Vanished Vows

Chapter 1

The silk of the gown felt like chains against her skin.

I stood at the altar, my hands trembling beneath lace gloves I didn’t choose, in a dress that wasn’t mine. I had no choice, nothing was mine. Across from me stood Alejandro Rossi—cold, composed, and breathtakingly ruthless. He snared in disgust and looked away, shame took over me.

I watched as I saw his ex, Isabella standing there with a heartbroken expression we both knew was not real but Alejandro as if he was under a spell looked at her like she was his world. Such an irony, you would think she was the bride.

His gaze swept over me like I was a piece of art he’d purchased at auction. Beautiful. Priceless. Possessed.

He didn’t smile.

Neither did I.

The vows were recited like transactions. The kiss was nothing more than a signature on a contract I hadn’t wanted to sign.

His lips touched mine, but there was no softness, no heat—only tension. The moment our mouths met, his body stiffened like he’d been burned. When he pulled away, his jaw clenched, a flicker of something dark flashing through his eyes. Disgust. Barely veiled. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as if scrubbing away a stain, eyes cold, voice even colder.

After that the priest pronounced us as husband and wife, but everyone knew, even the guests, that that wasn't the case. I was nothing but a possession, a chess piece in this idiotic game he was playing. I was nothing more than a tool.

‘Smile’ I told myself. I could do nothing but smile like I was the happiest bride on earth. My now ‘husband’ didn't think the same way I did, instead he snared and walked towards Isabella. I froze. Was he serious? I don't mind that he talks to Isabella but he could have waited seeing as the guests were whispering and murmuring.

I stood at the altar watching my husband walk away, out of the church with Isabella laughing, holding the small of her back with so much care. Why is he doing this to me? Why couldn't he have married her instead?

My best friend walked to me with anger clearly visible on her face.

Her eyes burned, not with tears, but with fury. Her jaw tightened, lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. She hissed, voice low and sharp. The warmth that usually lit up her face was gone, replaced by a storm. Her nostrils flared.

I walked away with her outside the church leaving behind our guests wondering what just happened.

I just got married but I already felt very miserable.

‘Amelia, why would you do this to yourself?, you could have rejected your father's proposal. I would have been willing to let you stay with me if he disowned you’ Natalie screamed, tears rolling down her face.

I wiped away her tears hating the expression on her face.

I knew she was right, I wouldn't doubt her, we've been friends for 12 years and we were still going strong. She was brave and strong while I was not. We balanced each other well, while she was hot headed I was level headed.

I had always been a coward. I had always looked up to my father but my father couldn't care less. He always believed I was usless and wished I was born a boy. That's why when he called me to tell me of the arrangement, how it would help the company and how he would be so happy, I couldn't say no.

‘Natalie I know but I just couldn't say no, I'm so sorry’ I said. She sighed and wiped away the remaining tears on her face.

“Stop crying, Nat. I’m not dead—I’m just legally bound to a billionaire with the emotional range of a stapler rather save the tears for the divorce party—I hear those are way more fun.’

With this she laughed and we walked to the car that was to take us to the reception.

The reception was breathtaking—crystal chandeliers spilling golden light, orchids cascading from every centerpiece, and soft classical music weaving through the laughter of the elite. The room sparkled like a dream spun in gold and glass, the kind of scene little girls imagined when they pictured a fairytale wedding.

But for me, it felt like a stage i didn’t belong on.

From my table at the edge of the room, i watched Alejandro, my brand-new husband, standing beneath a glowing arch of white roses—smiling, laughing, head tilted toward Isabella Marquez. Isabella, radiant in crimson, clutched his arm like a victory prize, her laugh ringing a little too loud, her gaze flicking toward me like a silent dare.

Natalie glared at them and pulled us to our table. I tried not to think about my situation and what was going on in this room.

My brother who had been quiet up till now walked up to my table. Antonio slid into the empty seat beside me, his jaw tight, eyes burning toward the crowd.

"Is this what you signed up for, Amelia? Watching your husband drool over another woman while you sit here like background decor?" Antonio questioned.

I, softly, tried to smile and said: "It’s fine, Tony. We both knew this marriage wasn’t about love."

"Yeah, but I didn’t know he’d humiliate you on day one."

He glared at Alejandro across the room, then looked back at her, his voice gentling.

"You don’t deserve this. You’re brilliant, you’re kind… hell, you light up a room without even trying. And he doesn’t even see it." Antonio said.

I was quiet and vulnerable. I replied "Maybe he never will."

"Then screw him. You walk through this night like a queen, Amelia. Not for him—for you. Because one day, he’s going to look at you and realize he married a diamond... and treated it like glass." Antonio said.

I forced a breath, lifting my chin as if his words stitched a spine back into me.

Antonio gave her a small nod.

"Remember who you are, Mel. You’re not his shadow. You never were."

I gave him a tight smile, then stood, the fabric of my gown whispering against the marble floor. Across the room, Alejandro threw his head back at something Isabella whispered in his ear, his hand lingering far too long on her bare back.

My smile faded.

I reached for my champagne flute—not to drink, but to steady my shaking fingers. Then, I turned to Antonio.

“If he wants a show,” I murmured, eyes glittering, “I’ll give him one.”

And with that, I walked toward the crowd—toward him—like a storm cloaked in satin.