The wedding that wasn't meant to be

The morning of the wedding arrived faster than Ava had anticipated.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror in her private dressing suite, her heart pounding erratically in her chest. The lavish bridal gown clung to her slender figure, a masterpiece of delicate lace and satin that shimmered under the soft light. The off-shoulder design left her collarbones exposed, the fitted bodice accentuating her waist before flaring out into an elegant train. It was the kind of gown any bride would dream of—yet, she felt nothing.

No excitement. No joy. No butterflies in her stomach.

Just an overwhelming sense of dread.

This wasn't how she had imagined getting married.

A knock at the door made her jump slightly. A moment later, a bridal consultant peeked in. "Miss Sinclair, it's almost time."

Ava swallowed hard, gripping the fabric of her gown. "Right. I'll be out in a minute."

The door closed, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Her mother had no idea.

Ava had spent the past few days weaving an intricate web of lies, carefully avoiding her mother's suspicion. The apartment Damien had provided for her was stunning, far too extravagant for a struggling waitress to afford, yet Ava had managed to convince her mother that she had landed a well-paying job as a personal assistant. It wasn't completely false—she was tied to Damien in a business-like arrangement, after all.

But how long could she keep up the charade?

Ava took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. There was no time for doubt. She had made a deal, and she had to see it through.

The moment she stepped out of the dressing suite, a group of stylists and assistants hurried to her side, fussing over every detail—the final touches to her makeup, adjusting the intricate beading on her gown, smoothing out invisible creases in the fabric. It was overwhelming, suffocating even.

Then, just as she was about to head toward the grand hall where the ceremony was to take place, the door to the private lounge swung open.

Damien stepped inside.

Ava's breath caught in her throat at the sight of him.

Dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt and a charcoal-gray tie, Damien exuded an air of effortless dominance. His dark hair was neatly styled, his face unreadable as his piercing gaze settled on her.

For a long moment, he said nothing, merely observing her.

Then, his lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"You look presentable."

Ava's fingers twitched at her sides. That was all he had to say? Not beautiful, not stunning—just presentable?

"Gee, thanks," she muttered, looking away.

Damien took a step closer, closing the space between them. "Are you ready?"

Was she?

No.

But what choice did she have?

She forced a nod. "Yes."

His gaze lingered on her for a second longer, searching for something in her eyes, but whatever it was, he seemed to let it go.

"Let's get this over with," he said simply, turning on his heel and striding toward the exit.

Ava exhaled shakily before following him.

The Wedding of the Century

The grand ballroom of the Cole estate was transformed into a breathtaking venue, dripping in luxury and opulence. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a golden glow over the room. Rows of white roses and soft candlelight lined the aisle, and a string quartet played a hauntingly beautiful melody in the background.

The moment Ava stepped into the room, all eyes turned to her.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, whispers spreading like wildfire.

"That's her?"

"She's stunning, but who is she?"

"I thought Damien Cole would marry someone from high society. Where did she come from?"

Ava's heart pounded in her chest as she took slow, measured steps forward, her fingers gripping the bouquet so tightly her knuckles turned white.

At the far end of the aisle, Damien stood tall, his face impassive, unreadable. Unlike a typical groom, he didn't look particularly moved or awestruck. He simply watched her approach, his expression indifferent.

When she finally reached him, he extended his hand, and she hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing hers in his.

His grip was firm, steady.

The officiant began speaking, his voice echoing through the hall, but Ava barely heard a word. Her mind was spinning, her thoughts tangled in a mess of emotions.

This wasn't real.

It was a contract. A deal.

And yet, as Damien slid the diamond-studded ring onto her finger, something inside her shifted.

The weight of what she had done, what she had agreed to, settled heavily on her chest.

She was now Ava Cole.

A billionaire's wife.

Trapped in a marriage that was nothing more than an elaborate deception.

The applause that erupted around her felt distant, as if she were watching a scene unfold in someone else's life.

A Cold Reception

The reception that followed was just as extravagant as the ceremony. Guests mingled in their designer gowns and tailored suits, sipping expensive champagne and exchanging pleasantries.

Ava felt like a guest at her own wedding.

She sat beside Damien at the grand dining table, barely touching her food as she listened to the murmured conversations around her.

Across from her, Damien's business associates and high-profile friends observed her with thinly veiled curiosity.

"So, Ava," one of them finally spoke, a sharp-looking woman with piercing blue eyes and an air of arrogance. "Where did Damien find you?"

Ava felt her throat tighten.

Before she could respond, Damien placed his wine glass down with a soft clink.

"That's none of your concern," he said coolly, his gaze daring the woman to press further.

A tense silence followed before the woman forced a smile. "Of course. My apologies."

Ava exhaled softly, stealing a glance at Damien.

Was that… him defending her?

Before she could dwell on it, another guest leaned forward.

"And how does your family feel about the marriage?"

Ava stiffened.

Damien's gaze flickered toward her, sharp and knowing.

"They're happy for us," she lied smoothly, forcing a smile.

Another lie.

More deception.

Damien didn't correct her. He simply reached for his glass and took another sip, as if her words didn't matter.

The First Night

Hours later, after the reception had ended, Ava found herself standing in the doorway of the penthouse suite Damien had arranged for them.

The suite was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The master bedroom was adorned with plush bedding, expensive artwork, and a sense of cold perfection—just like its owner.

Ava swallowed hard, watching as Damien loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt.

He barely spared her a glance.

"You can take the room. I'll be in my study," he said flatly.

Ava blinked. "You're not staying?"

He arched a brow. "Did you expect a wedding night?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "No! I just—" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Never mind."

Damien studied her for a moment, then smirked. "Good. We both know what this is."

With that, he turned and disappeared into the study, leaving Ava standing alone in the center of the grand bedroom.

Ava slowly lowered herself onto the bed, kicking off her heels.

She had officially become Mrs. Cole.

And yet, she had never felt more alone.