C3 The Wedding Day

Evelyn's Pov

The day of my wedding arrived, as if it had been destined by some cruel force beyond my control. Every moment of this day felt surreal, as though I were an actor in someone else's life, playing a role I didn't choose, and couldn't escape.

The grand hall was draped in silks and velvet, adorned with flowers that seemed to make me perfect, pristine, and painfully artificial. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, but to me, it felt suffocating, like a symbol of everything I was about to lose. My stomach twisted, but there was no turning back.

I stood before the mirror, watching as the maid tightened the last few adjustments on my dress. The gown was beautiful, the intricate lace shimmering in the light, the heavy satin hugging my body.

It was everything my mother had dreamed of. But it wasn’t mine. I wasn’t allowed to have anything that was truly mine anymore. Not my choice in a future, not my freedom, and certainly not my happiness.

The reflection in the mirror was a stranger. A bride, yes. But a bride without joy, without warmth. Just a woman on the edge of a life she didn’t choose. My makeup was perfect, my hair carefully arranged in soft waves, but all I could see in my eyes was the fear of what was to come.

A knock at the door shattered my thoughts.

"Are you ready, dear?" My mother’s voice was high and sweet, masking the nerves beneath. She entered without waiting for a response, her eyes scanning my appearance. "You look perfect. Just like I always imagined."

I wanted to scream, to tell her that this wasn’t what I wanted. That I didn’t care about perfection. But I couldn’t. There was no point in fighting anymore. Her expectations weighed heavier than my desires, and my father’s indifference crushed any attempt I had at rebellion.

"We’re all waiting for you," she said, a strange, almost eerie calm in her voice. "It’s time."

I nodded, even though my legs felt like they would give out beneath me. Every step toward the aisle felt like I was walking into an abyss, one I couldn’t escape.

My heart raced as I took my place at the top of the grand staircase, my eyes barely glancing at the sea of faces below. The guests were all gathered, their smiles plastered on their faces, eager to witness the spectacle that was my life.

Then, my gaze flickered to him.

Liam.

He stood at the altar, looking every bit the perfect groom—immaculate, poised, and distant. He was the picture of control, just like he had been at the engagement party. But unlike that night, when I had been full of anger and resentment, today I felt nothing but emptiness. The anger had been burned out of me long ago, replaced by a hollow sense of inevitability.

I could feel his eyes on me as I made my way down the aisle, his gaze piercing, calculating. The guests parted, their whispers filling the air as I passed, but I barely noticed them. My world had narrowed to the space between Liam and me.

His presence was suffocating. Even from a distance, I could feel the tension, the weight of the contract that hung between us. This wasn’t a marriage. It was a transaction. And neither of us had any say in it.

I reached the altar, my legs trembling beneath me. The priest’s voice was a blur, his words a meaningless chant as I stood there, my mind screaming, This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

Liam stood before me, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel his body heat, like a furnace, a fire that I couldn’t touch. And then the moment came—the moment I had dreaded the most.

The kiss.

I had heard that it was supposed to be the most intimate part of the ceremony, the moment when two souls became one. But there was no intimacy here. No warmth. No connection.

Liam’s hands, cold and indifferent, cupped my face. I wanted to pull away, to shove him off me, but I couldn’t. The eyes of the guests were on us, and my mother’s gaze burned into my skin like a brand. I had to pretend, just like I had been doing my entire life.

His lips pressed against mine, soft but distant, like he was kissing a stranger. It was nothing like I had imagined, nothing like I had hoped for in my most secret dreams. There was no passion, no tenderness, no love. Just the cold press of his lips, the harshness of the reality crashing down on me.

It burned. Not because it was painful, but because it made everything inside me feel raw, exposed. This was the price I had to pay. A simple kiss, and all my pride, my sense of self, was wiped away in an instant.

As the kiss ended, I could feel his breath on my lips, cold and deliberate. I didn’t dare look at him, couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes. He had already taken enough from me.

But he wasn’t finished yet.

The priest’s voice was drowned out by the pounding of my own heart as the ceremony continued. I forced myself to stand still, to be composed, to pretend that I was fine. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t fine. I was a prisoner in this gilded cage, and the bars were tightening with every passing second.

The reception followed shortly after, a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and forced smiles. I floated through the crowd, my feet barely touching the ground. The air was thick with perfumed scents and the chatter of well-wishers, but I couldn’t focus on any of it. I couldn’t focus on anything except the knot in my stomach, the one that had grown tighter with every moment I spent in Liam’s presence.

He was everywhere, of course, standing by my side, offering the occasional smile to guests, his hand never straying far from my back. But there was no warmth in his touch, no affection. It was as cold and sterile as everything else about this day.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His jaw was set, his eyes scanning the room like he was waiting for something. Waiting for me to break, maybe. Waiting for me to fail. It was hard to tell with him. He never showed what he was thinking.

The music played on, a soft lull in the background, as I made my way to the center of the reception hall. My mother had arranged for us to dance, to show the world how perfect we were. But I didn’t want to dance. I didn’t want to be here, in this room full of people who all knew what was happening, who were all complicit in my misery.

I turned away, but Liam’s hand shot out and caught mine, pulling me back to him with a force I hadn’t expected.

“Come on,” he muttered, his voice low, cold. “Let’s get this over with.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him everything that had been building up inside me, all the resentment, all the pain. But I couldn’t. I had no voice here. He had already stolen it.

We moved to the dance floor, and as the music swirled around us, we stood there, side by side, not touching, not speaking. But I could feel the pressure building between us, the tension that had been there from the very beginning. It was suffocating.

And then, without warning, Liam leaned in closer. I stiffened, my heart skipping a beat. Was he going to say something? Was he finally going to speak?

He whispered, his voice cold and laced with venom, “I have a condition. Follow it, or this marriage won’t last.”

His words sent a shock through me, a chill that went straight to my bones. I wanted to ask him what he meant, to demand answers. But I couldn’t. Not here, not now. The world around me was spinning too fast, and I was trapped in a cage of my own making.

But one thing was clear—this was just the beginning.