4
1097 Words
Harper’s POV
The coldness of Damon’s voice hit me like a slap. Sharp. Dismissive. Final. For a moment I could only stare at him, stunned into complete silence. How could someone speak to their bride like that? Even if he disliked Esther, even if something had happened between them before the wedding, his tone was ice. Not just cold. Frozen. Unbending. A wall no warmth could melt.
And what did he mean by I got what I wanted already?
My brows tightened as I looked at him, completely confused. What exactly did he believe Esther had wanted? The marriage? His wealth? His name? Whatever he assumed, it was clear he thought his bride was after something… and he resented it deeply.
A heavy knot formed in my stomach.
Was this how he spoke to Esther? Was this how he treated her all along? If so, then no wonder Esther had refused to marry him. But the bitterness in his voice told me there was more to the story. Something I had no knowledge of. Something Esther never shared. Something dark enough to make him look at his bride with a mixture of disappointment and disdain.
Before I could think of anything to say, the car slowed and pulled to a stop in front of a massive glass building. Hale Holdings. A towering skyscraper glittering with silver lights and Christmas wreaths. The place looked intimidating even from a distance. The building seemed to watch everything around it like a silent beast.
Damon opened the door and stepped out without giving me a second glance. No instructions. No explanation. No farewell. No acknowledgment that I was his wife now. Not even a fake attempt to act like a married couple in front of the driver.
He simply left.
Just like that.
The door shut behind him. The snow swirled around his tall frame and the mask on his face reflected the faint glow of the Christmas lights. He walked into the building with long strides, confident, powerful, untouchable.
The man did not look back once.
I looked at the empty space beside me and swallowed hard. A strange heaviness gathered in my chest. It should not hurt, but it did. I was not Esther. I was not supposed to be his bride. But sitting there, abandoned, felt humiliating and painfully lonely.
The driver started the engine again.
“We are heading to the reception now, ma’am.”
I nodded and sat in silence as the city lights blurred past the windows. My hands were shaking again but I kept them on my lap, fighting the urge to wipe away tears. I had to stay strong. I had to keep pretending I was Esther. I could not let anyone suspect the truth. Damon might not notice yet, but he was not stupid. One mistake could unravel everything.
We drove through decorated streets filled with people celebrating Christmas. Families. Couples. Children smiling under twinkling lights. And here I was, a newly married bride sitting alone in the back seat of a car after being dropped indirectly at someone else’s party.
Eventually the car pulled into the grand hall designated for the reception.
Music poured out from the building. Laughter echoed from the entrance. The decorations were extravagant. Gold and white flowers. Massive chandeliers. Christmas ornaments hanging above the tables. Everything was beautiful.
Everything except the fact that the groom was not there.
I stepped out of the car and forced myself to breathe normally. I walked through the entrance and immediately felt hundreds of eyes glance toward me. A soft ripple of whispers began.
Where is the groom?
Why is she alone?
Did something happen?
Luckily no one approached me. They were polite enough to whisper from a distance but not bold enough to ask directly. I lifted my chin and walked slowly into the hall with as much confidence as I could fake.
The moment I saw my family in the front row, smiling and laughing as if nothing had happened, something inside me snapped a little. Mother was glowing under praise. Father was holding a wine glass and shaking hands with influential guests. They had money again. Status again. They had everything they wanted.
They looked happy.
Too happy.
And I hated them for it.
They had used me. Threatened me. Pushed me into this wedding like I was a doll they could control. They were celebrating now because they believed their plan had succeeded. But they had no idea what I was planning in return. They had no idea I would make them regret it one day.
Oh, how I would get back at them.
Not today. Not tomorrow. But one day soon.
I made my way to a small table in the corner and sat alone. My dress felt too heavy. My heart felt too tight. Everyone around me was talking and smiling and eating. They danced to Christmas songs. They toasted with champagne. They took photos beside the enormous Christmas tree.
Soon enough, the wedding reception slowly turned into a Christmas party. The program changed. The music changed. The atmosphere changed. Everyone was enjoying themselves except one person.
Me.
I sat quietly and watched as the celebration unfolded. Guests shared jokes and danced on the polished floor. Children ran around with candy canes. The elderly clapped along to the music. A group of young women gushed over how beautiful the bride looked.
The bride.
Me.
The bride who had been abandoned by her own groom.
As the hours passed, no one approached me. No one asked if I was alright. No one wondered why my husband was absent. They all simply continued their celebrations, as if the bride sitting alone was normal.
My chest grew heavier. My throat burned. I stared down at my hands and wished I could tear the wedding dress off and run far away.
But I had nowhere to go.
I was married to a stranger now. A man who clearly did not want his bride. A man who walked out on his own wedding day.
I stared at the golden lights around the hall, trying not to cry again. I felt so alone. More alone than ever before.
Until a shadow passed over my small table.
I blinked and lifted my head slowly. Someone stood in front of me. Tall. Broad shouldered. The lighting behind him hid his face for a moment. I straightened slightly, uncertain and nervous.
Then he spoke.
His voice was deep. Smooth. Confident. A voice that vibrated through my chest.
“May I have this dance?”
- Writer
