The wedding day came faster than I thought.

The church bells clanged out, each chime echoing through my ribcage as if warning me.

I clenched the bouquet so tightly that my knuckles ached. Lifeless. He'll hear. Their petals crushed if you touched them the wrong way, just like me.

The veil across my face blurred the crowd into splashes of colour, but I could still hear them. Whispers, cutting and ravenous.

"That's her? So young.""

"She looks terrified.""

"No wonder. D'Arcy's history—" "Shh.

" He'll hear."

My throat was aflame. I raised my chin, though the weight of the stares felt heavy against my skin. The organ stretched, burning and triumphant, and the doors creaked open.

It was time.

The rigidity of my father's arm across my back as he nudged me along down the aisle felt like striding into a grave with each step.

I took a breath, reminding myself, but there was constriction in my chest, trapped air midway. The veil irritated me - smothered in lace.

He stood waiting for me at the altar.

Nathaniel D'Arcy.

Immobilized. Coldly trimmed in black suit as if it were cut out for his hands and mine only. His shoulders were broad, his presence looming, his face impassive. He never looked at me. Not once.

I could have been a shadow.

My heels clicked on the marble as I came closer. My fingers ached with the bouquet. I wanted - once, anyway - for him to see me, to realise that I stood before him. But his eyes were fixed straight ahead, as if the wedding ceremony was something to get out of the way as fast as he could.

When we stopped in front of him, my father released my arm and moved back. Releasing his grip should have been liberation, but it was a shove into solitude.

The priest began to speak, words I barely heard. Promises of love, honour, devotion. Promises I knew were lies before they were ever spoken by anyone.

My heart pounded in my ears. The church was too bright, too quiet. All the heads were turned towards us. All the hushed voices, the muffled laughter, rang against my skin.

"Do you, Serena Montgomery, take this man, Nathaniel D'Arcy, to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

The words shocked me.

I yearned to scream No. To rend the veil aside, to run.

But my father's eyes were on me from the front row. Cold, hard, warning.

My lips parted. The word caught, burned, clawed its way out.

“I do.”

A sigh rippled through the church.

The priest turned. “And do you, Nathaniel D’Arcy, take this woman, Serena Montgomery, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

The silence was heavy, stretching.

Nathaniel’s jaw shifted, almost imperceptibly. His voice, when it came, was even colder than I’d imagined.

“I do.”

Two words. Flat. Lifeless.

The priest smiled, oblivious. “Then by the power vested in me—“ I braced.

Not once.

"—you may now kiss the bride.”"

My heart pummelled my ribs.

Nathaniel finally turned, his gaze finally finding mine. Grey. Unmoving. As though staring into smoke that won't clear.

He lifted the veil. My breathing stopped, lace dancing against my cheeks as it fell back into place. His fingers brushed across mine as he did it - ice cold. No flame. No warmth. Only coldness.

And then, his lips pressed against mine.

A ghost of a kiss. A formality. A business signature.

The audience applauded politely, but within me something snapped.

I had once dreamed, childishly and naively, of love. Of first kisses that made your heart slam, of a man who looked at you like you were the centre of his world.

This wasn't that.

This was a contract signed in ice.

The organ boomed again. He released me, and we turned to continue down the aisle. His fingers brushed mine. His step was even, slow, as if all this was nothing.

And maybe, for him, it wasn't.

The reception room was a blur of crystal and gold. A thousand lights sparkled off champagne flutes, laughter mingling with the metallic tinkle of silver. Guests swarmed around us, drenching us in congratulations that tasted bitter.

"Your lucky," a woman panted, kissing my cheek. Her scent was claustrophobic. "To have caught him."

Caught? I might have howled. I was the one caught, in a trap I hadn't seen until it slammed shut.

Nathaniel hovered at my elbow, shaking hands, forcing his face to remain blank. He answered in monosyllables, his responses abrupt. People didn't complain or were too afraid to care.

My cheeks ached from fake smiles. My heart ached more.

Dinner was consumed. Toasts were raised. Glass rimmed glass. Amidst it all, Nathaniel never once laid his hand on mine, never once looked into my eyes for more than he had to.

I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter. That maybe, one day, he would unfreeze. That maybe the rumours were untrue. That maybe – just maybe – there was something within him that was human.

But the more I sat beside him, the more certain I was: he did not notice me. Not as a wife, not as a woman, not at all.

I was a pawn.

The music swelled as couples took to the dance floor. My mother's smile cracked. My father laughed a little too loudly with his coworkers, content with the deal he had cut.

And me? I remained silent, ensnared in lace and silk.

I stood face-to-face with Nathaniel, calling on reserves of strength. "Would you care to dance?"

For the first time, his eyes flickered to me, frozen as ice.

"No."

The single syllable dropped like a rock.

I was suffused with burning heat in my cheeks. I spun around quickly, trying to take a swallow of champagne, though bubbles trapped in my throat.

Guests drifted away through the evening. Bellies were full, cheeks rosy from wine. My shoulders sagged with exhaustion, the heavy gown too much to endure.

When I turned again, Nathaniel was nowhere to be seen.

Panic tangoed on the fringes of awareness. I got up quickly, ignoring the whispers. I elbowed through the people, searching.

And I saw him.

At the far end of the hall, half-hidden behind a pillar. His tall frame was unmistakable.

He wasn't with anyone in particular.

A woman was leaning on him, scarlet lips curved in a knowing smile. Her hand was on his chest, his arm around her waist.

I was frozen, the world whirling.

His head inclined toward hers.

Her laughter was husky, intimate.

And then – his lips found hers.

Not cold. Not distant. But hungry. Hungry to possess her. To claim her. To live for her.

Something inside me shattered.

On my wedding night, my husband kissed another woman like I wasn't even there.