Chapter 4: The Wedding of the Century

Chapter 4: The Wedding of the Century

Elena Vasquez had never felt more like a stranger in her own life.

Standing before an ornate gilded mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The ivory silk gown clung to her form, the intricate lacework shimmering under the golden lights. A delicate tiara rested atop her carefully styled hair, a final touch of perfection. She looked every inch the blushing bride.

Only, this wasn't a love story. This was a contract.

Her hands tightened around the bouquet of pristine white roses, their petals soft yet suffocating. Every little detail of this day had been orchestrated, planned down to the finest thread of her veil. And yet, beneath the layers of luxury, Elena felt the weight of her choices pressing down on her.

She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. It's just one year. One year of pretending, of playing the devoted wife. One year in exchange for her family's future.

The door creaked open, and the wedding coordinator peeked inside. "It's time."

Elena exhaled sharply and forced a smile, her fingers tightening around the bouquet as she turned toward her fate.

A Union of Power, Not Love

The grand cathedral was a spectacle of wealth and influence. Crystal chandeliers bathed the space in golden light, reflecting off the extravagant floral arrangements lining the aisle. Every seat was filled with high-profile guests—business moguls, celebrities, and socialites eager to witness the most talked-about wedding of the decade.

At the altar, Jason Sinclair stood like a king awaiting his queen. Clad in a tailored black tuxedo, his expression remained unreadable, his piercing gaze fixed on the entrance.

The moment Elena stepped into view, a hush fell over the crowd. She walked down the aisle with measured grace, arm linked with her uncle—a stand-in for the father who had once commanded respect but now lived in the shadows of disgrace.

With every step, Elena could feel the weight of the cameras, the judgment, the whispers. The fallen princess marrying the man who stole her kingdom.

Jason's gaze didn't waver as she stopped before him. If she had expected hesitation, regret, or even satisfaction, she found none. He merely extended his hand, his grip firm, possessive.

The officiant's voice rang out, reciting words that had been said a million times before but had never felt so hollow.

"Do you, Jason Sinclair, take Elena Vasquez to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Jason's voice was steady, unwavering. "I do."

The officiant turned to her. "And do you, Elena Vasquez, take Jason Sinclair to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Elena's breath caught, hesitation flickering in her chest. It was irrational—she had signed the contract, made her choice. Yet standing here, before the man who had taken everything from her, the reality of it all threatened to suffocate her.

Jason's fingers twitched slightly against hers—a subtle warning, a reminder of the deal they had struck. The world was watching.

She lifted her chin, forcing the words from her lips. "I do."

A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd.

Jason slid the ring onto her finger with practiced ease. A symbol of ownership, not love.

The officiant smiled. "You may now kiss the bride."

Elena barely had time to react before Jason's hand curled around her waist, pulling her against him. His lips brushed against hers—not demanding, not passionate, but deliberate. A perfectly rehearsed moment for the cameras, sealing their deception before the world.

A collective gasp, a flurry of camera shutters.

Then it was done.

Jason stepped back, expression unreadable. The applause was deafening, but Elena barely heard it over the pounding in her chest.

It's official. I'm Elena Sinclair.

The Reception: A Stage for Power Plays

The Sinclair estate had been transformed into a glittering wonderland for the reception. Beneath the glow of chandeliers, champagne flowed endlessly, laughter rang through the air, and guests toasted to the newlyweds with artificial enthusiasm.

Elena moved through the crowd with Jason at her side, every smile rehearsed, every interaction carefully calculated.

"This is exhausting," she murmured under her breath as she accepted yet another glass of champagne she had no intention of drinking.

Jason smirked, his lips barely moving. "You're holding up well, Mrs. Sinclair."

She shot him a sharp look but didn't get the chance to retort before a familiar, unwelcome presence approached.

Victoria Marcus.

Jason's ex-fiancée was stunning in an emerald gown, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she sauntered up to them. "Jason," she purred, before turning to Elena with a saccharine smile. "And the new Mrs. Sinclair. My, what an interesting turn of events."

Elena met her gaze evenly. "Is it?"

Victoria tilted her head, her smile never faltering. "I must say, you're braver than I thought. Marrying Jason… well, I hope you know what you've signed up for."

Jason's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His silence only made Victoria's amusement grow.

Elena refused to rise to the bait. Instead, she took a slow sip of her champagne, leveling Victoria with an unreadable expression. "I'm not easily intimidated."

Victoria chuckled. "Oh, this will be fun to watch." With that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd, her laughter lingering like a ghost in the air.

Elena exhaled slowly, her grip tightening around her glass.

"Charming," she muttered.

Jason offered her his drink instead. "You'll get used to it."

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before accepting the glass. As much as she wanted something strong to get through this night, she refused to dull her senses. She needed to stay sharp. Alert. Ready.

Because despite the glittering event, the smiling faces, and the congratulatory speeches—this wasn't a celebration.

This was the beginning of a war.