The iron gates of the Sterling mansion creaked open, their sound heavy and unwelcoming. Lisa's heels sank slightly into the gravel driveway as she followed behind John, who didn't even glance back to see if she was keeping up. The sun had already dipped behind the clouds, casting a grayish hue over the grand estate, making it look more like a fortress than a home.
Lisa clutched the hem of her wedding dress tightly in her palms. Her hands were damp with sweat.
She had imagined her wedding day so many times — not with specifics, but with warmth. With smiles, flowers, maybe even a soft laugh as someone fixed her veil. But what she got was silence. An uncomfortable, suffocating silence that stretched endlessly from the car ride to this very doorstep.
No one came out to greet them.
No family.
No housekeeper.
Not even a curious glance through a window.
It was as if the house, and everyone in it, had unanimously decided to pretend she didn't exist.
John punched a code into the side panel, and the doors slid open. "Come in," he muttered. Not warm, not inviting — just two cold words thrown over his shoulder.
Lisa hesitated. Her heels hovered at the threshold, caught between stepping into the unknown or turning back to a world that no longer had a place for her.
But there was no going back.
She took a breath and walked in.
The interior of the mansion was breathtaking. High ceilings. Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Everything screamed money — but nothing whispered home. It was sterile and perfect, like a model house in a showroom. But worse than the silence was the chill in the air, as if the place had long ago forgotten what warmth or laughter felt like.
John didn't wait. He was already halfway up the grand staircase, jacket slung over one arm, phone in the other, speaking to someone about a meeting tomorrow morning.
Lisa stood alone in the center of the vast entrance hall, unsure of what to do.
After a few seconds, a maid finally appeared. Middle-aged, strict-looking, her hair pulled back tightly into a bun.
"Miss… I mean, Mrs. Sterling," the woman corrected herself, albeit with some hesitation. "I'll show you to your room."
Your room.
Not your shared room. Not the master bedroom. Just… yours.
Lisa followed the maid down a long hallway without a word. The further they walked, the more her chest tightened. There were family portraits on the walls — John as a child, John as a teenager, John in graduation robes with his proud parents. Nowhere was there space for her.
They stopped in front of a door at the far end.
"This will be your room for now," the maid said flatly. "If you need anything, ring the bell. Dinner is served at seven, but it's up to Mr. Sterling whether you join the family table or not."
Family table.
So she wasn't considered part of it yet. Maybe never.
Lisa nodded, stepped inside, and the door shut behind her with a soft click that felt far louder than it should have.
The room was beautiful — cream-colored walls, a large window with sheer curtains, a vanity table, and a queen-sized bed with neatly folded sheets. But to Lisa, it was just a beautifully wrapped box of isolation.
She sat on the edge of the bed and let the silence engulf her.
The dress she wore felt too heavy now. Her hair, done up for the ceremony, pulled at her scalp. Her makeup was still flawless, but what was the point? No one had looked at her. Not even John. Especially not John.
A knot formed in her throat as she slowly peeled off the wedding veil, laying it gently across her lap. It was beautiful, lace-trimmed and delicate — a stark contrast to the ugliness of how this marriage began.
Forced.
Cold.
Publicly humiliated into it.
She still remembered the press conference. John hadn't even looked at her then, either. Just told the cameras that "a marriage will resolve this scandal," and walked off like she wasn't standing right there, heart in pieces.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from her stepmother:
"You better not screw this up. Do you know what we gave up to get you into that house?"
Lisa stared at the screen until it dimmed. She didn't reply. There was nothing left to say.
She stood and walked over to the window. Outside, the garden stretched wide, trimmed perfectly, not a petal out of place. But even nature here felt... rehearsed. Tamed. Just like the people inside this house.
A soft knock broke the silence.
It was the maid again. "Dinner is ready. Mr. Sterling says you can join if you'd like."
If you'd like.
So it was a choice.
Lisa glanced at herself in the mirror. Eyes tired, makeup still flawless, but her soul was crumbling.
She picked up her veil again, hesitated — then left it on the bed.
She wouldn't wear that mask tonight.
Not at the table where everyone would look at her and see only a scandal, a trap, a problem that came with a contract.
If they were going to look at her, she would face them as she truly was — bruised, but standing.
Lisa smoothed down her dress, raised her chin slightly, and walked out of the room.
She was the bride no one wanted.
But she was here now.
And she wasn't leaving.