The silk of Halle's whispered against the ground as she walked, each step echoing louder than the last inside her head. Her habd was hooked into her father's arm, firm and ceremonial. He hadn't said a word since they left the bridal room. She hadn't expected him to. Not really. He had signed the agreement like everyone else. Money, security, reputation. All bought with her silence.
The chapel was mostly empty. Sparse clusters of guests lined the pews. A few from her side_ if she could call them that. Her stepmother sat tall in the front row, draped in a pale blue dress, a shade too youthful. Her face was impassive, lips pinched.
Next to her, Maribel, herbstepsister leaned slightly forward, watching Halle approach with a lazy sneer.
Halle's chest tightened. She tore her gaze away and fixed her eyes on the altar. It was empty.
The groom had not yet.
Each step echoed louder in the hollow chapel. She thought maybe_ just maybe_;he would not come. Maybe this farce would collapse under it's own weight. But when she reached the altar and the officiant cleared his throat awkwardly, she side door creaked open.
He walked in without ceremony. No dramatic music. No fuss. Just long strides down the side aisle, as if he were arriving to close a business deal.
He was young. That was the first thing she registered. His height towering. Broad- shouldered, with a presence that felt both dangerous and deliberate. His suit was black, perfectly tailored, framing his lean frame like it had been made with only him in mind. Underneath, a black shirt_ no tie.
And his eyes. Black, like ink_ cool, unreadable, but not empty. Sharp cheekbones, defined jaw, hair a shade darker than his clothes, swept back with a casual effortlessness. He looked nothing like an overweight, old man she had imagined him to when she heard his name.
Her stemotherseyes widened slightly. Maribel straightened in her seat.
So even they didn't know.
He stopped at the altar and looked at her. Nit cruelly, not kindly_ just...assessing. Like he was making a mental note.
"Let's proceed," he said, his voice calm, low, and firm.
Halle's mouth dried. She nodded, the movement almost imperceptible.
The officiant began to speak, but the words blended into the hush of blood rushing in her ears. Her thoughts spiraled_ about the life she'd never wanted, about the man beside her whose name she barely knew.
This man_ her groom_ had no online presence. No photos. No history she could trace. All she had were rumours and a signature contract. Her stepmother had said he was powerful. Dangerous, even. But rich enough to fix their family's mess. That was all they'd needed to hear.
As they exchanged vows, Halle's voice wavered only once. When she said, "I do."
She didn't look at him then. She looked at her stepmother, who wore a look of concealed irritation. At maribel, who stared with something closer to disbelief.
Halle didn't smile when the ring slid into her finger. But something in her chest shifted. She was officially someone's wife.
As soon as they signed the official marriage documents, halle was led silently through the rear chapel doors. A luxury car with dark- tinted windows waited, it's engine humming softly like it had never stopped. A uniformed chauffeur stood by the open door. Rapahel_ her husband now_ gestured towards it without a word.
She stepped in first, the weight of her gown swallowing her limbs as she sank into the leather seat. He followed, closing the door behind him. No one from the chapel followed. No friends. No family. No last goodbyes.
The car eased into motion, gliding away from the stone chapel.
They drove in silence.
For five minutes, neither spoke. Halle kept her gaze fixed outside, watching the blur of trees and fading city. But the silence pressed against her chest like a stone. She turned slightly to face him, ready to speak, to break the emptiness with something_ anything_
But he beat her to it.
"Just because we are married, doesn't mean that you have to expect anything from me."
But he beat her to it.
"Just because we are married," Raphael said, his voice cool and even, "doesn't mean you should expect anything from me. We are married only on paper."
The words sliced through her like a blade too sharp to feel at first.
A part of her felt relief. The idea that this wasn't a real marriage gave her a strange sense of freedom. But the other part—the quieter, aching part—wondered why he had chosen her at all.
He glanced at her briefly, as if reading her thoughts. "I had my own selfish reasons. And your family gets what they want—money, status. Isn't that enough?"
She didn't answer. Her fingers gripped the edge of her gown as she stared ahead, willing herself not to show anything. Not the confusion, not the questions, not the sting in her chest.
Silence returned, thicker than before.
The city slipped away, replaced by clean, empty roads lined with trees and trimmed hedges. The car turned into a gated community, where sprawling villas sat behind pristine lawns and stone walls. They pulled up in front of one of the largest—a pale-stone estate with wide windows and sharp balconies, shadowed by tall trees.
The chauffeur stepped out and opened the door. Raphael got out first, then turned to offer his hand to her.
Kelsey hesitated. The gesture felt too civil, too polite. But stepping down in her gown without assistance was near impossible.
She placed her hand in his.
His fingers were warm, steady. He didn't smile, didn't look at her.
Once she was down, he let go.
The air smelled of roses and polished stone. A home too beautiful to feel like hers.
He walked up the steps. She followed.
No words were exchanged.
And so their life began—without a kiss, without warmth, without love. Only paper. Only silence.
And something else Kelsey could not name yet—something resting beneath Raphael's cold surface like a flame refusing to die.