3
1107 Words
Harper’s POV
The priest’s words struck the cathedral like a bell, loud and final. I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride. A hush fell instantly over the hall. Even the choir seemed to hold its breath. My lungs tightened. My heart pounded. I felt my own body stiffen as I stood there in the gown that did not belong to me, beside a man who should have married someone else entirely.
I breathed in sharply and tried not to tremble. I waited for Damon’s move because everyone was expecting something. The cameras. The guests. Our families. My parents were probably praying I did not faint or reveal myself as the wrong bride. Damon turned slightly toward me, and for a moment I thought he would lift my veil fully or pull me close for a kiss that would seal the lie even deeper into my skin.
Instead, he leaned over with calm confidence and pecked me on the lips.
It was so brief, so soft, a light brush of lips against mine. But the effect on me was instant. My spine stiffened. Heat burst across my face. My fingers curled around the bouquet so hard I felt thorns dig into my palm.
The crowd erupted into cheers, delighted by the simple intimacy. To them, it was sweet. Beautiful. Romantic. To me, it was shattering.
Because that was my first kiss.
Just a peck. Just a soft, simple touch. But I had never been kissed before. Never been held. Never been that close to a man. And now I had been kissed by a stranger wearing a mask. A man who did not even know I was not the bride he expected. The tingling sensation left behind on my lips made the moment feel unreal. His lips were not cold or rough like I imagined a scarred recluse would have. They were soft. Gentle. Warm enough that I felt heat trail down my throat.
I froze completely. My mind went blank. I could still feel the ghost of that peck lingering on my mouth long after Damon straightened again. I kept touching my lips lightly as if I needed to confirm it really happened.
The priest lifted his hands again and smiled at the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr and Mrs Damon Hale.”
My heart dropped. The words stole something from me. Something big. Something permanent. I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned with Damon to face the cheering crowd. People rose from the pews, clapping and smiling and tossing handfuls of white petals in our direction. The cathedral glowed with candles and gold decorations, making everything feel like a dream I was being dragged through without permission.
Damon placed his hand on my lower back, directing me toward the aisle. The gesture was polite and controlled, but it sent another shiver through me. Every touch made me feel like I was walking on hot coals. My body reacted before my brain caught up. It terrified me.
We moved slowly, gracefully, like a real couple walking into their new life. The decorations were immaculate. The chandeliers sparkled. People leaned forward to capture photos. A woman wiped tears from her cheeks. A man shook Damon’s hand as we passed him. The world saw a perfect Christmas wedding.
But inside me, everything was chaos.
Outside, the snowfall had gotten heavier. The white limo waited at the bottom of the cathedral steps. Guests flocked outside to continue taking photos, laughing, clapping, throwing more petals that stuck to Damon’s shoulders and my veil. Everyone waved as Damon opened the car door for me.
Damon.
The man I was married to now.
I swallowed hard and climbed into the car. Damon slid in after me, shutting the door firmly. The sound echoed inside the silent vehicle and felt like a lock snapping into place. The tinted windows made the world outside fade quickly, leaving only the two of us inside the dim interior with nothing but cold air and the faint scent of pine cologne between us.
It was dead silent.
Damon leaned back in his seat, his face turned toward the window. The black mask covered the entire left side of his face, but his right cheek and jawline were sharp, defined, and beautiful in a severe way. His profile looked like something carved from stone. Cold. Unreadable. Impossibly controlled.
He did not look at me. Not once.
My hands trembled slightly as they rested on my lap. I could still feel the warmth of his brief kiss tingling through me. I could still feel the weight of the lie I wore like a second skin. The silence felt dangerous, like something sharp was hidden inside it.
I kept my head lowered because I was terrified that anything I said might give away that I was not Esther. What if he noticed my voice sounded different? What if he caught a detail Esther never mentioned? What if he sensed something wrong? Damon was rumored to be highly intelligent, colder than winter, and impossible to fool. Sitting this close to him made me feel like I was balancing a sharp blade on the tip of my tongue. One wrong word and I would bleed.
Minutes passed.
My panic built.
Finally Damon broke the silence with a calm, emotionless tone.
“Mr Stephen, drop me off at the office please.”
The driver responded immediately with a quiet yes sir.
The office? My brows knit in confusion. Office? What office? Today was Christmas Day. A national holiday. A global day of rest. And more importantly, today was his wedding day. Shouldn’t he be coming to the reception? Shouldn’t he be standing beside his bride at the celebration that had cost a fortune to arrange?
I stared at him, confused and slightly hurt in a way I did not want to acknowledge.
“What of the reception?” I finally asked, gathering enough boldness to at least pretend to be Esther. “Aren’t you coming?”
Damon slowly turned his head toward me. His visible eye caught the light, glowing deep green. He looked at me for a long, heavy moment. Not angry. Not surprised. Just… assessing. Measuring. Reading every twitch of my expression.
His voice was low and cool when he responded.
“Not going.”
The dismissal stung more than I expected, even though I knew I had no right to care. But it was the next sentence that made the breath catch sharply in my throat.
“Surely you can entertain the guests yourself. After all, you got what you want already.”
- Writer
