Chapter 13

The week leading up to the wedding passed like a slow, aching dream, filled with lies I had to tell myself to keep going.

My family didn't know the truth about what I was about to do. They didn't know about the desperation that led me to this decision or the strings that were pulling me in directions I had never imagined.

I had told them that he and I had been seeing each other for a while, that our relationship had blossomed quietly amidst the chaos of our lives, and that we had decided to marry.

It wasn't entirely believable-Erica had raised a brow, her skepticism as sharp as ever.

But with Asher in the ICU and my father barely holding himself together, no one had the energy to fight me on it.

"Are you sure about this, Amanda?" Erica asked one evening as she sat by my side. Her voice was low, almost pleading, her fingers clutching mine.

"You've been so distant about him. You've never even introduced him properly. Why now?" I forced a smile, though it felt like a crack running across my face.

"We just... we didn't want to wait anymore," I said softly. "Life is unpredictable, Mom. I don't want to waste time when I already know what I want." Her eyes searched mine, but whatever she found there must have convinced her to let it go. She nodded reluctantly, though the doubt lingered in her expression.

When the day of the wedding arrived, it was painfully quiet.

My family had insisted on a small ceremony, given David's condition.

My father barely managed a weary smile as he hugged me before the courthouse doors. "I am so proud of you my dear" he said, his voice heavy with grief and love.

I swallowed hard, guilt rising in my throat like bile. "I know, Dad. I know."

Inside, he was waiting for me. His dark suit was immaculate, his expression unreadable as his gaze met mine.

For a moment, I hesitated, wondering if he could see the turmoil roiling beneath my carefully composed mask. But he didn't say a word.

The ceremony itself was a blur of words and motions. When it came time to speak my vows, I felt my voice falter, but I forced myself to go on.

His gaze never left mine, steady and unwavering, as though he were trying to will me to finish.

"I do," I whispered, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. He said his vows with the same calm certainty, his voice rich and steady, and when it was done, the officiant declared us husband and wife.

My father and Erica clapped quietly, their smiles small but sincere, as though they were trying to convince themselves this was something to celebrate.

I couldn't look at them for long. The weight of their love, built on my lies, was too much to bear. As we left the courthouse, the tension between us was noticeable.

He walked beside me, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as we made our way to his car. The gesture might have seemed caring to anyone watching, but I knew it was just for show.

The drive to his home was silent, and I found myself staring out the window, watching the world blur past. My thoughts were a tangled mess of guilt, fear, and something else I couldn't quite name.

When we arrived, his penthouse was everything I expected-grand, cold, and impersonal. The kind of place that reflected its owner: perfect on the surface, with depths I couldn't begin to fathom.

But, it screamed LUXURY!!.

The moment I stepped into his penthouse, I was overwhelmed by the sheer extravagance of it all.

It wasn't just a home-it was a masterpiece, a space designed to dazzle and intimidate. The marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, their light refracting into delicate rainbows that danced along the high ceilings.

Every step I took echoed faintly, as if the apartment itself was reminding me of its grandeur. The walls were adorned with art pieces that looked like they belonged in a museum-abstracts splashed with bold colors and framed in ornate gold.

Even the air felt different here, faintly perfumed with something expensive and subtle, as though even the scent of the place had been carefully curated.

To my left, an open-concept living room stretched out in front of floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline.

The lights of the buildings outside glittered like stars, but even they seemed muted compared to the opulence of the room itself. A massive sectional sofa, upholstered in cream-colored velvet, sat in the center, paired with a glass coffee table supported by sculpted gold legs. Everything seemed to shimmer with hints of gold.

The edges of the furniture, the accents on the walls, even the vases that held meticulously arranged flowers-all of them glinted softly, as though mocking me with their perfection. The kitchen, visible from where I stood, was another marvel.

Its countertops were pure white marble veined with gold, and the appliances were sleek, modern, and undoubtedly top of the line. Even the bar stools, placed neatly along the island, had golden bases that caught the light. And then there was the staircase-a sweeping spiral of black and gold that led to the second floor.

The railing was wrought iron, intricately designed and coated in a golden finish that looked almost too pristine to touch. I felt like I didn't belong here.

Every detail, every inch of the space, screamed wealth and power. It was a place built for someone who was used to having the world at their feet, not someone like me, who had clawed her way through life just to stay afloat.

And yet, there was something cold about it. For all its beauty, the penthouse felt sterile, almost lifeless. It was as if everything had been chosen for its price tag and its appearance, not for comfort or warmth.

Even the gold, as dazzling as it was, seemed to glimmer without joy, like it was there simply to remind you that you were in his world now. I glanced at him as he walked in behind me, his figure cutting sharply against the luxurious backdrop.

He fit here, like he was born to be surrounded by all this splendor. I, on the other hand, felt like a trespasser, an intruder in a palace that wasn't mine.

He led me inside without a word, his footsteps echoing against the marble floors. The silence stretched between us until I couldn't bear it any longer.

"So," I said, my voice trembling slightly,

"What now?" He turned to face me, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. But then, he stepped closer, the intensity of his gaze pinning me in place.

"Now," he said, his voice low and deliberate, "we consummate the marriage." The words hit me like a physical blow, my breath catching in my throat.

"What?" I managed to whisper, my heart pounding in my chest.

"You heard me," he said, his tone calm but firm.

"This isn't just a contract, Amanda. It's a marriage. And a marriage requires certain... expectations to be fulfilled." I stared at him, disbelief and panic warring within me.

"You can't be serious," I said, my voice shaking.

"This wasn't part of the agreement." His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile.

"There was no agreement, Amanda. You made that up to justify this to yourself. But let me make one thing clear: I may have agreed to help your brother, but I didn't do it out of charity. I did it because I wanted you."

The weight of his words settled over me like a suffocating blanket. I had known, somewhere deep down, that this wasn't purely transactional for him.

But hearing it spoken aloud, so plainly and unapologetically, was something else entirely.

"I-" I started, but he cut me off.

"Don't act surprised," he said, his voice softer now but no less firm.

"You knew this wouldn't come without a cost." I looked away, tears burning at the corners of my eyes.

"I didn't think..." I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"You didn't think I wanted more?" he asked, stepping closer. His voice was quieter now, almost tender.

"Amanda, I've waited for this moment longer than you realize. You may not feel anything for me now, but you will. And I'm willing to wait for that, as long as you give me what's mine tonight." I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to breathe.

The room felt too small, his presence too overwhelming. I wanted to run, to scream, to somehow undo the choices that had led me here.

But I couldn't.

Asher needed me. It was for his benefit. "Fine," I said finally, my voice barely audible. "If that's what you want."

His expression softened, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of regret in his eyes. But then he stepped back, nodding toward the bedroom door.

"Get some rest first. You look like you've been carrying the world on your shoulders. We can... talk later." I nodded numbly, retreating to the room he had pointed out.

As I closed the door behind me, I felt the tears spill over, hot and relentless.

What had I done?

For the first time since this nightmare began, I allowed myself to break, sinking to the floor as the weight of my decisions came crashing down.