CHAPTER 2

Elena stood in front of the vast cathedral, her hands shaking as she grasped the white bouquet tightly. The imposing doors hovered above her, their golden handles shining in the warm afternoon sunlight. Inside, New York's high society had gathered, dressed to the nines, their hushed conversations buzzing about the impending marriage of Alexander Blackwood and a girl whom no one seemed to recognize.

Her.

Elena Carter the invisible nobody on the brink of becoming Mrs. Blackwood.

Her wedding dress, a stunning creation of silk and lace, was both exquisite and torturous, as if it were taunting her anguish. It was a gown befitting royalty, yet this was no dream more like a sentence enforced in satin.

She felt light-headed.

"Stop twitching," Margaret hissed beside her, her perfectly manicured nails gripping Elena's wrist. "You look pathetic while you're anxious. The media is watching."

Naturally, they were. Cameras lined the streets, eager to document the tale of the detached billionaire marrying a delicate, unknown girl. Speculation had already taken over social media.

"Who is she?"

"Why him?"

"Blackwood must have ulterior motives."

They weren't entirely mistaken.

This wasn't love. This wasn't even lust.

It was a desperate business arrangement.

The heavy doors creaked open, and the orchestra struck up the wedding march. A chill crept down her spine.

She didn't feel ready.

She might never feel ready.

But with Margaret's grip tightening, she had no option.

She moved forward.

Every gaze in the cathedral turned to her, whispers trailing behind her. The air was stifling, and the weight of her gown was overwhelming. Yet nothing felt as daunting as the man waiting for her at the altar.

Alexander Blackwood.

He stood still as a statue, tall and poised in his impeccably tailored black suit, his silver cufflinks shimmering under the chandelier lights. He was strikingly handsome, but his allure was cold, forged from ice and steel.

His expression gave nothing away. No warmth. No joy. Just a quiet, calculating detachment.

Her husband.

Her captor.

Elena's steps stumbled, her heart pounding in her chest. A rational woman would flee. But there was nowhere for her to go.

So, she continued walking, even as every part of her protested.

When she arrived at his side, Alexander didn't extend his hand. He merely tilted his head, his stormy gray eyes meeting hers with a glint that almost appeared amused.

"Second thoughts?" he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.

Elena clenched the bouquet tightly. "No," she replied, though it was the biggest lie she could tell.

His lips twitched, not quite a smile but more of a warning.

Then the priest began.

The ceremony felt like a blur. The vows exchanged, the rings placed. Every affirmation from Alexander seemed hollow, delivered with the detached precision of a business transaction rather than a commitment to a lifelong partner.

"Do you, Alexander Blackwood, take Elena Carter to be your lawful wedded wife?"

"I do," he replied, his voice flat.

The ground beneath Elena seemed to shift.

Then it was her turn.

"Do you, Elena Carter, take Alexander Blackwood to be your lawful wedded husband?"

Her throat constricted. Every part of her screamed to refuse, to escape, to resist.

But then she thought of her father—the machines sustaining his life. The crushing debt they faced. The inevitable ruin that would follow if she rejected this opportunity.

Her lips parted.

"I do."

Those words felt like a noose tightening around her spirit.

Silence enveloped the cathedral.

Then, the priest proclaimed, "You may kiss the bride."

Elena's stomach twisted.

A muscle in Alexander's jaw tightened, as though he, too, found the ritual unwelcome. He stepped closer, raising a hand to her chin. His touch was gentle, but his eyes were anything but warm.

She held her breath as he leaned in.

His lips brushed against hers—soft, controlled, unfeeling—a kiss intended for the cameras, for public consumption. Beneath the veneer of gentleness lay an unspoken vow:

"You belong to me now, whether you want it or not."

The applause erupted.

Elena Carter was now Elena Blackwood.

Bound to a man who felt like a devil.

THE BLACKWOOD MANSION

The drive to their new home was enveloped in silence.

Elena sat next to Alexander in the plush backseat of the sleek black Rolls-Royce, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. The sparkling diamond ring on her finger was a heavy reminder of her captivity.

She dared a glance at him.

He was absorbed in his phone, exhibiting complete indifference to her existence.

As if she were not his wife.

As if she were insignificant.

Minutes dragged on interminably until they finally arrived at the Blackwood Mansion. Elena caught her breath.

It was more than just a house it was a prison. An imposing estate of glass and steel, stark and uninviting. High walls enclosed the property, with guards stationed at every corner.

"A gilded cage."

The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

The driver held the door open, and Elena stepped out, hearing the crunch of gravel under her heels. The mansion's doors swung wide, revealing a magnificent foyer overflowing with gold and marble. Crystal chandeliers decorated the soaring ceiling, casting a chilly light over everything.

It was stunning.

And completely devoid of life.

A place where love had never lived.

Elena turned to Alexander, her voice barely a whisper. "Is this my home now?"

He finally looked at her, his expression inscrutable. "It's where you'll reside," he replied. "Nothing more."

A lump constricted in her throat.

Then, he moved closer, his gaze piercing through hers.

"Let's clarify something, Elena," he murmured, his tone uncomfortably soft. "This marriage is a farce. You are my wife in name only. You will not interfere in my life, and I will not interfere in yours."

Her chest constricted.

"However," he continued, his fingers grazed her jawline before tilting her chin up, compelling her to meet his cold, unreadable gaze, "when we are in public, you will play the role of the perfect, devoted wife. You will smile, hold my hand, and pretend to love me."

Elena swallowed hard. "And if I refuse?"

A slow, humorless smirk graced his lips.

"Then your father dies."

Her breath caught.

Cruel. Calculating. Remorseless.

Alexander Blackwood had made it abundantly clear she wasn't his partner.

She was his captive.

And she had just stepped into a gilded cage from which she might never escape.