CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

HEAVEN’s POV

This was what every girl would have termed as a dream wedding. A luxurious, extravagant wedding—that was trending right now on the internet, to a very successful billionaire, hot, dashing, handsome, breathtaking even, standing out amongst the crowd, his demeanor screaming power and bizarre authority. Wearing it clearly on his face that he shouldn’t be messed with, and honestly, I could count the amount of times I’d seen the corner of his lips tug up in what barely resembled a smile.

We all gushed about these kind of men in the books we read, hoping we’d be lucky enough to get married to someone just like them.

Funny how you have to be put in a constricting position, have everything you’ve ever dreamt about, everything you’ve ever hoped for, everything you’ve ever believed in, grasped from your reach.

Having your heart heavy, yet the tears don’t come out, causing the constant pang in your chest threaten to tear down your rib cage.

Being put in a situation where there’s plenty of oxygen, but you can’t breathe, you’re suffocating, each breath a testament to your suffering, daring to break you apart to even smaller pieces.

Pretty funny how you have to go through so much before it slaps you right across the face that there’s a whole big difference between reality and fiction.

The clattering of glasses drew me out of my dwam as my eyes traveled across the huge quintessentially decorated hall.

Pristine tablecloths fell in cascades over round tables, and delicate flowers—white as the snow—graced each centerpiece. Crystal chandeliers showered the room in a gentle, inviting light, promising a day that should have been filled with joy.

Everywhere I turned, a sea of guests dressed in the theme's vibrant red flowed around me, contrasting sharply against the tranquil white. They were like flames dancing on ice, a vivid attestation to the celebration that my life had abruptly become. Amidst them, I found myself a pale ghost, wearing white not just in attire but in spirit too, feeling stark and misplaced.

I felt dead, even though I was alive and breathing. I felt empty, the void eating me up from the insides.

Adrian, the man now my husband, stood tall and unmistakably proud in his tailored suit.

"Smile, Heaven," he whispered, a command veiled as a request, the deep baritone of his voice, causing my eardrums to tingle. His hand, firm around my waist, steered me through the crowd.

We made our rounds, stopping first by clusters of business partners who eyed me like a new asset to be appraised. "Giana's daughter, finally part of the family," one who looked like he was in his late fifties, chuckled, his bald head gleaming under the lights scintillating from the crystal chandeliers. His eyes, pinned on mine, had a strange look in them that I couldn’t place, his smile, lopsided, sending chills down my spine.

I mustered the smallest smile I could, darting my gaze to the wedding band in my ring finger.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” another voice spoke, causing me to raise my head, my eyes meeting his. “Congratulations,” he added, stretching forward his hand that I took with uncertainty, retracting almost immediately. He let out a chortle, pushing back his hair.

“Adrian, congratulations. And who knows, before we know it, they’re expanding the family already,” baldie said with a goody laugh. “Expansion is very important, Right, Mr Miller?” Davis,—as Adrian has called him earlier, added, their voices laced with something I couldn’t quite place—was it intrigue, or mockery?

Adrian on the other hand stared back at them with eyes that held no emotions at all—blank. “See you some other time,” he said dismissively to the men, craning his head in my direction.

“Shall we?” He asked.

"Delighted," I lied through my teeth, my voice as hollow as I felt. Adrian beamed, oblivious or indifferent to my discomfort.

The mask of joy I wore felt heavier with each passing second.

As we moved further into the throng, my heartbeat quickened, a sense of foreboding wrapping around me like a shroud.

I was never used to having so much attention on me, so many pairs of eyes fixated on me, watching me, following my every move. In all sincerity, it made me extremely anxious, my heart thumping against my rib cage as I managed to move my legs, taking one step at a time as Adrian’s hand on my waist, navigated me through the sea of bodies that were the guests who were invited to witness my doom.

Then I saw them—my step-sister Avery and Kyle, the man whose ring I was once meant to wear. They sat ensconced in a bubble of betrayal, wrapped in each other's arms, their laughter a stark contrast to the storm brewing within me.

This marriage—sorry, arrangement, would always remind me of her betrayal, engraved in my soul; a wound that’ll never heal. Each time I stare in the mirror, I’ll see the scars, the trauma etched in my eyes.

Avery caught my eye, her smile faltering just for a second before she buried her face into Kyle's shoulder; a petty act to make me burn in jealousy, and boy, was it working.

I raged in envy, doing well to mask it with an expressionless, unbothered look I threw back at her in return. Kyle, meanwhile, had the audacity to offer me a nod of acknowledgment, his expression unreadable. How sweet?

A man who had—in the snap of his fingers—brought me to ruins, torn apart my dreams and buried them alive. A man who had pierced my heart with betrayal sharper than a King’s sword, without even giving me closure, like he was hell bent on seeing me destroyed. A man after his own selfish interest, who wouldn’t mind burning the earth to crisp, if it meant he would get what he wanted. A man who was a wolf under sheep’s clothings.

I felt the air thin around me, my breaths becoming shallow, tears starting to pool in my eyes, threatening to drop, my vision blurring out.

"I... I need a moment," I stuttered, pulling away from Adrian's grasp.

"What’s wrong?" Adrian's voice, tinged with impatience, followed me.

"Just... just need some air," I managed, my legs moving before he could protest further, dashing through the closest door I could find. My escape from the suffocating embrace of the hall led me to the restroom, the cold night air embracing me, offering a fraction of the solace I so desperately sought.

Alone under the blanket of the night, tears threatened to spill, but I refused to let them. The stark realization that my life was no longer my own, sold in exchange for alliances and business deals, hit me harder than I expected. The weight of the wedding band on my finger felt like a shackle, a constant reminder of the life I had unwillingly stepped into.

I stood in front of the sink, staring into the mirror. My reflection was the complete opposite of what the reality was; an illusion, designed to swindle the world. The make up. . .made me look happy—made me look like the perfect wife to a billionaire, shielded my anguish from the world, hid my cries of agony from the crowd. I was neither happy, nor did I know what it entails to become the perfect wife to a man I barely knew.

I mustered a smile, the eyeliner enhancing it, making it look like the smile reached my eyes; it didn’t. The artists must have been incredibly talented to pull this off.

I held on to the edge of the sink, gripping it tightly, taking deep breaths that did absolutely nothing to calm me down, the anxiety of returning to the damned wedding party heightening with each second.

The restroom became my temporary refuge from the prying eyes and the festive ambiance that suffocated me. No sooner had I entered, though, did I overhear a conversation that stopped me in my tracks. Hidden in one of the stalls, I listened as a couple of women, their voices hushed but excited, gossiped about my new husband, Adrian Miller.

"He looks absolutely perfect, doesn't he? Tall, handsome, and those eyes," one of them said, her voice laced with a mix of admiration and envy. “Grey. An interesting color, don’t you think?”

“Forget about his eyes, girl. Did you see that body, abso-damn-lutely perfect!” The other woman squealed, the sound followed by one of shoes stomping against the ground.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. And no, I wasn’t jealous at all, I was just appalled by how delusional girls can be.

“That bitch is lucky as hell, bagging a smoking hot billionaire for a husband,” the first girl chirped with way too much excitement.

"Yes, but have you heard? Poor thing, they say he can't get it up," the other woman whispered, her tone carrying a blend of pity and scandal.

Their words hit me like a freight train, leaving me momentarily speechless. So, that was Adrian's secret. His disability. Erectile dysfunction.

“She could get some other Ds outside of the marriage, no biggie,” the first woman spoke again, and I imagined her shoulders rise and fall in a nonchalant shrug. I stood there, frozen, as they giggled and speculated about how this would affect our marriage. I felt a bizarre sense of relief wash over me amidst the shock. Relief because, given the circumstances, I wouldn't have to confront the complexities of an intimate relationship with my new husband. After what I had been through with Kyle and witnessing him with Avery, the idea of intimacy felt daunting, even unwelcome.

A small smile appeared on my features. ‘Shouldn’t be that bad,’ I thought, fixing my hair and dress before returning to the hall.

~•~

The reception continued in a blur of faces and forced conversations. Every so often, my gaze would unwittingly find its way back to my ex-fiancé and stepsister. Their laughter reached me across the room, a cruel reminder of what had been taken from me. Not by choice, but by necessity and family duty. Now, I wished I was a little bit like Avery, doing whatever it takes to make me happy. My heart ached, yet I couldn't afford to let those feelings show, masking it with a fake smile as my gaze flickered across the room.

Dinner was a grand affair, the tables laden with delicacies and fine wine flowing freely. I took a forkful of my pasta, the food turning to ash in my mouth, and I proceeded to continuously stab it with my fork, my appetite dissipating into nothingness. Across the table, Adrian engaged in animated discussions with various guests, who dragged me into their conversations a few times, his charm and wit on full display. My cheeks were starting to hurt from the fake smiles. He was the perfect groom in everyone's eyes but mine. Our interactions were limited, clinical even. There was no warmth, no genuine affection. We were strangers tied together by a contract rather than vows of love.

His gaze met mine a few times as he conversed with his business partners, his eyes cold, a deep shade of grey, holding emotions I couldn’t place. He smiled a few times, the smiles failing to reach his eyes each time.

Adrian scared me a bit; his demeanor, his eyes too. A man of a few words, he spoke only when necessary, those necessary things being, business and dishing out orders. Funny how it took me one evening to figure out.

Soon enough, it was time to go to my new home, to live with absolute strangers. Cameras kept flashing in my face, the media trying to seek answers to questions from my husband, who pretended like they weren’t even there. I smiled, inwardly.

My father kept assuring me that I was going to be okay and no matter how candid his voice sounded, and the sincerity that swam in his eyes, I couldn’t bring my self to believe him, to trust him.

We got into the sleek black car that was overly decorated, and I felt a tear trickle down my cheeks as the vehicle hit the road. I sat in silence, anticipation, and oblivion, letting fate lead the way.