The day of the white wedding felt less like a celebration and more like a carefully controlled explosion of wealth and expectation, a magnificent spectacle designed to blind the world to the truth, and I was the reluctant, terrified star of the show. My mother had spared absolutely no expense, because this was her crowning glory, her final, desperate attempt to cement the family's place in the highest echelons of society, so the entire venue, a sprawling, historic estate overlooking the Hudson River, looked like a scene ripped from a gilded fairy tale. Every surface sparkled, every corner smelled of fresh, expensive roses and lilies, and hundreds of the most prominent, predatory members of New York society were already seated, waiting to witness the union of two vast fortunes.
I stood in the bridal suite, a massive room draped in silk and white satin, feeling completely detached from the woman reflected in the full-length mirror, because the dress itself was a masterpiece, a stunning gown of Italian silk and lace that hugged my body perfectly and trailed behind me in a glittering, dramatic ten-foot train, which was the most beautiful thing I had ever worn . Yet, the beauty of the dress only amplified the ugliness of the lie, and I felt trapped beneath the weight of the silk, the layers of tulle, and the heavy diamond necklace Adrian had sent that morning, a spectacular piece that felt more like a shackle than a gift. Amelia, back in her role as my maid, was the only calm point in the swirling chaos of stylists and attendants, quietly adjusting the lace veil that covered my face, a final, necessary layer of deception that hid the terror in my eyes.
"It is time, my sweet girl," Amelia whispered, her eyes meeting mine over the veil, offering a silent message of strength that I clung to desperately, because her approval was the only real thing I possessed in that entire room. I took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the Sophia mask snap into place, remembering every lesson—chin up, slow walk, reckless, indifferent eyes—and I forced my feet to move toward the massive oak doors that separated my prison from the hundreds of eager spectators.
The music swelled, a powerful, classical piece that vibrated through the floorboards, and the massive doors swung open, revealing the awe-inspiring sight of the grand ballroom, which had been transformed into a cathedral of flowers, candlelight, and shimmering gold accents. The aisle stretched before me like an endless path to my doom, lined with towering arrangements of white roses, and the flash of a hundred cameras exploded as I took my first, terrifying step, forcing myself to walk with Sophia's famous, confident sway, ignoring the fact that my heart was currently attempting to beat its way out of my chest. My father, Marcus, took my arm, his grip surprisingly firm, and as he led me forward, I could feel the intense scrutiny of the crowd, the silent calculation in their eyes, because they weren't just looking at the bride, they were analyzing the value of the deal.
Halfway down the aisle, I saw Adrian Richard waiting for me, standing tall and utterly dominant beneath a massive archway dripping with orchids, and he looked every inch the ruthless king claiming his due . He was striking in his perfectly tailored black tuxedo, a figure of remote, unapproachable power, and the profound contempt I had seen in his eyes yesterday was still there, perhaps even magnified by the public display of their forced union. His gaze was fixed on me, piercing right through the silk veil, and in that moment, I knew he wasn't fooled by the dramatic entrance or the beautiful dress; he was just watching the carefully choreographed lie unfold, waiting for me to make the inevitable mistake.
I reached the altar, and my father gently placed my hand in Adrian's, a gesture that felt less like a blessing and more like a transfer of ownership, and Adrian's skin was cool and firm against mine, the contact sending a jarring ripple of electricity through my body, which was quickly suppressed by my terror. The minister began speaking the formal words of the ceremony, but his voice was muffled, distant, and all I could focus on was Adrian, standing impossibly close, his scent of cedar and sharpness overwhelming my senses, and I fought the urge to pull my hand free, because that one small act would destroy everything.
When the time came for the vows, the silence was absolute, a heavy, breathless pause that felt like the entire world was waiting for me to fail. "Do you, Sophia Dale, take Adrian Richard to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward?" the minister asked, and the simplicity of the question was horrifying, because it demanded a public, eternal lie, a commitment to a life I didn't want, with a man who wasn't even marrying the real me. I forced the Sophia smile onto my lips, a slight, arrogant curve that suggested boredom rather than joy, and I spoke the two, devastatingly simple words that sealed my fate: "I do," and as the words left my mouth, I felt the final chain click into place, trapping me completely in my sister's life. Adrian's own acceptance of the vows was curt, devoid of emotion, a cold, formal statement that confirmed this was purely a business arrangement, which was a small comfort, because at least the contempt was mutual.
The rings were exchanged, cold platinum slipping onto my finger, and then came the moment I dreaded most, the minister's pronouncement: "You may kiss the bride." Adrian slowly lifted the veil, his blue eyes intense and unwavering, and for a horrible, prolonged second, he simply looked at me, as if searching one last time for the true Sienna, before he finally lowered his head. His kiss was not tender or passionate, but a cold, hard press of his mouth against mine, brief and utterly formal, a public performance of ownership that held no warmth or sincerity, yet the unexpected firmness of his lips still sent a jolt through my system, confirming that he was dangerously real, and now he was my husband.
The applause exploded, a deafening wave of congratulation and societal approval, and I was swept up in the whirlwind of the reception, forced to smile, to laugh Sophia's laugh, and to accept the endless, fawning compliments from people who only cared about my wealth and my new, powerful name. Hours later, through a haze of champagne and exhaustion, the evening ended abruptly, because there was no grand honeymoon; there was only the cold, immediate reality of our new life. I changed out of the heavy gown and into a simple, elegant traveling dress, and within minutes, Adrian led me out of the estate and into the back of a waiting black limousine, away from the glittering lie and toward the terrifying truth of the Richard mansion.
The final moment of the night arrived when the car pulled up to the enormous, foreboding stone facade of the Richard estate, a structure that looked more like a fortress than a home, and Adrian opened my door without a word, his face expressionless . The silence inside the mansion was heavy, oppressive, and I followed him up the grand staircase, my heart pounding a frantic tattoo against my ribs, because the performance was over, the public had gone home, and I was finally alone with my lawfully wedded, yet suspicious, husband, stepping over the threshold into the most dangerous prison of all.