❀LENA❀

The dress weighed more than I expected. Silk and lace and a thousand tiny beads that caught the light every time I moved.

Someone else had chosen it. Someone else had decided what I'd wear on my wedding day, what I'd look like, how I'd smile.

I barely recognized the woman in the mirror.

"Tilt your head up." The makeup artist dabbed something on my cheekbone. Highlighter, maybe. I'd stopped paying attention an hour ago.

The room was too big. Too white and perfect. This wasn't my home. Wasn't my life. I was standing in someone's mansion getting ready to marry a man I didn't love in a dress I didn't pick.

Marcus appeared in the doorway, checking his watch.

"Fifteen minutes," he said. Not to me. To the room. Like I was just another detail to manage.

"Is she ready?" someone asked.

"She will be."

I wanted to laugh or scream. Hard to tell which.

The makeup artist stepped back, surveying her work. "Perfect. Don't touch your face."

Perfect, Right.

She left, and I was alone with Marcus and the mirror and the weight of this dress.

"My mother?" I asked.

Marcus's expression softened. Just slightly. "She's resting comfortably. The nurses are with her. She wanted to be here."

"I know."

Margaret had cried when I told her. Happy tears, she'd said. But I saw the pain behind them. Saw how much it cost her to smile when her daughter was marrying a stranger for money.

"It's time," Marcus said.

The ceremony was outside. Garden roses and string lights and chairs filled with people I'd never met.

Cameras lined the walkway. Reporters pressed against barriers, shouting questions I couldn't hear over the string quartet.

Headlines had been running all week.

Cinderella Story: Waitress to Wed Billionaire CEO

Adrian Knight's Mystery Bride: Who Is Lena Ward?

Knight Empire Heir Finds Love in Unexpected Places

Love. The word felt obscene.

I stood at the end of the aisle, alone. No one to walk me down. No one to give me away.

Just me in a dress that cost more than my yearly salary, about to sell myself to a man who bought me like a stock option.

The music changed.

I started walking.

One foot in front of the other. Smile in place. Eyes forward.

Adrian waited at the altar in a black tux that probably cost more than my car. His face was blank. Expressionless.

He could've been waiting for a business meeting instead of a bride.

Our eyes met halfway down the aisle.

Nothing. No recognition. No warmth.

Just gray eyes watching me approach like I was a problem to be solved.

I reached the altar. Stood beside him. Close enough to smell his cologne. Expensive, Clean and cold.

The officiant started talking. Words about love and commitment and forever. Each one felt like a lie we were both agreeing to.

"Do you, Adrian Knight, take this woman.."

"I do."

Flat. Mechanical.

"And do you, Lena Ward, take this man?"

I looked at Adrian. Really looked. Tried to find something real underneath the mask. Something human.

He stared back. Waiting.

"I do."

"You may kiss the bride."

Adrian's hand came to my waist. The other cupped my jaw. Professional and like it was choreographed. His lips touched mine for exactly three seconds. Cold and closer, just for the flashes and cameras

When he pulled back, I saw it again. That tiny flicker of something in his eyes.

Then it was gone.

Applause erupted. Cameras flashed. The officiant pronounced us husband and wife, and Adrian took my hand. His grip was firm.

We walked back down the aisle together.

Married.

The reception was worse than the ceremony.

A ballroom that belonged in a palace. Crystal chandeliers. Gold everything.

Tables full of people in designer clothes drinking champagne that cost more than my monthly rent.

Adrian's world.

They all stared. Some smiled. Most just assessed. Calculated. Wondered what a nobody like me was doing here.

I wondered the same thing.

"Lena, darling." A woman in diamonds approached. Sixty, maybe. Perfectly preserved in that way rich women are.

"I'm Diane. Adrian's aunt."

"It's nice to meet you."

"Is it?" She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I have to say, this is all very sudden. Adrian never mentioned he was seeing anyone."

"It happened fast."

"Clearly." She looked me up and down. "That's a beautiful dress. Custom?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Well, you wear it well. Though I suppose when you're used to uniforms, anything feels like an upgrade."

The words landed like a slap.

I kept smiling. "I suppose so."

She touched my arm. Patronizing. "I hope you know what you're getting into, dear. The Knight family has certain expectations. Standards to uphold. It's not easy marrying into this world when you come from..." She paused. "Elsewhere."

Adrian was across the room, talking to men in suits. He glanced over once, saw his aunt beside me, and looked away.

Didn't defend me.

Didn't move.

Just went back to his conversation.

"I'll manage," I said.

Diane smiled. "I'm sure you will."

She left, and I stood there holding a champagne glass I hadn't touched, surrounded by people who looked through me like I was a ghost.

This was my life now.

I moved through the reception on autopilot. Smile at strangers.

Accepted congratulations that felt hollow. Danced with Adrian once because the photographer insisted.

His hand was on my waist. Mine on his shoulder. We moved mechanically, like dancers who had never learned to feel the music.

"You're doing well," he said.

"Am I?"

"Better than I expected."

I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult.

The song ended. He stepped back immediately, putting distance between us. Like touching me was a chore he had completed.

I found myself alone near the wall, and that's when I saw it.

The portrait.

Victoria Knight. Hanging in the ballroom like a ghost presiding over the celebration.

She wore a blue dress in the painting. Kind eyes. Warm smile. She looked nothing like her son.

I couldn't look away.

"She would've hated this."

I turned. Adrian stood beside me, staring at his mother's portrait.

"The spectacle," he continued. His jaw was tight. "The cameras. The performance. She believed in love. Real love. This would've broken her heart."

It was the most honest thing he'd said all day.

"Why are you telling me this?"

He finally looked at me. "I don't know."

Then he walked away.

I stood there alone, staring at Victoria Knight's painted face, feeling like she could see right through me. See the lie. See the contract. See everything wrong with this.

The party went on for hours.

******

The penthouse was silent.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. Everything was modern, expensive, sterile. Like a hotel room designed for someone with no personality.

Adrian led me down a hallway, stopped at a door.

"This is your room."

I looked inside. King-sized bed. Walk-in closet. Private bathroom. Everything a person could need to live comfortably alone.

"The master suite is at the other end," he said. "We'll only share spaces when necessary for appearances. Kitchen, living room. That's it."

"Understood."

He started to leave, then stopped. Turned back.

"This is a business arrangement," he said. Each word deliberate. "Don't forget that."

"I won't."

He nodded. Started walking away again.

"Adrian."

He paused.

"My mother's surgery?"

"Next week. Tuesday at nine AM. I've arranged for the best surgeon in the country. She'll have round-the-clock care." He looked back at me. "I keep my promises, Lena."

Then he was gone.

I closed the door. Stood in the middle of this beautiful, empty room in my wedding dress. Mrs. Knight. Mrs. Lena Knight.

The name felt foreign.

I sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to wrinkle the dress even though it didn't matter anymore. The ceremony was over. The performance was done.

And I'd just sold my life for a year.

The tears came quietly at first. Then harder. Until I was crying into my hands, mascara probably ruining the makeup that took hours to perfect, the dress crumpling beneath me.

I had married a stranger.

Saved my mother.

Lost myself.

Somewhere down the hall, Adrian was probably already asleep or working or doing whatever cold men did when they bought wives and filed them away in spare bedrooms.

I lay back on the bed, still in the dress, and stared at the ceiling.

One year.

I could survive one year.

I had to.