Chapter 3

I woke up to the sound of distant church bells ringing faintly through the cool morning air. For a brief moment, as I blinked against the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the curtains, I forgot what day it was. I forgot the weight pressing on my chest, the ache deep in my stomach. But then reality came crashing down, and with it, the suffocating reminder that today was my wedding day.

I sat up slowly, my movements sluggish as if my body was rejecting the idea of moving forward with the day. The silk robe I wore felt foreign against my skin, smooth and cold, much like the life that awaited me. I glanced toward the vanity table where a team of stylists had already begun unpacking their tools, the sight of them making my stomach twist. They were here to make me look beautiful, to transform me into the perfect bride for a man who despised me.

“Elena?” The soft, familiar voice of my best friend, Margot, pulled me from my thoughts. I turned toward her, and just seeing her standing there in her maid of honor dress, a soft lavender gown that complimented her caramel skin, made me feel like I could breathe again. Margot had always been my anchor, the one person who truly understood me. And now, as I faced the most daunting day of my life, she was here, just as she always had been.

“Hey,” I managed to say, though my voice came out hoarse. I cleared my throat and forced a small smile, but Margot wasn’t fooled. She stepped closer, her brows knitting together as she knelt in front of me.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said softly, her hands resting on mine. “We can leave right now. We can get in my car and just drive. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Her words were tempting, so tempting that for a moment, I let myself imagine it. The two of us speeding down an open highway, the wind whipping through our hair, leaving behind the suffocating expectations and demands of our families. But that moment faded quickly, replaced by the cold reality of my situation.

“I can’t,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You know I can’t. My father… he’ll cut me off completely. I’ll have nothing, Margot. No money, no place to live, no way to start over.”

Margot’s jaw tightened, her frustration evident. “You would have me,” she said firmly. “You’ve always had me.”

I smiled at her, a real smile this time, despite the tears welling in my eyes. “I know,” I said. “And that means everything to me. But I can’t drag you into this mess. This is my fight, my burden.”

Her expression softened as she reached up to brush a tear from my cheek. “It’s not fair,” she said quietly. “You’ve done everything for your father, for his approval, and this is how he repays you? By selling you off like some kind of… of property?”

I closed my eyes, the truth of her words cutting deep. “It’s not about fairness,” I said. “It’s about duty. Responsibility. Being a ‘Carter.’” I spat the last word like it was poison on my tongue. “This is my life now, Margot. My dreams… they don’t matter anymore.”

At that, I broke. The tears I had been holding back all morning spilled over, and a sob escaped my lips before I could stop it. Margot immediately pulled me into her arms, holding me tightly as I cried against her shoulder. “I wanted so much more,” I whispered through my tears. “I wanted to paint, to create something meaningful. I wanted a life that was mine. But now… now it’s all gone.”

“No, it’s not,” Margot said fiercely, pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes. “Elena, listen to me. This might not be the life you wanted, but it doesn’t mean you have to give up on your dreams. You’ll find a way, I know you will. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Her words were meant to comfort me, to give me hope, but in that moment, they felt like empty promises. How could I hold on to my dreams when I was about to marry a man who treated me like I was nothing more than an inconvenience?

The stylists returned then, bustling around me as they began to work on my hair and makeup. Margot stayed by my side, her presence a small comfort amidst the chaos. I sat there silently as they transformed me, painting over my tears with layers of foundation and blush, weaving my hair into an intricate updo that felt far too elaborate for someone who felt so broken inside.

By the time they were finished, I barely recognized myself. The woman staring back at me in the mirror was beautiful, yes, but she was also a stranger. Her eyes held no spark, no life. She was a doll, a mannequin, dressed up and put on display for the world to see.

The ceremony was held at an extravagant cathedral, its towering spires and stained glass windows a testament to the wealth and power of the Blackwood and Carter families. As Margot helped me into my dress, a stunning white gown with delicate lace sleeves and a flowing train. I felt the weight of it all pressing down on me. This wasn’t just a wedding, it was a spectacle, a show of unity between two powerful families. And I was the star of the show, whether I wanted to be or not.

The walk down the aisle felt like an eternity. All eyes were on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet any of their gazes. My focus was on the man standing at the altar, his tall, imposing figure framed by the golden light streaming through the stained glass. Julian looked every bit the part of a groom, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, his expression unreadable. But as I drew closer, I saw the coldness in his green eyes, the tight set of his jaw. He didn’t want to be here any more than I did.

When I finally reached the altar, Julian didn’t offer his hand to help me up the small step. Instead, he stood there, stiff and unyielding, his gaze fixed ahead. My father gave my hand a quick squeeze before stepping back, leaving me alone with Julian and the priest.

The ceremony began, the priest’s voice echoing through the grand cathedral as he spoke of love and commitment. I tried to focus on his words, but all I could feel was Julian’s presence beside me, cold and distant. When it came time for the vows, Julian recited his with a detached, almost robotic tone, as though he were reading from a script. I stumbled through mine, my voice barely above a whisper.

Then came the moment I had been dreading... the kiss.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest declared, his voice ringing through the cathedral.

For a brief moment, there was silence. Then Julian turned to me, his expression hard and unyielding. He leaned in, and for a split second, I thought he might actually kiss me. But instead, he brought his face close to mine, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “Don’t expect anything more than this.”

And then he pulled back, his gaze cold as he turned to face the crowd. The room erupted into polite applause, but all I could hear was the sound of my own heart shattering.

As we walked back down the aisle together, hand in hand for the sake of appearances, I felt like I was walking into a prison, the doors slamming shut behind me. This was my life now—a life of duty, of sacrifice, of emptiness.

And Julian Blackwood, the man who wouldn’t even kiss me at the altar, was my warden.