Chapter 2- The garden of unspoken griefs

The music’s too loud. Too happy. I sit at the edge of the table, my fingers tracing the rim of my glass. Elias hasn’t moved from his seat. He’s watching me—staring, really—but not in a way that feels like he sees me. It’s like I’m just another thing he’s been handed, another thing he has to endure. His jaw is still tight. He’s trying to keep the world out. Or maybe he’s trying to hold something in.

The room buzzes with clinking glasses and forced laughter. I should be mingling, smiling, playing my part. But I can’t. The weight of everyone’s expectations presses down on me, heavy and suffocating. I shift in my seat, feeling like I’m about to drown in all of this.

I notice someone approaching me—a woman with a tight smile and even tighter pearls. She’s one of Elias’s aunts, I think. I don’t know her name, but she’s too polished, too put together. She sits next to me without asking, like she’s entitled to the spot.

“You’re doing well,” she says, her voice dripping with condescension. “It’s not easy, stepping into someone else’s life, is it?”

I don’t answer. What can I say to that? She doesn’t want my words, only the chance to lecture me, to remind me of how “brave” I am.

“You must feel it too,” she continues, lowering her voice. “The responsibility. The Maddox family doesn’t just marry anyone. And now—well, now you’ve joined us.”

I try not to roll my eyes. Instead, I take another sip of my wine, letting the bitterness slide down my throat. “I’m not here to be anyone’s ‘bloodline replacement,’” I say, keeping my voice even.

She smiles like she’s heard that line a thousand times, but it doesn’t faze her. “It’s not about what you think, dear. It’s about what’s expected. It’s about honor.” She leans in closer, her breath too sweet. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Honor. A word that means nothing to me. I’ve spent my life in the shadows of people who only cared about appearances. No, what matters now is survival. Nothing more.

The conversation dies as quickly as it started, and she retreats, leaving me with my thoughts—and Elias, who still hasn’t moved.

I glance at him again. His eyes meet mine, but there’s nothing there. Not a flicker of recognition, not a spark of anything. He’s a man locked in his own private hell, and I’m just a part of it.

The night drags on. The food comes and goes. I don’t eat. I don’t care. There’s no point in pretending anymore. I hear bits of conversations around me—small talk, polite smiles—but it all fades into the background. Elias’s family, my stepdad’s distant cousins, the few strangers who don’t even know my name. It’s all a blur.

I leave my seat and step outside for a moment. The cool night air bites at my skin, sharp and freeing. I need this. A minute away from everything. The reception hall is still in full swing, lights flickering in the distance, but out here, there’s just the sound of the wind and the soft rustle of leaves.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, when I hear footsteps. Heavy. Reluctant.

I don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“I thought you might be out here,” Elias’s voice rumbles from behind me. It’s rough, like he’s been using it too much, or maybe not enough. He stands there, his shadow stretching long against the wall of the house.

I don’t answer. I don’t have anything to say to him. But I can’t pretend he’s not there either. The air between us thickens, heavy with unspoken things.

“You’re not happy,” he says, as if it’s a revelation.

I turn to face him then, lifting my chin, defiance lighting my eyes. “Really? You figured that out all on your own?”

He doesn’t react. Just looks at me with that strange, unreadable expression. “I didn’t ask for this either.”

“Neither did I,” I reply, the words bitter in my mouth. “But here we are.”

We stand in silence for a moment. I wish I could say something—anything—to make this easier. But there’s nothing. Nothing can fix this.

“You think this is some kind of… curse, don’t you?” he asks suddenly. His voice is low, as if the question itself is dangerous.

“Isn’t it?” I counter, feeling the heat rise in my chest. “You didn’t want to marry me. I didn’t want to marry you. But here we are, stuck in some twisted version of fate. You didn’t want a substitute bride. And I didn’t want to be one.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stands there, his fists clenched at his sides, the tension rolling off him like an electric charge.

“I didn’t want anyone to die,” he says finally, so quietly I almost don’t catch it. “But she did. And now…”

“Now you’ve got a broken family and a stranger in a white dress.” I finish for him, the words harsher than I mean.

His eyes narrow, the weight of something dark in them. “I’m not the only one who’s lost something here.”

“No,” I agree, my voice steady. “But you’re the only one pretending it doesn’t matter.”

He doesn’t answer that. Instead, he looks up at the sky, as though searching for something—an answer, a reason. Whatever it is, it’s not something he’ll find here.

“I’ll survive,” I say, almost to myself. “You’re not the only one who’s lost.”

For a moment, he meets my gaze. And in that brief second, I see something behind his eyes—something wild, untamed. It’s not sadness. It’s hunger. And it scares the hell out of me.

I turn away before he can see it in mine. “Let’s just get this over with,” I mutter.

“You’re right,” Elias agrees, his voice a low growl. “We both are.”

I hear him walk away, the sound of his boots crunching against the gravel. I should feel something—relief, maybe. But all I feel is cold.

Tonight, we’re just two people pretending to live in a life that isn’t ours. And tomorrow? Tomorrow we might finally figure out what it means to be married. To each other. To this curse. To the thing we’ve both been running from.