Evelyn's pov

Today, I am marrying the man I love—the man I dreamt of, the man I once believed I would spend forever with. Yet nothing about this day feels like a blessing. It feels like a sentence.

This is meant to be a moment of joy, of beginnings, yet my chest aches as though something inside me is being torn apart. When I stand beside him at the altar and lift my eyes to meet his, I find nothing waiting for me there. No warmth. No familiarity. Only hatred.

The face that once carried a gentle smile now looks at me with cold disgust, as if my presence itself offends him. His love was never mine. It never strayed toward me, not even for a moment. I was never his friend, never someone he chose. His heart had always belonged to Sofia—to her laughter, her tears, her happiness. She was the one he loved. I am only the one heis forced to marry.

I was a coward. I loved him in silence, hiding behind glances and unspoken words, convincing myself that I was unworthy of his affection, his care, his love. I buried my feelings so deeply that even I began to believe they didn’t exist. But never, not even in my darkest imaginings, did I think my love would end like this—bound to him without being wanted.And yet here I stand, wrapped in white, my hand resting in his. The gown feels heavy, like a shroud. The vows waiting on my tongue feel like lies I am about to swear before God.

I know this marriage was forced upon him. I see it in the tight set of his jaw, in the way his hand barely touches mine. But I am powerless. Powerless to save him. Powerless to save myself. We are already falling, and the abyss has no bottom.

“Evelyn Ashford.”

He speaks my name as if it is a burden, his voice empty of emotion. The sound pulls me back into the present, back to the altar where my heart is quietly breaking.

The priest’s voice follows, solemn and merciless.

“Miss Ashford, please say your vows.”

I nod, though my vision blurs. I draw in a trembling breath, knowing that once I speak, there will be no escape.

And so, with a heart already in mourning, I begin.

 “I, Evelyn Ashford, take you, Theodore Kingston,

to be my 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 us do part,

according to God’s holy ordinance;

I pledge my faith to you.”

I finally finished my vows, my voice trembling, unable to lift my gaze to his cold, unreadable eyes. The priest’s voice rang out like a bell in the quiet church:

“I hereby declare Theodore Kingston and Evelyn Ashford as husband and wife.”

A heartbeat passed. Then, almost ceremoniously, he added,

“Now you may kiss the bride.”

My chest tightened. I stared at the polished floor, convinced he would never move, convinced this moment would pass with nothing but silence. And yet, in an instant, he was there—his hand at the nape of my neck, pulling me toward him. My breath caught. My heart raced.Before I could even think, his lips were on mine. The kiss was sharp, forceful, devoid of tenderness or warmth—no love, only the cold completion of a ritual. Every part of me ached, and yet my mind was consumed by the strange, dizzying storm in my chest.Then, as quickly as it had come, it ended. His lips parted from mine, and his voice, low and cutting, whispered into my ear:

“Don’t dare think I did this for you. It was only a ritual I am completing, nothing more. This marriage is just a business deal—so don’t expect anything from me.”

I stood there, frozen, the echo of his words burning in my ears. Every fiber of me ached, a silent scream trapped in my chest. How could the man I had dreamed of, the one I had imagined holding me close, be nothing but a stranger bound by duty and business?

And yet… beneath the pain, a tiny spark of defiance flickered. I would not let this coldness define me completely. If he saw me as nothing more than a pawn in some deal, then I would learn to survive within these gilded chains. I would endure. I would endure—and perhaps, one day, that he would see me for who I truly was, not for the person he thought I was.for now, I lowered my gaze, masking the storm inside. The church around me seemed suffocatingly bright, the music a cruel mockery of joy. My life had changed forever, and the reality was sharp and bitter, like ice on my tongue. I had stepped into a cage of gold, and the bars were made of his indifference.

 The ceremony came to an end. Theodore didn’t even pause before walking away from me, as if the vows we had just exchanged meant nothing at all. Family and friends gathered around, offering congratulations and wishing me a happy married life—words that felt hollow, almost mocking, against the ache settling in my chest.

A woman stepped forward, adjusting my veil with practiced fingers. Her voice was low, almost weary, as she said, “I did my best to prevent this disaster, but in the end, nothing worked.”

The woman standing before me was Theodore’s mother—Hailey Kingston. She had never liked me, neither before nor now, yet surprisingly, she didn’t hate me either. That hatred belonged to someone else entirely—Julia Kingston, the great sister of Mr. Theodore Kingston.

I never truly understood what Julia hated or envied about me. But I knew this much—I was jealous of her. She had everything I had only ever dreamed of: a loving father, a caring mother, a warm home, a complete family, countless friends. Everyone adored her.

My mother-in-law spoke again, snapping me back to reality.

“Anyway, let’s end this boring ceremony now. A car will pick you and Theo up shortly. You’ll head back to the mansion. You may go meet your family—we’ll be leaving soon.”

With that, she walked away.The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a car beside my husband, heading toward the Kingston mansion. Theodore glanced at me coldly. I avoided speaking, hoping for silence, but he broke it anyway.

“Now that you’re married to me,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery, “what about James? Are you planning to keep him as your secret lover, or have you already discarded him for money so you won’t get into trouble in the future?”

I knew he didn’t expect an answer. He only wanted to hurt me. Still, I replied.

“James and I are friends. Nothing more. There never was anything, and there never will be. And now that I’m married, it’s inappropriate for you to ask me such a question.”

What I wanted to say—that he was the only one I had ever loved—remained locked inside my chest.

He laughed, a cold, humorless sound.

“Oh, right. You’re married—to me. Does that make me your husband?” He scoffed. “How funny. But I’m sorry—I don’t consider you my wife. You’re just a forced order dumped on me. The one I love, the one who owns my heart, will always be Sofia. So don’t fucking try to take her place. so i would like you stay silently within your limits.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

I hid the sorrow carving a wound through my heart. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing my vulnerability.

By then, we had arrived at the mansion. He stepped out of the car, slammed the door, and walked away without even looking back.As I got out, an elderly man greeted me. He was much older than me, probably in his fifties. He smiled gently.

“Hello, Mrs. Kingston.”

I looked at him, startled. “Hello… and you are?”

“Oh, pardon my manners,” he said kindly. “I’m Kip, the butler of this house. Please allow me to guide you to your room.”and i silently follwed him into the mansion.

The mansion swallowed me whole the moment I stepped inside.

Marble floors reflected the chandelier’s harsh light, every step echoing like I didn’t belong there. The air smelled expensive—polished wood, cold stone, and something distant, unfamiliar. Home was a word this place would never understand.Kip led me up the stairs in silence. Before I could ask anything, Theodore’s voice cut through the hallway.

“She’s not staying in my room.”

I froze.

Kip turned slightly, confused. “Sir?”

“My room is off-limits,” Theodore said flatly, loosening his tie as if I weren’t standing there. “Give her the east wing. Any room will do. I don’t care.”

Kip hesitated. “But, sir… she is your wife.”

Theodore finally looked at me. His eyes were empty—no anger, no resentment. Just indifference. That hurt more than hatred ever could.

“On paper,” he replied. “Not in reality.”

He stepped closer, close enough that I could hear his breathing, feel the cold authority radiating from him.

“Get this straight,” he said quietly, his voice sharp as glass. “You will not touch my things. You will not enter my space. You will not expect anything from me—time, loyalty, or affection. I don’t owe you any of it.”

I clenched my hands at my sides, refusing to tremble.

“And one more thing,” he added, lowering his voice. “This marriage exists only in front of others. In private, you don’t exist to me. If you forget that…” his lips curved slightly, cruelly, “I’ll remind you.”

Then he turned away.

“Kip, see that she’s settled,” he said, already walking down the opposite corridor. “I’ll be out tonight.”

His footsteps faded, each one sealing my place in this house—not as a wife, not even as a guest, but as something inconvenient and unwanted.

Kip cleared his throat gently. “This way, Mrs. Kingston.”

As I followed him down the long corridor, I realized something terrifying.

The wedding was over.

But my punishment had only just begun.

The room was too big.

The bed sat in the center like it was waiting for someone who would never come. Silk curtains swayed softly as the night wind brushed against the windows, and the dim lamp beside the bed cast long, unfamiliar shadows on the walls. Everything was beautiful. None of it felt mine.

I sat on the edge of the bed, still in my wedding dress.

The lace scratched against my skin, the weight of it unbearable now that the ceremony was over. My fingers trembled as I reached up and unclasped the necklace resting against my throat. The moment it fell onto the bedside table, the silence grew heavier.

This was it.

Married. Trapped. Alone.

I stood and walked to the mirror. The woman staring back at me looked like a stranger—eyes too wide, lips pale, smile long gone. A bride without a groom. A wife without a place.

My chest tightened.

I tried to breathe, slow and steady, the way I always had when things became overwhelming. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

It didn’t work.The air felt thick, refusing to fill my lungs. My heart began to race, each beat loud, violent, as if it wanted to escape my chest. My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms, but I could barely feel the pain.

Not now, I told myself. You can’t fall apart now.My vision blurred. The walls felt closer, closing in, pressing down on me. My breath came out in shallow gasps, uneven and sharp.

I pressed a hand to my chest, then my throat.

I couldn’t breathe.The room tilted. A sharp wave of dizziness hit me, and I stumbled back, collapsing onto the bed. The dress tangled around my legs, trapping me further, making the panic worse.

Tears spilled before I could stop them.

My heart pounded uncontrollably, my ears ringing with the sound of my own breathing—too fast, too loud, too wrong. I curled into myself, clutching the fabric of the dress like it could anchor me.

He doesn’t want you,You don’t belong here.This is your life now.

The thoughts crashed into me one after another, merciless.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ground myself—five things I could feel, four things I could hear—but everything blurred into one overwhelming ach, My chest burned, my throat tightened, and a sob broke free, ugly and silent.

I buried my face into the pillow so no one would hear.Minutes passed Or hours. I didn’t know.

Slowly, painfully, my breathing began to ease, The racing in my chest dulled into an exhausted ache. I lay there, drained, staring at the ceiling, tears drying on my cheeks.Outside, the mansion remained silent.

No footsteps. No knock at the door. No concern.

Just proof that even in a house this vast, I was completely alone.