A Deal at the Altar

Chapter 2

Zach’s POV

A cold flash shoots through me when I see the name on the screen.

Olivia.

It feels like someone slammed a fist into my chest. My heart stumbles and then refuses to beat right. I grip the phone until my knuckles ache.

She left me. She humiliated me. She turned me into a joke. And now she dares to call.

Arianna watches me. Her wide brown eyes look scared, confused, like she is ready to take the blame for something she did not do. Her fingers twist in the skirt of the gown that should have belonged to her sister.

I ignore her. I hit answer.

“Where the hell are you?” I spit through my teeth.

There is silence first. Breathing. Then a soft laugh. A laugh I know. A laugh I once loved.

“Miss me already?” Olivia purrs.

My vision darkens. I step away from Arianna and the photographers who are still snapping pictures like vultures.

“You ruined everything,” I say. “You ran. You left me at the altar.”

“Relax. You replaced me quickly enough,” she replies.

Her words stab deep. I look back at Arianna. She flinches when our eyes meet. She does not deserve the fire burning in me. But I cannot stop it. She is standing where Olivia should be.

“Why did you call?” I grind out.

“Because this is not over,” she says. “You are mine, Zach. You know that.”

“You lost that right the moment you walked away.”

Another soft laugh. “We will see.”

The call ends.

I stare at the phone like it betrayed me.

Everything was already shattered. Now the pieces feel sharp enough to bleed me dry.

My security team begins ushering guests away. The press keeps yelling for more photos. Reporters shove microphones forward.

“Mr. Price, how does it feel to marry the younger sister instead?”

“Where is Olivia Hale?”

“Is it true this wedding was arranged to hide a scandal?”

The noise drills into my skull. I clench my jaw and turn to Arianna.

She steps back instinctively, like she expects me to strike her. That hits a nerve I do not want to explore.

“Get in the car,” I tell her.

She nods quickly and obeys.

At least someone does.

She climbs into the limo and sits as far from me as possible, pressed against the door like she wants to disappear. Her wedding dress spills over the seat like a flood of white lies.

Once the door shuts behind me, silence fills the air. Heavy. Suffocating.

I stare straight ahead. My throat feels tight.

After a moment she speaks, voice barely a whisper. “Was that Olivia?”

“Yes,” I answer.

“Is she okay?”

Her concern makes something snap.

“Do not pretend you care,” I say. “You benefited from her disappearance.”

Her eyes flick up, hurt flashing through them. “You think I wanted this.”

“You put on the dress.”

“I was forced,” she insists. “You know that.”

I turn my head slowly. “I know nothing about you.”

Her lips press together. She looks down at her hands. They shake slightly.

Good. If she thinks I am the monster in this story, maybe she will stop trying to be noble. Maybe she will stop looking at me with those soft eyes that make me feel something I do not want to feel.

“You married the wrong woman,” she whispers.

“I noticed,” I bite out.

Her breath stutters. A tear slips down her cheek. She wipes it quickly, trying to hide it.

Something twists in my chest. I hate it.

I look away.

We ride in tense silence until the limo pulls into the private entrance of my penthouse building. Paparazzi are kept far away by high security. The windows are tinted black.

Arianna steps out carefully, clutching the fabric of her dress. She looks small against the tall marble columns of the lobby.

I walk ahead without waiting for her. She has to hurry to keep up.

As we enter the elevator, the doors close and trap us in the small space together. I can feel her breathing. I can smell the faint floral perfume she must have put on for a wedding that should not have been hers.

She speaks again. Her voice is stronger this time.

“I am sorry Olivia hurt you. But do not punish me for her choice.”

“You share her blood,” I say coldly. “And you stood there at the altar like it was your right.”

“It was survival. Not a right.”

Her chin lifts. For the first time, she looks angry instead of afraid.

“When I said I do, I lost everything,” she tells me. “My freedom. My boyfriend. My home. My entire life.”

The elevator opens with a soft ding. I step out, but her words follow me like a ghost.

She lost everything.

So did I.

But I will not admit that to anyone. Not even myself.

Inside the penthouse, I loosen my collar. A team of staff appears, bowing, congratulating. They think they are speaking to a happy couple. Their smiles feel like knives.

“Prepare the guest suite for Mrs. Price,” I order.

One of them nods and rushes down the hall.

Arianna looks at me, confused. “Guest suite?”

“You sleep there,” I say. “Our rooms stay separate.”

Her shoulders slump slightly, but she nods. “Alright.”

“You will attend events with me. You will smile. You will be perfect in every room we enter.” I pause. “And you will not speak Olivia’s name to me again.”

She takes a slow breath. “And what do you expect from me when reporters ask questions about why she left?”

“You will say nothing,” I respond. “You will let the world think you are lucky. Blessed. Special.”

Arianna laughs quietly. There is no humor in it. “So I get to be the villain and the trophy at the same time. Wonderful.”

I step closer. Too close. She looks up, startled.

“You are here to fix what your sister broke,” I say. “That is your purpose.”

Her brown eyes soften with something I cannot name. Maybe pity. Maybe sorrow.

“Is that what you believe marriage is,” she whispers. “A purpose. A transaction.”

“It is our reality. Accept it.”

She looks away. Her voice cracks. “I wish you knew who I really was.”

I do not answer. Because I do not want to know.

The moment I know her, she becomes dangerous.

I turn toward my office. She thinks that is the end of the conversation. But her voice stops me again.

“Zach.” Her tone is careful. “Do you still love Olivia?”

The question slices me open.

I face her slowly. I let her see a hint of the rage boiling under my skin.

“Love?” I say. “That word does not exist anymore.”

Her eyes lower. A tear drops to the floor. She steps back like she regrets asking.

“Goodnight,” she murmurs.

She turns and walks down the hall. The gown trails behind her like a ghost of the woman I should have married. My chest tightens. Something in me wants to call her back.

I do not.

I enter my office and shut the door. I sink into the chair and run a hand through my hair. The silence presses in.

I stare at the wedding band on my finger. It feels like a shackle.

Suddenly my phone buzzes again.

Olivia.

A message this time.

Come find me.

There is an address attached. A hotel. Private. Discreet.

My jaw tightens. I grab my keys. Fury surges through my veins like fire.

I will get answers from her. I deserve at least that.

But just as I reach the front door, a voice behind me stops me cold.

“Are you leaving to see her?”

I turn.

Arianna stands there in the hallway, still in her wedding dress. Her eyes reflect pain she is trying so hard to hide.

I should lie. I should say it is business. But I do not.

“Yes,” I say.

Her face pales. Her fingers curl around the doorknob beside her like she needs support.

“She will only break you again,” Arianna whispers.

“I can handle myself,” I mutter.

She steps forward. “And what about me?”

“What about you?” I ask.

Her voice shakes. “I am your wife now.”

For a moment, I stop breathing.

Then I step closer. I lower my voice to a dangerous quiet.

“You are the substitute. Do not forget that.”

Pain flashes across her face. She stumbles back like the words hit harder than a strike.

I open the door.

“I will be back tomorrow,” I say.

And I walk out.

Leaving my new bride alone. On our wedding night.