Chapter Three: A Ring and a Vow

The wedding day came faster than Mirable expected.

She stood in front of the mirror, staring at the girl in the white dress. It didn’t feel like her. The lace sleeves hugged her arms, the gown flowed gently to the floor, and her hair was pulled into soft curls. She looked… beautiful. But it wasn’t the kind of beauty that made her happy. It was the kind that made her feel like she was playing a role in someone else’s story.

Her heart pounded. She wasn’t marrying for love. She was marrying to save her family. Still, the weight of the moment pressed down on her chest.

There was a quiet knock on the door. A maid peeked in. “Miss Walt, it’s time.”

Mirable took a deep breath. “Okay.”

She walked down the long hallway, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Everything around her looked expensive and cold—like she was walking into a museum instead of a wedding.

The ceremony was small, just as James had promised. A lawyer, two witnesses, and a minister. No guests. No flowers. No music. No cake.

James stood at the front of the room, dressed in a black suit. He looked calm, as always, like this was just another business deal. But when his eyes met hers, something shifted. His face softened for a second—just a second—but it was enough to make her hesitate.

He offered his hand. “Ready?”

She nodded and placed her hand in his.

The minister spoke quickly, reading from a thin booklet. There were no long vows or sweet speeches. Just names, a few legal words, and the question:

“Do you, James Mendy, take Mirable Walt to be your lawful wife for the agreed term of one year?”

“I do,” he said smoothly.

“And do you, Mirable Walt, take James Mendy as your lawful husband for the same term?”

Mirable swallowed hard. “I do.”

The minister smiled. “You may now exchange rings.”

James slid a simple silver band onto her finger. It was elegant but cold, like everything else in his world.

She slipped a matching ring onto his hand. Her fingers brushed his skin, and she felt a jolt. Not love—but something real. Something sharp and uncertain.

“By the power given to me by the state,” the minister said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Contractually.”

There was no kiss.

Just silence.

After the ceremony, they walked back into the grand hallway. A few maids clapped politely. One of the guards gave a slight nod.

That was it.

No father walking her down the aisle.

No one throwing rice.

No smiles or laughter.

Just quiet.

James turned to her. “There’s a small reception in the dining room. Just us. It’s tradition.”

She followed him to a long table with candles and plates of food she couldn’t name. It all looked delicious, but her stomach was in knots.

He poured her a glass of sparkling water. “To new beginnings,” he said, raising his glass.

She clinked hers against his. “To endings,” she replied.

He smirked. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Neither are you,” she said, picking at her food. “I thought you'd be colder.”

“I can be.”

“You don’t seem happy about this.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I’m not. But I honor promises. My father made one. Now I’ve kept it.”

She nodded slowly. “Same here.”

They ate in silence for a while. Then James said, “Tomorrow, we’ll attend our first charity gala together. It’s important.”

She sighed. “More pretending?”

“Yes. It’s part of the deal.”

“Do I have to smile?”

“Only if you want to. But it helps.”

That night, James walked her to her room. “If you need anything, my room is at the end of the hall.”

“Thanks,” she said flatly.

He hesitated. “Mirable… I know this isn’t what you wanted. But I won’t disrespect you. This may be a contract, but you’re still my wife—at least for now.”

She looked at him, surprised by the softness in his voice. “And I’ll hold up my end too. Just don’t expect me to become someone I’m not.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I wouldn’t believe it anyway.”

She shut the door behind her and leaned against it.

Her ring felt heavy on her finger. Like a shackle.

But she had made her choice.

She was Mrs. James Mendy now—even if only on paper.

As she lay in bed, Mirable stared at the ceiling. The events of the day spun in her head like a whirlwind. The dress, the vows, the ring, James’s unreadable face.

She thought about her dad and the look in his eyes when she left. About the burned fields and what was lost. About the girl she used to be and the woman she was becoming.

This wasn’t a fairy tale.

This was survival.

But somewhere deep in her chest, something stirred. Not love, not yet. But a quiet spark. A question.

What if…?

What if this deal, this contract, this mistake—turned into something more?

She shut her eyes, willing the thought away.

One year.

Just one year.

And then she’d be free.