CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER FOUR: VOWS AND VEILS

AVA MONROE'S POV

The morning of my wedding began not with excitement, but with silence.

A cold, breathless sort of stillness that wrapped around my chest like a corset laced too tight.

I stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the soft gray light of dawn stretching across the expensive silk sheets.

Today, I would become Mrs. Ethan Kingsley, by law, by contract, but not by love.

There was a knock at my bedroom door.

"Ava?"

It was Diane.

"It's time."

Time.

Two hours later, I was being poked and painted by a team of stylists Ethan had flown in from Milan.

My hair was twisted into an elegant low bun, strands curled delicately around my face.

The makeup artist dabbed at my cheekbones with glittering powder while another woman slid rings onto my fingers for the pre-wedding

shoot.

The dress was breathtaking.

A Vera Wang creation, ivory satin, off-shoulder, with a corset back and a train that spilled across the marble like moonlight.

It wasn't just a dress. It was a masterpiece. And I was the mannequin.

As I stood before the mirror, my reflection stared back like a stranger.

Elegant. Composed. Impossibly beautiful.

But not me. Not Ava Monroe, the girl who once dreamed of love letters, not legal contracts.

"You look perfect," Diane said from behind me.

I didn't respond.

The limo ride to the venue was a blur. The ceremony was being held in the

Kingsley family estate, an impossibly grand manor surrounded by manicured gardens and ivy-covered stone arches.

The entire place smelled of roses, old money, and expectation.

Photographers lined the gates. Paparazzi shouted from behind

barricades. My name had gone from forgotten scandal to headline darling overnight.

The ceremony was private, only a hundred guests. But every guest was a lion of industry, a queen of fashion, or some dignitary whose name made stock prices rise. I recognized none of them.

But all eyes turned to me as I stepped out of the car.

I felt their gaze like heat.

And then I saw him.

Ethan stood at the altar, framed by cascading orchids and white silk.

He wore a black tuxedo with satin lapels and a silver tie. Sharp. Cold. Devastatingly handsome.

His eyes met mine.

And for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

The music began, soft violins playing some orchestral version of a love song neither of us had chosen. My heart pounded in rhythm with each step down the aisle.

People whispered.

The bride looks stunning.

Is it real love?.

He never dates publicly. Why her?.

I kept my eyes on Ethan.

He didn't smile.

He didn't blink.

He simply waited.

As I reached the altar, he offered me his hand. I placed mine in his.

It was warm. We turned to the officiant. The ceremony began.

Words floated around us like snowflakes.

Commitment. Partnership. Forever.

None of them meant what they were supposed to. Not to us.

When it came time for vows, Ethan pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"I vow," he began, his voice clear and unreadable, "to provide you with security, protection, and respect.

To uphold the terms of our agreement. To never betray your

trust, so long as this arrangement stands."

A murmur ran through the guests.

He wasn't even trying to pretend.

Then it was my turn.

I reached into the bouquet and drew out the card Diane had

prepared, but I didn't read it.

Instead, I looked at Ethan. Right at him.

"I vow," I said, my voice quiet but steady, "to play my role with dignity, to stand by you when it matters, and to never confuse this with

love."

The guests applauded politely. Some looked confused. Others

intrigued.

The officiant carried on, and before I knew it, the rings were exchanged, the papers signed, and Ethan Kingsley was kissing my cheek.

Not my lips. Of course not.

The applause swelled.

The music soared, and I became Mrs. Kingsley.

The reception was a dream crafted for cameras.

Crystal chandeliers. Ice sculptures. A string quartet. Celebrities and tycoons sipping vintage champagne while photographers captured every inch of our orchestrated joy.

We danced, Ethan and I. Slowly, like strangers forced into rhythm.

"You look tired," he said into my ear.

"You look bored."

He smiled slightly. "This is the happiest day of our lives, remember?"

I wanted to laugh.

Instead, I nodded and played the part.

Later, he disappeared. I found him on the balcony, overlooking the estate's back gardens.

"You always run from crowds?" I asked.

He didn't look at me. "I don't like pretending for too long."

"Then maybe don't marry someone you don't love."

That made him turn.

His gaze was sharp. "This wasn't about love, Ava. We both knew that."

"But it could've been about something else. Respect. Truth.

Not just…, control."

His expression shifted. For a second, I saw something raw

flash through him.

Then it was gone.

"I don't owe anyone honesty," he said. "Not anymore."

"Not even me?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he walked past me, back into the golden glow of the

ballroom.

And I was left on the balcony, in a wedding dress that felt heavier than armor.

That night, we didn't share a bed.

I slept in my room, he in his.

 A wall of silence between us.

But even as I closed my eyes, the echo of our vows haunted me.

Not because of what we said.

But because of what we didn't.

This wasn't the end of anything.

It was the beginning.

Of lies. Of power games. Of secrets neither of us were ready to confront.

And maybe, just maybe, of something neither of us could

predict.

Something far more dangerous than love.

Something like truth.