The reception hall shimmered with displays of wealth.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls, casting a warm, golden glow over the guests dressed in elegant gowns and tailored suits. Champagne flowed generously, laughter echoed softly, and cameras flashed at every moment.
To outsiders, everything appeared flawless.
But Elara felt as if she had stepped into a room full of strangers, all ready to judge her.
She sat beside Aaron at the long head table, her hands gently folded in her lap.
The whispers had not ceased.
If anything, they had grown louder now that the ceremony was over.
People believed the bride and groom were too far away to hear them.
They were mistaken.
"Is that really her?"
"I thought the photos were edited."
"She looks even larger in person."
Someone snickered.
"I give the marriage six months."
Elara kept her gaze on the tablecloth.
White silk.
Perfectly ironed.
She counted the tiny patterns woven into the fabric to distract herself.
One.
Two.
Three.
Across the room, a few guests weren't even trying to lower their voices.
"Aaron Blackwood could have married anyone."
"Models would have lined up for him."
"So why her?"
"Money, obviously."
"Or the grandfather forced him."
Elara inhaled slowly.
She had heard worse before.
High school hallways had been crueler.
Still,
It stung.
—
Aaron heard every word.
Years of boardrooms and negotiations sharpened his perception, allowing him to pick up conversations even when people tried to hide them.
Tonight, people weren't hiding much.
He sipped his whiskey calmly.
This was exactly what he expected.
The marriage was a strategic arrangement.
Public opinion didn't matter.
He briefly glanced at Elara beside him.
She sat perfectly upright, her hands folded, her face composed.
But her fingers tightened slightly in her lap.
Interesting.
She wasn't reacting.
Not publicly, at least.
Most would have left the room by now.
—
Then the doors opened again.
A woman entered, making a bold entrance.
Tall.
Striking.
Her silver dress hugged her like liquid metal, every step drawing attention.
Heads turned immediately.
Some guests smiled knowingly.
Others exchanged curious glances.
Many recognized her.
And knew exactly who she was.
Elara sensed the shift in the room before seeing the woman.
A few murmured.
"Speak of the devil..."
"She actually came?"
"That's bold."
Elara followed their gaze.
The woman approaching looked like she walked straight out of a fashion magazine.
Flawless hair.
Sharp cheekbones.
Perfect figure.
Confidence radiated from her like perfume.
She stopped directly in front of Aaron.
Her red lips curled into a familiar smile.
"Well," she said smoothly, "this is unexpected."
Aaron didn't appear surprised.
"Elena."
Elara's stomach tightened.
The way Aaron said her name felt… familiar, comforting.
The woman laughed softly.
"Imagine my shock to hear the most eligible bachelor in the city got married overnight."
Her eyes finally shifted to Elara.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The smile remained, but something colder flickered in her gaze.
"You must be the bride."
Elara offered a polite smile.
"Yes. I'm Elara."
Elena tilted her head, studying her.
"Oh," she said softly,
"so it's true."
Elara blinked.
"I'm sorry?"
Elena lightly waved her hand.
"The online rumors were so outrageous, I assumed they were exaggerated."
Her eyes drifted over Elara's figure again.
Slow.
Judging.
"But apparently not."
Her words were sweet, almost friendly, but they hurt more than she realized.
Heat crept up Elara's neck.
"I came to congratulate you," Elena said smoothly, leaning a little closer, her voice only for Elara.
"You must be very proud."
Elara frowned faintly.
"Proud?"
Elena's smile widened.
"Of course."
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Aaron.
"Landing a man like him."
The implication lingered.
Elara swallowed.
"I didn't—"
"Oh, relax," Elena interrupted softly.
"I'm not judging."
Her eyes sparkled with amusement.
"If anything, I'm impressed."
She stepped back, raising her champagne glass.
"To the happy couple."
Guests nearby chuckled.
Elara suddenly felt acutely aware of her differences from the woman before her.
Elena embodied everything society admired.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
Standing beside her, Elara felt painfully out of place.
And the worst part?
Aaron had said nothing.
Not one word.
Elena turned back to him.
"So," she said casually,
"you didn't even warn me."
Aaron's face stayed neutral.
"There was nothing to warn."
She laughed again.
"You're cruel."
Then she leaned in briefly, murmuring something only for him to hear.
Elara couldn't catch the words,
But she saw the familiarity, the history, the ease between them.
Something twisted painfully in her chest.
Of course.
A man like Aaron Blackwood wouldn't spend his life alone before marriage.
Women like Elena were probably always around him.
Women who looked nothing like Elara.
Elena straightened again.
"Well," she said brightly,
"I won't interrupt the celebration any longer."
She gave Elara one last smile.
"Good luck, dear."
Then she walked away.
Whispers erupted once more.
Elara stared at her hands.
Her earlier vow echoed softly in her mind:
I'll be accommodating.
I won't cause problems.
She took a slow breath and tried to stay composed.
Beside her, Aaron watched Elena disappear into the crowd.
Across the room, guests continued whispering and laughing.
The celebration carried on.
Music started.
Glasses clinked.
Smiles flashed for the cameras.
But beneath the glittering surface, something fragile had already begun to break.
And neither of them acknowledged it.
Yet.