The chapel was small, private, and devoid of joy.
The chandelier above my head flickered as I stood close to the marble altar, my hands icy, my breath still.
My cream-white dress was decorated nicely by the design. It fit perfectly on my body, matched my skin tone, and stopped directly at my knee. It must have really cost a fortune; I had no idea about the cost because Damien's assistant picked it.
It was nice but awkwardly simple, no flowers or anything extra.
Beside me was the almighty Damien Blackwell; he stood with his charcoal suit and a pair of shoes matching it. He held an expression no one could easily decipher. He always does.
He's so unreadable and I don't find that cute at all
"Are you ready?" the officiant asked. His voice came up.
I looked at him, he looked at me, and I whispered, "Let's get done with this."
He nodded and asked the officiant to commence.
No family, friends, no media, no music—just us, his assistant Ms. Linn, a strict-looking lady, and his lawyer.
The little ceremony was dry, fast, and mechanical.
I tried not to flinch when Damien slipped the ring onto my fingers. I looked at it with a scowl, an ugly-looking ring devoid of happiness. This is the littlest cage I've ever seen.
The officiant—"With the power bestowed upon me, I pronounce you husband and wife," he declared.
"You may kiss your—"
"There'll be no need for that," Damien cut him short abruptly.
I almost chuckled. Maybe he wasn't fully informed.
It was time for signing the marriage certificate, and after that Ms. Linn, his assistant, the officiant, and his lawyer disappeared.
"So this is it?" I asked him afterward.
"You're now Mrs. Blackwell. Officially," he smirked, slipping the ring box into his pocket.
His constant sarcasm in every word that comes out of his mouth is sickening. How will I deal with this for a whole year?
The outer part of the chapel was nicely decorated with flowers on each side of the walkway. A black SUV was parked at the garage, the car itself screaming wealth.
The driver opened the door for us both.
My brain re-thought; I hesitated before asking,
"My dad? Is he..?"
"Yeah, yeah. The money was transferred this morning, and the surgery is by 10 a.m. tomorrow," he quickly said.
"And you didn't bother to say a word to me?"
"That's because I wanted you to make it here quick without disappointment," he replied without looking at me.
"You're incredible."
"I know, thank you." He replied with a smirk.
I got into the car, too exhausted, tired, and depressed to argue.
Another reminder that life doesn't always go as planned; things don't necessarily work our way, sadly.
Just a day—my whole life changed.
From being Miss in the morning to Mrs. in the interval of a few hours.
I'm married to a billionaire.
A man I didn't love and wouldn't love.
The drive home was slow and steady, awkwardly silent aside from the music playing coolly.
After what seemed like two hours, we arrived home. "That was a long, long drive," I muttered exhaustingly. I proceeded to open the door, but I was stopped.
"Oh, so I'm not meant to open doors? People do that for me? Wow, that's nice."
The door moved open, and I stepped down.
My mouth and eyes grew slightly open. I know he's rich, but damn—the view is heavenly. I comported myself quickly, walked in, and Damien led the way.
"Alright, welcome to your new home," he said.
"Thanks," I said with a straight face.
"Okay, thank you."
He stopped in front of a door and opened it. "This is your room." He pointed at a guest bedroom.
I stepped in. The room before me was incredibly breathtaking. The queen-sized bed, a walk-in closet, a secluded place that looked like a library—a library actually.
I was about walking in when he stopped me. "I'm not done," he said.
"There will be rules."
"What?" I blinked.
"Yes, Eva, you heard me. Rules.
Firstly:
No friends—you know this is 'make believe.'
No social media posts because it could lead to scandal; you don't speak to any media also.
No attending any function or party unless I ask you to.
No one outside this house knows the truth."
"Damien, I am not a child."
"I know, I know. But I can't risk anything, and you're my wife, so you represent me."
I scoffed. "This must be really hard for you.
A secret wife you can't flaunt."
"Believe me, this benefits you more than it benefits me."
Deep down I know it's true, but I went with,
"Oh really?" I said, stepping closer. "But you came to me first, didn't you?"
He hesitated before speaking. "Yeah, I did. I did come to you first. Because no one would believe if I married a socialite or a model. But with you—someone who hates me, someone who the press doesn't know." His lips twitched a little. "It screams authenticity," he said, with both arms moving sideways.
"You're a bastard," I said, shaking my head.
"Possibly," he said. "But at least I don't pretend, and I keep my promises."
"And what happens after a year?"
"You walk away. With the money. With your father's life. And with my silence."
I wrapped my arms around myself. "You really think money can fix everything, don't you?"
"No," Damien said quietly. "But it can buy time. And right now, you need time more than you need pride."
He stepped back. "Dinner is at seven. You can eat alone or join me. Your choice."
Then he left.
I closed the door behind him and leaned against it.
Glanced at the luxury prison that's now my room.
I let my legs out and slid to the ground.
Tears filled my eyes, and I let them pour freely down my cheeks.
No matter how beautiful the room looks, it wasn't mine.
Nothing is.
Not even my name anymore.