WHERE LIGHT MEETS DARK CHAPTER 3

Lily's head began to whirl. Everything in her life had been determined by others' needs. She had matured into an ideal daughter and a perfect heiress. The parents had been trained to smile and nod; play out her part in the world constructed for her. And here she was now, standing in front of two sheets of paper, everything seeming false.

A tear threatened to spill, but Lily refused to let it fall. She was not that girl anymore. She was not that meek girl who allowed other people to tread on her weak self.

 "I won't sign it," she said her voice shaking defiantly. "I won't let you boss me around this way.

Vandaulf's face darkened and the coldness in his eyes deepened. He leaned closer to her, speaking in a low, dangerous voice: "You think you have a choice, Lily? You think you can just walk away from this? Do you really believe you can challenge me? Do you have any idea what I could do to you?

His words ran down her spine, but something inside of her snapped. She was not going to allow him to intimidate her any longer.

"You may have all the power," she said, her voice shaking but gaining strength with each word, "but I'm not some puppet, Vandaulf. And you can't break me.".

His lips curled into a cruel smile. “We’ll see about that Miss James,” he said, turning on his heel and heading toward the door.

But before he could leave, Lily grabbed the pen and signed the documents with a single, determined stroke. She had no other choice. It was the only way to survive in this world that spun around her, getting out of hand.

And even as she signed her name on the dotted line, something inside of her shifted.

She was playing his game now, yes. She would make sure she broke all the rules he had set when she did break them. And when she did, she would leave him with nothing.

That was a promise. The chill, strangling weight of the moment clung to Lily as she stood at the altar, locked in the marriage she had never wanted. Her chest felt tight, every breathed breath weighted, as if the very air itself had grown heavy with the acridity of the vows just taken.

It was all a blur of polished smiles, shining rings, and the hollow clink of glasses, but she could feel only the oppressive presence of the man standing beside her: Vandaulf Carlston. As Lily moved through the ceremony, she felt her head nodding of its own accord, her thoughts pulling back into herself. She had to walk down the aisle, wear the dress, and stand beside the man who made her skin crawl. There had been no love, no romance in this union. It was nothing more than a transaction, a deal made by two families who saw nothing but profit in their alliance.

But this ache within her had nothing to do with the knowledge of her fate, but with him.

She saw him when she stood at the altar, as distant a look upon his face as she had ever seen. He wasn't even looking at her as though she were his bride. The drift of his gaze was past her, across the room, with cool, disinterested measuring. She felt nothing but contempt pouring off him. He was sickened by her.

When their eyes met, his lips curled ever so slightly into a mocking smile. His face wore a mask of perfect indifference. He sneered though-the sneer lay long in his expression. She was beneath him. An ornament, more an ornament to solidify the deal. He never cared enough to see whether she stood before him, trembling and with every nerve spread out before him. She was nothing more than an accessory, one to be used, controlled, and eventually discarded.

She could feel it in the air, in the posture. She was nothing.

The priest's voice echoed out through the hall, and yet the formality of the proceedings only seemed to make her more trapped. "Is there any man who objecteth to this union?" he asked, that challenge hanging heavy in the air, daring some unknown soul who might find cause to object against this travesty. But Lily knew no man would raise any objections. After all, her fate was now sealed with that ink on that contract she was forced to sign just hours earlier.

No one would stop this wedding. She was helpless.

She stared back at him. There, smiling. Smirked wider, a hard lip curl with absolutely nothing to do with affection but everything to do with a satisfied ego.

She'd worn that dress as well, acting her role as his play piece in the grand game.

And he reveled in every instant of it all.

The only sounds in the silence were the priest's continuing instructions. But when it came to the time she would pledge herself to him, Lily's voice barely escaped her lips. "I do." The words tasted bitter in her mouth, which she thought was impossible. Bitter. So bitter. She hardly knew the person who said it.

But Vandaulf's response was worse. When the priest turned to him, asking him if he took her to be his lawfully wedded wife, he answered without hesitation, his voice flat and without even a shred of warmth.

"I do."

Just like that.

There was nothing in his eyes but cold calculation, nothing in his voice but indifference. His tone was as lifeless as the contract they had signed—an unspoken acknowledgment of their shared fate. The words held no emotion, no love. He was simply doing what needed to be done.

The moment passed. And with it, the priest pronounced them husband and wife.

The thunderous applause that followed became a mockery. Lily's chest pinched inward. She couldn't take it, not even that weighty moment. She felt imprisoned. Handed out the way she had been in marriage and this dead life, a mere business proposition.

Vandaulf turned to her then, still with no emotion in his gaze. But in them was another thing—darkness. Satiety. The satiety of victory and of conquest; of having triumphed and so taken her from herself. And his eyes did flicker past her lips and out the crowd, across to the world beyond, into which he was sweeping. She meant nothing to him, nothing of herself; was only a part of a bond to be serviced.

Congratulations, Lily," he said, the words spilling out of his mouth with an icy precision that made her skin crawl. "You have done your part."

Lily looked back at him, her heart plunging to the pit of her stomach. She was part and parcel—her role—that's all she meant to him. A minor component in his greater scheme of things. His eyes flickered with cold, impassive amusement, as if he were eyeing a new piece of furniture he had acquired.

The gall. The utter, complete arrogance.

For a flash, she felt the blaze of anger inside her like a stormy tide. She wanted to scream, slap him across the face, tell him she was not an object, his to claim. But her body was a statue. The numbness, resignation, and feeling of hopelessness overpowered her.

She could still hear her grandmother's voice. Fight smart. But how was she supposed to, when this man held all the power?

Vandaulf's arm was cool and possessive as he linked it with hers, leading her away from the altar as the guests erupted into congratulatory chatter. She barely heard them, her head too clouded by the venom he had already injected into her soul.

The dress weighed heavy, like a millstone tied to her limbs. She had the fabric tugging at every step. A pulse thumping in her ears, she knew she could neither stop nor hinder it. Now, this is her life-she lived only according to what Vandaulf wanted and whimmed. No more than an ornament, her marriage sealed, an affair signed with the binding of vows and gold rings.

And, as she walked out of that ceremony hall beside Vandaulf, Lily experienced her chest pulling inwards sharply under an aching wave of suffocation. The brightness from Lily's eyes dulled when Vandaulf's grasp became just fractionally tighter over her arm. He was boss. He'd always been like that, though that was rather glaringly the case now.

He glanced down at her, a sharp, assessing gaze that made her feel as small as a bug beneath his heel. There was no warmth, no gentleness. His eyes flickered with amusement, as though he were enjoying watching her squirm.

“You’ll learn your place, Lily,” he murmured under his breath, his voice low and mocking. “Just like the rest of them.”

Lily's breath caught in her throat. Her hand balled into a fist at her side, but she said nothing. She knew all resistance was for naught. She had no control here. She had sold herself.