EMILY.

Following Amos’s statement, I went to the nearest second-hand store and got a wedding gown. I put it on my figure to see the gown details. It was an A-line gown, the chiffon soft against my skin.

It looked good in the mirror.

My long, dark brown hair that fell in loose waves down my back and my bright green eyes stared back at me.

However, I didn't feel good about this marriage.

A sales associate, a kind-looking woman with warm eyes, came up behind me. "You'll look so gorgeous in it," she said gently.

I just nodded, unable to find my voice.

Gorgeous didn't matter. I just wanted something that fit, something that wouldn't show the storm brewing inside me.

"Don't you like it?" she asked, her voice softer now, a hint of worry in it. "You look pale."

Because I'm breaking inside, I thought, the words a silent scream. "No, it's fine. I'll take this."

"Alright then," she said, turning to leave. But then she stopped, a thoughtful look on her face. She turned back to me. "If you don't want to go through with it, dear, you don't have to. Don't force yourself into something forever if your heart isn't in it."

My throat tightened, a lump forming, and I could only nod. My eyes burned. She understood, I realized, her gentle gaze seeing past my brave face.

"I'll be outside when you're ready," she said.

I nodded again, tears blurring my vision. The moment she left the dressing room, my lips trembled, and the tears I'd been holding back finally spilled.

I didn't want this. No one would wish to marry a stranger just for money. It felt wrong, sad, and empty. My relationship with Cole had broken me. I'd always imagined myself in a wedding gown with him waiting at the altar, not a stranger whose presence made the air feel thin and cold.

Hot tears streamed down my face, endless and stinging.

A soft knock startled me.

I quickly pulled myself together, swallowing my sobs, and changed into the wedding gown. I wiped the tears from my cheeks again and again until my skin felt raw and dry.

The door opened a crack.

The sales associate peeked in, a worried look on her face. "I'm sorry, but you were taking too long. I just wanted to check on—"

Her words stopped when her eyes landed on me. She gasped. Then she walked fully into the room, staring, her eyes wide.

"Oh my gosh, you look so gorgeous in it, dear!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with pure admiration.

Her compliment, so sincere, tugged at my heart, a strange mix of pain and gratitude. I managed a shaky smile, tears threatening to fall again.

She noticed, her brow furrowing as she came closer. "What's wrong, dear? Are you sure about this?" Her voice was gentle, full of real concern.

Without a word, I pulled her into a hug, burying my face against her shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of her perfume. If my mother were alive, this is how I would hug her before walking down the aisle.

A tear slipped down my cheek. I wiped it away and pulled back, confidence hardening in my chest.

"You can always call it off, just like I said," she repeated, her voice soft.

I offered a small, sad smile. "I can't."

She looked confused. "What?"

"It turns out I really love him and can't let go of him," I said softly, the words catching in my throat.

I wasn’t talking about Zachary. I was talking about Dad. This wedding wasn’t about romance—it was survival. It was keeping him alive, no matter the cost.

She let out a soft sigh, a playful eye-roll not quite hiding the lingering concern in her eyes. "So, tears of joy then. You had me worried sick, dear. With daughters your age, I know how these things go."

I smiled, a real one this time, driven by the painful strength of my decision.

"Well then, you should go on with it," she said. "Don't leave your groom waiting."

I nodded, paid for the gown, and boarded a cab to the City Hall.

Once I stepped out of the car, I saw the man I was about to marry, Zachary, and his lawyer, Amos, standing there.

Zachary, his frame stiff, stared impatiently at his golden wristwatch, as if every tick of the second hand was a dollar sign ticking away.

I approached them and murmured, my voice a soft apology in the crisp air, "I'm sorry if I kept you waiting."

Zachary's eyes flickered to mine. For a fleeting moment, I thought I saw a softening, a hint of something akin to emotion, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual unreadable, icy stare.

"Let's just get this done," he said, his voice flat, as he swiftly moved his wheelchair toward the building entrance.

He must be in such a hurry, wanting to get the wedding over with today.

Amos offered me a small, sympathetic smile, a silent acknowledgment of the awkwardness, and I returned it, grateful for his quiet understanding.

I followed Zachary inside, the silence between us thick and heavy as we made our way to a closed door that felt like an office.

Inside, the office was stark, plainly furnished.

A middle-aged woman with glasses perched on her nose pushed them back into place.

"I'm Judge Sharma," she introduced herself, "here for the solemnization of your marriage."

Her gaze swept from Zachary to me. "Since all the necessary documents have been submitted and verified, we can move along to the vows."

A heavy stone seemed to press down on my chest, and I exhaled quietly, trying to release the tension. My fingers fidgeted nervously.

Judge Sharma's eyes darted between us. "Are you prepared, Emily Carlson?"

"Yes, I am," I said, my voice coming out louder than I intended in the quiet room.

I didn't want her to suspect anything; this was supposed to be a real wedding, after all.

I forced a wide smile, making sure it reached my eyes as I turned to Zachary. "I just can't wait to be with the love of my life." The words felt like ash in my throat, but I pushed them out.

Zachary glanced at me, a flicker of surprise in his expression, before his gaze returned to the judge. He must have understood what I was trying to do.

The judge, who had seemed stern a moment ago, now had a wide smile. "Anxiety is always common in every couple I've seen. Let's carry on."

She began the vows. "Zachary, do you take Emily to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

Zachary's gaze met mine, and despite the transactional nature of our relationship, a warmth bloomed in his eyes, brief but undeniable.

Was I imagining it? Could the cold, icy man truly show warmth?

It was a first.

He must be taking this fake union seriously for the public eye.

"I do," he said, his voice firm and clear.

Then it was my turn. "Emily, do you take Zachary to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?"

"I do," I whispered.

The weight of my words settled over me, heavy and irrevocable. Even a contractual marriage carried a certain gravity.

"Now, the rings," Judge Sharma said, her voice warm. "Do you have them?"

Zachary nodded and, with a smooth motion, took two simple gold bands from a small velvet pouch. He held one out to me.

My hand trembled slightly as I took it, the cool metal a stark contrast to the sudden heat in my cheeks.

"Zachary," Judge Sharma prompted, "please place the ring on Emily's finger as a symbol of your commitment and the vows you have just made."

He took my left hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. As his fingers brushed against mine, a strange shiver ran down my arm. He slid the plain gold band onto my ring finger. It was a perfect fit, settling comfortably.

For a moment, his thumb lingered, a soft, almost hesitant stroke over the metal before he withdrew his hand. A warmth, faint but insistent, spread from where the ring now rested.

Then it was my turn.

My heart still thumped a nervous rhythm against my ribs. I picked up the second ring, my fingers fumbling slightly.

"Emily," Judge Sharma instructed, "please place the ring on Zachary's finger as a symbol of your commitment."

I took Zachary's hand.

His skin was warm, firm. I carefully slid the matching gold band onto his ring finger. It, too, fit perfectly.

Our eyes met across the small distance between us. His gaze was still unreadable, but I thought I detected a subtle shift, a fleeting depth that I hadn't noticed before.

"By the power vested in me by the State, and having witnessed your mutual consent and declaration, I now pronounce you husband and wife," Judge Sharma announced, her smile widening. She paused, her eyes twinkling, "You may now kiss the bride."

My breath hitched.

A kiss? Now?

I hadn't even thought about this part.

My gaze darted to Zachary, who sat calmly in his wheelchair, his expression blank. I felt a surge of panic, a blush creeping up my neck.

This was supposed to be a formality, a simple signature on a document, not… this. The air in the room seemed to thicken, heavy with expectation. The judge was still watching.

Zachary, as if sensing my internal struggle, offered a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

It was a small gesture, but it was enough. A quiet permission, a silent understanding that this was merely a part of the charade we were playing. This was just another step in making this marriage look real.

With a reluctant sigh only I could hear, I bent at my waist, leaning down towards him. Zachary subtly angled his head, meeting my lips in a swift, chaste touch.

It was barely a kiss, a brush of lips that lasted only a second, yet it sent an unexpected jolt through me.

There was nothing romantic about it—and yet, something shifted. A flicker of heat. A crack in the ice I hadn't expected.

I straightened up quickly, my cheeks warm.

Judge Sharma beamed, her smile stretching wide. "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Wright!" she announced, her voice ringing through the quiet office.

The words hung in the air, a bell tolling right beside my ear. Wright?

A strange feeling of worry, cold and sharp, pierced through the haze of the ceremony. I knew that name. My mind scrambled, trying to grasp it, to place it.

Hold on.

Wright? Like the Wright I know, Cole’s family name?

My heart slammed against my ribs. A sickening dread coiled in my stomach, tightening with every beat.

I stiffened, my gaze snapping back to the man beside me. The man I had just married.

Had I truly just married a relative of my ex-fiancé?