Chapter 6:Vows
1168 Words
Dominic’s POV
I didn’t sleep the night Cynthia left.
Not a second.
I lay awake staring at my ceiling, hearing her voice in every corner of the room. Every whisper of the air sounded like her saying my name. Every memory felt sharper than the last, cutting me from the inside.
But morning still came.
And with it, responsibility.
My parents didn’t knock before entering. They never did.
“Get dressed,” my father said. “We’re going to the Andersons’ estate to finalize the arrangements.”
Arrangements.
For my engagement.
To Natasha.
My stomach churned.
My mother smoothed my collar with the smile of someone proud of a puppet. “You’ll feel better once everything is official. Certainty calms the heart.”
It didn’t calm me.
It crushed it.
The Anderson estate was full of warm lights, champagne, and voices full of congratulations. They welcomed me like a groom, not a prisoner walking toward execution.
Natasha stood in the center of the hall in a soft cream dress, shimmering under the chandeliers.
Her hair was curled, lips painted pink, and the way she smiled at me made something inside me recoil.
She hugged me tightly. “Dominic… I’m so happy.”
I stood stiffly. “Right.”
Her arms wrapped around me for a moment longer than necessary. Too tight. Too possessive.
My father cleared his throat. “Let’s begin.”
We sat around a long mahogany table where both families discussed dates, venues, business expansions, and public announcements.
I barely heard any of it. My head pulsed. My chest felt like a fist was squeezing it.
Every time someone said “the wedding,” a piece of me died.
I tried...God, I tried...not to imagine Cynthia alone somewhere. Crying. Heartbroken.
Confused. I tried not to imagine her finding out about this dinner. About the wedding date. About the fact that I was about to marry someone else.
But my mind kept drifting back to her in that hotel room, eyes red, voice breaking, whispering, “Don’t leave me.”
I gripped the table so hard my knuckles whitened.
Natasha slid her hand over mine.
Her touch felt wrong.
Foreign.
Cold.
“We’ll be happy,” she whispered.
I didn’t respond.
Two weeks later, the wedding happened.
It was lavish. Extravagant. Designed to impress business partners and shareholders, not hearts.
Reporters swarmed. Cameras flashed. People cheered.
And I stood at the altar beside a woman I didn’t love, wearing a perfectly tailored suit that suddenly weighed more than chains.
When Natasha walked down the aisle, she smiled triumphantly.
I forced my face into something resembling calm.
The vows felt like a funeral.
For my soul.
I said “I do.”
She said “I do.”
The room erupted in applause.
My heart cracked so loudly inside me I wondered if everyone could hear it.
Natasha kissed me. Her lips were warm and practiced and empty.
I didn’t kiss back.
After the wedding, she moved into my family’s mansion. Into a wing I used to consider mine alone.
Her clothes filled the closet.
Her perfume clung to the hallways.
Her presence drowned the silence I used to seek.
Everyone acted like this was how things should be.
But I couldn’t breathe.
I stopped going to the office. I stayed in the downstairs lounge instead, drinking glass after glass until the numbness finally quieted my mind.
Alcohol was the only thing that muted Cynthia’s voice in my head.
Her laughter.
Her tears.
Her warning that she loved me.
The image of her walking away...alone...haunted me worse than any nightmare.
Most nights, I drank until the world blurred around the edges.
Tonight, I drank even more.
The lounge was dim, lit only by the wall sconces. I sat slumped on the leather sofa, a half‑empty whiskey bottle on the table, my tie undone, shirt wrinkled.
My vision swayed, and my head was heavy with memories.
“Dominic?”
Natasha’s voice drifted into the room.
I didn’t look up.
She approached slowly. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been busy,” I muttered.
“Drinking isn’t being busy.”
“Then I’ve been occupied.”
She knelt in front of me, pulling the glass from my hand. “Why won’t you let yourself be happy? I’m your wife now.”
“That’s the problem,” I slurred.
Her expression hardened, but only for a second. Then it softened into something patient. Calculating.
She sat beside me, placing her hand on my chest. “You can learn to love me.”
“No,” I whispered. “I can’t.”
Her fingers curled against my shirt. “Cynthia is gone.”
My heart twisted violently.
“Don’t,” I said, voice breaking.
“She left the country, Dominic. She didn’t even say goodbye to anyone.” Natasha brushed a thumb over my cheek. “She abandoned you.”
My head dropped forward. “No… I abandoned her.”
A tear slipped down my face.
Natasha’s smile was small and cold, though she hid it well. “I can take care of you. Let me.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want...”
She leaned closer, pressing soft kisses along my neck. “Shhh… just relax.”
My thoughts got tangled
.
The alcohol blurred everything.
The room tilted.
I couldn’t hold onto a single solid feeling.
I wanted to push her away, but my limbs felt heavy, slow.
She whispered, “Cynthia never deserved you.”
I flinched. “Don’t say her name.”
“Then forget her…”
She kissed me, and in my drunken haze the world collapsed into shadows and confusion.
I closed my eyes because I couldn’t stand seeing Natasha’s face so close.
And instantly...instantly...I saw Cynthia.
Her soft eyes.
Her trembling smile.
The way she used to whisper my name like it anchored her.
My heart lurched. I whispered her name without thinking.
“Cynthia…”
The sound escaped me like a prayer. A confession.
Natasha froze for a fraction of a second. Then she continued...more determined, almost frantic.
“Dominic,” she breathed, “look at me.”
But I wasn’t with her.
I wasn’t in that room.
I wasn’t in that house.
In my mind, I was back in that hotel bed, holding Cynthia’s face in my hands, kissing away her tears, touching her like she was the only thing real in my life.
“Cynthia…”
I whispered it again, voice cracking.
Natasha’s grip tightened.
And with the alcohol drowning my senses, with my mind seeing only the woman I truly loved, I didn’t have the strength to pull away.
I didn’t realize what Natasha was doing.
I didn’t realize the trap I was sinking into.
I didn’t realize she would use this night...my weakness, my drunken confusion...to claim something that didn’t belong to her.
I only knew one thing:
Even in my most broken, lost, drunken state…
I still loved Cynthia.
And I always would.
- Writer
