Chapter 3
1639 Words
Arianna’s POV
The door closes behind him with a final, echoing click.
It feels like my heart closes with it.
I stand there in the hall, frozen in this stupid heavy wedding dress, my chest rising and falling too fast. I do not know why his words hurt as much as they did. I knew what I was stepping into. I knew I would never be anything more than a replacement.
But hearing him say it…
That is different.
I take a shaky breath and turn away from the door. The penthouse feels too big, too cold, too silent. I walk back to the living room slowly, the hem of the gown dragging behind me. Every step is a reminder of what I have become.
Mrs. Price.
But not really.
I grab the sides of the dress and drop onto the couch. The fabric spills around me like a snowstorm. My throat tightens, and I bury my face in my hands.
For a moment, I let myself cry. Soft, quiet, hopeless tears.
This is my wedding night.
And I am alone.
I wipe my cheeks and sit up straight. Crying will not change anything. I need to breathe. I need to think. I stand and look around at the penthouse, overwhelmed by the space and the luxury.
Marble floors. Gold accents. A view of the entire city through a wall of glass.
This is Zach Price’s world.
And I do not fit in it.
My fingers glide across the back of a leather chair as I explore. Every room feels like a museum. Sharp surfaces, expensive art, silence. He lives like a man who does not allow himself comfort.
As if comfort would make him weak.
I reach a closed door. My first instinct is to turn back. But the curiosity is stronger. I push it open slowly.
It is a library. Floor to ceiling shelves. Dark shelves that smell like old paper and strength. There is a large desk in the center, made of black wood and steel. Zach’s desk.
There are framed photos on it.
My breath catches.
The first picture is of Olivia and Zach together. She is laughing. Her hand is on his chest. He is looking at her like she is the only person in the world. Like he would have burned the world down for her.
Pain slices through me.
I reach for the frame. My fingers tremble. I do not know why I keep staring, like the image wants to feed every insecurity inside me.
She was perfect for him. Confident. Bold. The one everyone always chose.
I am the shadow she left behind.
I set the frame down quickly and take a step back. My heel catches on the dress and I stumble, grabbing the desk for balance. The drawer slides open slightly.
I should close it. I should walk away.
But I cannot.
Inside are letters. Dozens of them. Neat handwriting on white paper. My chest tightens as I pull one out and unfold it.
Dear Zach,
I hate that I need you.
It scares me more than anything.
It is Olivia’s handwriting.
My stomach turns. I place the letter down and grab another.
I want freedom.
But I want you too.
I cannot breathe here.
A cold wave rolls through me.
She did not want this marriage either. She ran because she felt trapped. And now I am trapped in her place.
My vision blurs with a new round of tears. I shove the drawer closed and turn away, wanting to escape this room that smells like their love and my humiliation.
That is when I hear the door.
My pulse jumps.
Footsteps. Heavy, fast. Angry.
Zach.
I quickly wipe my face, but my hands shake too much. I step out of the library as he enters the living room.
His tie is gone. His shirt collar is open. His hair is messed up like he ran his hand through it a thousand times. His chest rises and falls like he fought his way back here.
His eyes lock onto me.
There is no Olivia with him.
He walks closer, something dark and dangerous in his gaze.
“Why are you crying?” he asks.
The gentleness in his voice startles me. It sounds accidental. Like it slipped out before he could stop it.
I look away. “You should not be here.”
“You are my wife,” he says. His voice drops lower. “This is where I am supposed to be.”
I shake my head. “You left.”
He steps closer. “I came back.”
I swallow hard. Heat rises in the small space between us.
“Where did you go?” I ask carefully.
“To make a mistake,” he admits, voice rough. “One I did not want to finish.”
I blink. “Why?”
His eyes flick down to my lips.
“That is what I am trying to figure out.”
My heart trips.
He takes another step. We are inches apart now. I can smell the expensive cologne clinging to his skin. Something sharp and male.
“I thought you hated me,” I whisper.
“I do,” he says. “But I also want to kiss you. And that pisses me off more.”
My lips part without permission. I forget how to breathe.
His fingers brush my cheek. I flinch from the sudden contact, but his touch is gentle. Too gentle. It sends sparks down my spine.
His thumb traces the wet line a tear left behind.
“I do not want to care,” he murmurs. “I do not want to feel anything for you. But I do.”
I feel like the floor disappears.
He leans closer. His breath skims my skin. Goosebumps rise along my arms.
“Tell me to stop,” he says.
I should.
But I cannot.
Instead, I whisper, “Zach.”
That is all it takes.
His mouth meets mine.
The kiss starts slow. Soft. Testing. His hand cups my jaw. His other arm slides around my waist, pulling me closer until my chest presses against his.
He tastes like heat and anger and something heartbreakingly vulnerable.
He deepens the kiss, no hesitation, like he cannot let himself think. His lips move against mine with growing hunger, and the room tilts. My fingers grip the front of his shirt, desperate to hold on.
The wedding dress rustles loudly as he lifts me onto the desk behind me. The photo of him and Olivia falls to the floor.
Neither of us looks down.
His body presses between my knees. My pulse pounds everywhere. His mouth trails down my neck, slow and hot, and I gasp.
His voice is low and rough against my skin. “You drive me crazy.”
My hand slides into his hair. “You left to see her.”
His grip tightens on my waist. “I came back for you.”
The words steal all the air from my lungs.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. His pupils are blown wide. His chest rises and falls too fast.
“We should not do this,” he says.
“I know,” I whisper.
But his lips crash into mine again, like he has already lost the fight.
My heart is breaking and blooming at the same time. I know this is dangerous. I know I am falling for a man who will destroy me.
But right now, he is touching me like I am the only woman he has ever wanted.
His hand slides up my thigh.
There is a loud knock at the door.
We both freeze.
Another knock. Harder.
“Zach,” a deep voice calls. “We have a problem.”
Zach curses under his breath. He pulls away slowly. His chest presses against mine one last second.
“This is not over,” he tells me.
He steps back. I feel cold immediately. He grabs his phone and storms toward the entrance, shoulders tense.
Curiosity and fear twist inside me. I slide off the desk and fix my dress, breathing shakily.
The library door is still open.
The photo of him and Olivia lies on the ground. Face down.
I pick it up carefully and place it back on the desk.
As I turn to follow the sound of voices, Zach suddenly appears from behind the corner. His expression is furious.
He grabs my wrist and pulls me close.
“What did you touch in there?” he demands in a low voice.
I lick my lips nervously. “Nothing. I just looked.”
His jaw tightens. “Do not go through my things.”
Before I can respond, someone else steps into view.
It is Zach’s head of security.
He speaks quickly.
“The media received a tip, sir. They know Olivia contacted you tonight.”
My stomach sinks.
Zach’s expression turns to ice.
He looks at me.
“This is what happens,” he says quietly. “When you put on the wrong dress.”
His phone vibrates again. He checks it.
His eyes go colder.
Olivia sent another message.
This time a picture.
Of Zach and her. Together. From tonight.
My breath stops.
Zach’s hand forms a fist.
He looks at me sharply.
“Did you do this?” he accuses.
“What?” I choke out. “No.”
But he already seen enough to doubt me.
Security rushes to speak with him again.
I step back, shaking, my heart in my throat.
Zach meets my eyes one last time.
“Do not give me a reason to regret coming back,” he says.
Then he turns away.
Leaving me standing there.
Terrified of what will happen next.
- Writer
