my chest in fear and my clammy hands clench.

He smiles. A malicious smile to me. “Violet and I met at a club.”

Liar.

“Thank you, Mr. Jerome. Can we get some music,” Ethan says and in a fleeting moment, he’s in front of me, his gaze impalpable and deadpan. He cups my chin romantically. His façade is off-the-charts.

“You seem pretty worn out when the night’s still young. Kurt will take you home.”

Relief washes over me as I settle in the car, but the anxiousness in my stomach remains. I sigh with relief, and as we drive through the city, I kill my sorrows, drinking in the magnificent nighttime metropolis until we disappear into an uphill road that’s lined with forest on both sides.

Upon getting to the mansion on the hill, Kurt stops in the driveway and a housekeeper takes me inside, leading me to a bedroom. A sweet scent wafts through my nostrils as she pushes the bedroom door open, but what I see makes me freeze in fear.

A room in a honeymoon standard with petals strewn on the bed and all over the floor. Ethan’s not planning to consummate our fake marriage, is he?

That fear clings to me, even after I take my bath and bundle up a white satin robe I found on the bed, assuming it’s for me.

The door opens and the lady walks in, hands in front of her. “Is there anything I can get for you, Mrs. Coleman?”

I stare at her. All I need is something that will make this night not happen. “Get me a knife.”