Chapter one

Dahlia's POV

“…I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride,” the priest announces, a teasing glint in his eyes as if he’s done this a hundred times before.

I stare at the man in front of me, my legal husband. I wait, heart pounding, for him to lean in and kiss me, but he doesn’t. He refuses to follow the priest's command. My heart sinks, not in disappointment, but in anger.

How dare he disrespect me in front of all these people his father invited to our wedding? Does he not respect his father enough to at least keep up the facade for the guests? I didn’t expect much from this cold, stoic man, but I thought he’d at least pretend.

Instead, he rushes down the steps of the altar and vanishes from the church, leaving my face burning with humiliation. He could’ve at least leaned in, touched my cheek, or something.

Embarrassed, I slowly followed him outside, my head bent, unable to withstand the eyes watching our every move. As soon as I step out, a black Aston Martin zooms off, and I know my husband is in it. My hands balled into fists, nails digging into my palms.

I'm nobody in this world. I don’t know anyone here which makes me feel slightly better. 

I sense a presence behind me and turn to see who it is. It’s my new father-in-law, the man who proposed this entire charade to me just weeks ago, the man whose plan I agreed to in mere hours.

Forcing a smile, I stand there, grinding my teeth. I’ve never felt so disrespected in my life, not even when I was thrown out of the orphanage at barely eighteen. Right now, all I want is to murder my husband in cold blood, and I wouldn't regret it, not with the anger boiling inside me.

Andrew Caine, in his late fifties, has only one interested heir to inherit his billion-dollar fortune and multinational companies. His son was supposed to be married for a year before he could inherit, but he wasn’t ready to settle down, so Andrew did what he saw fit.

I had no idea it would turn out to be such a disaster. Ethan Caine might be the man who features in every woman’s dreams, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s an emotionless asshole.

“I’m sorry about him,” Andrew says, his eyes watchful. “He’s finding it hard to get over my threats these last few days. He will come around.”

“I’m sure I can handle it, sir,” I reassure him, though deep down, I have so many doubts after meeting Ethan today and seeing how truly coldhearted he is. I thought the media was exaggerating, but no, he really is made of stone.

Andrew places a hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know you can. You’re a strong girl, Dahlia. There is a reason why I chose you.”

“Thank you, sir.” I shuffle on my feet and then blurt out, “How am I supposed to get to the house?”

“My driver will drop you off. I guess the guests will have to complete the wedding ceremony on their own?” He chuckles when I shrug, blushing.

“I can’t go back in there.” I look away, the embarrassment flooding back. Damn Ethan for belittling me, for showing me just where I stand.

“I understand. Go home and rest, dear.” He gives my shoulder another squeeze before turning back into the church.

A few minutes later, the driver arrives, and I slip into the Bentley, still wearing my simple white wedding dress. As I sit on the plush leather seat, I close my eyes, trying to keep my anger in check. I cannot act like the person he expects me to be. I am not that person.

A few minutes later, we arrive at a beautifully built villa, passing through several security checkpoints. My mouth drops open, and I sit up straight, glancing around in awe.

Is this heaven on earth? Where are we? The White House?

The car stops in a parking lot, and the driver opens the door for me. My mouth remains open in disbelief until I use my fingers to close it. I stare at the building, feeling completely out of my element, this is far beyond what I expected.

I knew the Caines were wealthy, but I didn’t know they owned places that look like castles or the White House itself. Am I supposed to live in this world? Yeah, just for a year.

My legs feel like jelly as I make my way to the only entrance I can see: large double white doors leading to the mansion, surrounded by several gleaming windows. The Caines are so rich it makes me want to throw up.

As I approach the door, I realize it’s already open, so I push it and enter. Of course, I don’t need permission. I step inside slowly, keeping my eyes on my feet to avoid staining the expensive marble floor.

I glance around the living room, taking in the limited edition European furniture, the exquisite paintings, the costly glass decorations. This is just the living room. I can’t wait to explore the entire villa by the end of the day. Suddenly, I don't feel exhausted anymore.

But as I look ahead to the spiral staircase that will lead me upstairs, I notice discarded clothing on the floor, a skimpy skirt, a tank top, and panties. I gasp, already connecting the dots. 

There’s a woman in this house, and I saw Ethan’s Aston Martin in the parking lot, which means… I can’t even finish my thought before a maid hurries over, greeting me and quickly gathering the clothes.

Before she leaves, I call out, “Hey, what’s your name?”

“My name is Quinn Austin, but you can call me Mrs. Austin. I’m the head housemaid here.” She looks me up and down, taking in my plain wedding dress.

I know she feels sorry for me, for seeing those discarded clothes and probably realizing that my husband might be upstairs, in bed with another woman, right after our wedding. 

“Mrs. Austin,” I say, nodding politely, despite my racing heart. “Can you show me to my room?”

Mrs. Austin, a woman in her late forties, nods with a carefully blank expression, years of working for Ethan Caine must have taught her that. “This way, Mrs. Caine.”

I falter at the name. It sounds strange to think I’ll have to take the name of a man who doesn’t give a damn about me. I shake my head; things are going to have to change.

‘Mr. Caine will need to take his whorish behavior elsewhere. Not in our marital home, not right in my face,’ 

I thought as I follow Mrs. Austin up the stairs with tentative steps. I admire the walls with their expensive paintings, though I’ve never really understood art. I just appreciate the beauty and bold strokes.

We pass a door, and weird sounds come from within. My face heats up as Mrs. Austin pauses for a moment before continuing on. Now everyone knows what he’s doing with the woman inside, while I’m being led to my room, on our wedding day.

I swallow my tears. Is this how this marriage is going to be? I didn’t sign up for this! Andrew didn’t tell me his son had physical attractiveness but a dark heart that doesn’t beat at all. Does he even have a heart?

Once I’m shown to my room, I thank Mrs. Austin and sink to the floor, finally allowing myself to cry. I thought there would be companionship, maybe even friendship. But not this humiliation.