(Amara's POV)
The night feels endless.
Every minute drags like a lifetime, every second a reminder of what tomorrow will bring. The air in my apartment is thick, suffocating, filled with the quiet that only comes before something irreversible.
Tomorrow, I'm getting married.
I whisper it out loud just to hear how it sounds, but the words break halfway through my throat. They don't sound real. They sound like a cruel joke—one I never agreed to be the punchline of.
I sit by the edge of my bed, still in my pajamas, staring at the wedding dress hanging by the window. The city lights from outside brush against the white fabric, making it shimmer like it's mocking me. It's perfect,too perfect for a girl who feels like she's falling apart.
My chest hurts.
My eyes sting.
But the tears come anyway.
They fall quietly at first, one drop, then two, until my vision blurs and I can't see the dress anymore. I press my palms against my face, but it doesn't stop the sob that rips through my throat.
I can't breathe.
Tomorrow I'll walk down an aisle toward a man whose touch still lingers on my skin, whose eyes saw me once with hunger, and now see me as nothing more than a pawn in a deal I never wanted.
Alexander Voss.
His name alone feels heavy in my mouth—like something forbidden and dangerous.
I still remember that night. The way he looked at me like he was trying to memorize the shape of my soul. The way his voice slid over my skin like silk and fire. The way I let myself believe—for a single, stupid heartbeat—that I could be wanted, not used.
And now, tomorrow, I'll belong to him. Not as the woman he touched in the dark, but as his wife.
His contract. His possession.
I press a hand to my chest. My heart feels fragile, trembling like it could shatter with the next breath. I've tried to be strong. I've told myself over and over that I can survive this, that I've been through worse, that I'll find a way out—but I don't believe it anymore.
What kind of strength does it take to marry your own nightmare?
A bitter laugh escapes me. It sounds ugly, cracked. I grab the pillow beside me and clutch it to my chest. "I don't want this," I whisper into the silence. "I don't want this life."
But my voice feels small, powerless against the echo of my father's words.
"This is your duty, Amara. This marriage will bring stability. You will not embarrass this family."
Duty.
That's all I've ever been—someone's daughter, someone's burden, someone's pawn.
I think of my mother, sitting silently beside him that night, eyes full of words she didn't dare to say.
She didn't fight for me.
She never does.
And maybe I can't blame her. Maybe she's as trapped as I am—just in a prettier cage.
My tears soak into the pillow, hot and steady. I wish I could sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see him. Alexander. Standing tall and cold, eyes like ice and steel, a man I can't read or reason with. He terrifies me. But worse than that—he fascinates me.
Why him?
Why did it have to be him?
What twisted kind of fate lets a girl fall into a man's arms one night only to be forced into his life the next?
I try to imagine tomorrow: the cameras, the whispers, the vows that mean nothing.
I'll wear the dress. I'll say the words. I'll smile for the pictures. And then I'll go home with him.
Home.
The word makes me shiver.
That mansion will never be a home. It'll be a gilded cage, filled with polished floors and polite strangers. I'll be the pretty wife, the obedient bride. The one who smiles when told, stays silent when hurt, and bears the title he gives her.
Mrs.Amara Alexander Voss.
I don't even recognize that name.
The tears come again, harder this time. I cry until my chest burns, until I feel like my body is rejecting the life being forced into it. I want to run. I want to scream. I want someone to save me—but no one ever does.
I think of Lily and Noah, my best friends since forever, the only people who still see me beneath the mess. I wish they were here. Maybe then I wouldn't feel so alone. Maybe then this room wouldn't feel like a coffin.
Tomorrow, I lose everything—my name, my freedom, my dreams.
And for what? A contract? A father's pride? A man's benefit?
The thought twists in my stomach. Maybe Alexander doesn't even care. Maybe he hates this as much as I do. Maybe, to him, I'm just the daughter of the man he has a deal with.
I bury my face in my hands, sobbing quietly. "Please," I whisper to no one, to God, to fate. "Please, don't let tomorrow come."
But it will.
It always does.
The clock on my wall keeps ticking, mercilessly. Each sound feels like a nail sealing my future shut. I wish I could stop it, just freeze time here—before the vows, before the dress, before him.
My breath shakes. I whisper one last thing before the silence swallows me:
"Tomorrow, I stop being me."
---
The knock on the door startles me. My heart jumps into my throat. For a moment, I think it's my father—come to make sure I haven't run away. But then a familiar voice cuts through the quiet.
"Amara!" Lily's voice. Bright, loud, too alive for this hour. "Open up, girl! We're not letting you cry yourself to death before the wedding!"
I quickly wipe my face, but before I can even reach the door, it bursts open. Noah walks in first, holding a giant bag of chips and a bottle of champagne like a trophy.
"Surprise, bride of doom!" he declares dramatically. "We're having a funeral. For your freedom."
Lily groans. "Ignore him. It's your last night as a single woman. We're here to celebrate—or distract you. Whichever works first."
Despite everything, a shaky laugh escapes me. "You two are impossible."
"Exactly," Noah grins, kicking off his shoes. "Now move. We're setting up Operation Forget Tomorrow."
Within minutes, my room is filled with chaos—music, snacks, laughter that sounds too loud but feels too needed. Lily pops the champagne with a small explosion, and the bubbles spill over as Noah pretends to toast.
"To Amara!" he shouts. "The bravest idiot we know!"
Lily elbows him. "To our best friend, who deserves better than every man in this city!"
I raise my glass, my voice soft. "To you both… for still being here."
The first sip burns my throat, but it numbs something deeper.
We dance, we laugh, we cry again when no one's looking. Lily puts on our old favorite song, and Noah starts singing off-key until we're all laughing through tears.
And for a moment—a small, beautiful moment—I forget.
I forget that tomorrow I'll marry a stranger who already owns my soul.
I forget that my freedom has an expiration date.
For tonight, I'm just Amara again.
Just a girl, surrounded by love, fighting to hold on to herself one last time.