Chapter 1: The Day I Became His Wife
My husband didn't look at me when we got married.
He just stood there beside me, tall and unmoving, like a statue. The chandelier above us cast its light over everything, including his sharp profile. I remember thinking those chandeliers probably cost more than the house I grew up in. His black suit fit him so well, not a wrinkle or a line out of place, like it was made for him and for the authority he carried wherever he went.
Adrian Hale.
Billionaire. CEO. The kind of man you see in glossy magazines with headlines that call him a genius or a shark. Now he was my husband.
When the music stopped, the room went quiet. Not a comfortable quiet, but the kind that fills your chest and makes it hard to breathe. Every pair of eyes seemed to be staring right at us. Cameras flashed over and over. The whole room buzzed with expectation, hungry for a show of love, for the fairytale that money's supposed to make simple.
I held onto my bouquet a little tighter.
"Do you take this woman," the officiant started, his voice echoing, "to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
I stopped breathing for a second.
This was it. The moment he'd finally look at me.
"Yes." He answered before the question even finished. His voice was cold, steady, too perfect. He didn't turn his head. Didn't even glance my way. He just stared ahead, jaw clenched, shoulders set, like he was closing a business deal instead of making a promise.
Something inside me tightened, even though I told myself not to care. Adrian never did feelings. Everybody knew that. Our marriage wasn't about love, not really. It was about what we both needed security, stability, all the practical things.
I told myself that was enough. I told myself I'd made peace with it.
"And do you," the officiant said, turning to me, "take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
The whole room turned foggy at the edges. I looked at Adrian, really looked—at the man I was about to call my own. His face was perfect, but distant. Dark hair, not a strand out of place. Eyes sharp, impossible to read. He didn't look nervous or happy. He just looked… untouched.
"Yes," I said.
I made sure my voice stayed steady. I'd practiced that word all night, whispering it into the dark, empty guest room where I'd slept by myself. I even practiced my smile in the mirror soft, controlled, nothing too bright.
Applause broke out. It sounded all wrong, too loud, too cheerful. Somewhere in the crowd, someone cried for joy. Somebody whispered about how beautiful I looked, how lucky I was.
Lucky.
They brought the ring on a velvet cushion. Platinum, custom, so expensive I couldn't even really understand it.
Adrian picked it up and slid it onto my finger. Quick and careful, like a transaction. His fingers barely touched mine.
The ring sat heavy and cold against my skin, unfamiliar. It didn't feel like a promise. It felt like a mark.
When it came time for the kiss, he leaned in just enough for the cameras. His lips brushed my cheek, not my mouth. A touch so quick and light, I almost wondered if I'd imagined it.
No warmth. No tenderness. Just a show.
"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Hale."
Those words rang in my ears like a sentence.
Mrs. Hale.
I belonged to him now.The reception went exactly how everyone imagined a Hale wedding would. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, cold and bright like frozen stars. White roses filled the air with a sweet, powdery smell. Gold details glimmered on the tables. Somewhere near the stage, a string quartet played soft, elegant, almost like background noise.
It was all perfect, at least on the surface.
For the first few minutes, I stood next to Adrian, smiling for photos, nodding as people offered their congratulations. His hand rested on my back not in a loving way, not even really protective. More like a gentle reminder, a signal to everyone else: she's taken.
He wore expensive cologne, but underneath it there was something sharper maybe just control, or maybe something colder.
Then he pulled away.
"I'll be right back," he said, low enough that only I could hear.
I nodded. He didn't come back.
I watched him cross the room, slipping into a circle of men in perfect suits. They leaned in close, talking quietly, faces all business. As I wandered closer, I heard bits and pieces, numbers, mergers, talk of expansion overseas.
Business talk. On our wedding day.
I ended up standing alone by a table crowded with untouched glasses of champagne. My dress felt heavier by the minute. My smile started to hurt.
A woman drifted over. She was wrapped in diamonds, her confidence obvious in the way she moved.
"You're very lucky," she said, her voice warm. "Mr. Hale is an incredible man."
I gave her my best smile. "Thank you."
She had no idea how much that word cost me.
We didn't dance. Not even once.
When the DJ announced the first dance, Adrian wasn't anywhere near me. People glanced over. Someone laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but it just made everything worse. I told myself it wasn't a big deal, that a dance didn't mean anything in the end. But honestly, the empty space beside me was louder than the music.
After a while, Adrian's assistant found me.
"Mrs. Hale," he said, polite as ever, "Mr. Hale has been called away for an urgent matter. He sends his apologies."
Urgent. Of course.
"That's fine," I said, my voice steady and smooth. "Thank you for telling me."
He nodded and left.
I stayed another hour or so, doing what I was supposed to do smiling, thanking people, pretending I hadn't just been left alone at my own wedding.
By the time I finally made my way out, my face ached from holding a smile I couldn't feel anymore.The suite they gave us looked incredible. Those huge windows stretched from floor to ceiling, showing the city blazing with lights all the way to the horizon. The bed was massive, dressed in spotless white sheets, perfectly smooth on one side.
I kicked off my heels and sat down, feeling the exhaustion settle in. The room felt too quiet. No hint of another person, no leftover warmth—just stillness.
I slid the ring off my finger and let it sit in my palm. It was beautiful, sure. But it wasn't love.
This marriage was never about love. We both knew that. It was about looking the part. Keeping things steady. Not making a scene. I agreed to that. I convinced myself I could live with it.
I lay on the edge, careful not to cross that invisible line in the bed, almost pretending he was already there. The ceiling stared right back at me, empty and cold.
Still, deep down, something fragile kept flickering a little hope I couldn't quite kill. Maybe tomorrow he'd be different. Maybe he just needed some time. Maybe love could sneak in quietly when we weren't looking.
I drifted off, holding onto one heavy truth: I married a man who never meant to love me.
And even then when I should've known better. I was already falling for him.