Chapter 1: Vows & Void
706 Words
Elara
The flowers were perfect. Roses, lilies, and a touch of something expensive I couldn’t name. The cathedral shimmered with luxury marble pillars, a ceiling that reached the sky, and chandeliers that burned like stars. Everyone was there. Everyone but Damien.
No, he was physically present, standing right beside me in a sharp black suit that probably cost more than my college tuition. But emotionally? Spiritually? He was galaxies away.
He didn’t look at me as we exchanged vows. He barely touched my hand. The priest asked him to say, “I do,” and he responded like he was confirming a business deal. Not a hint of love. Not a flicker of warmth in his voice.
I swallowed my pride and smiled anyway, letting my veil hide the tremble in my lips. My father watched proudly from the front row, his hands clasped in satisfaction—two powerful families finally united. I was just a detail in the merger.
When the priest announced, “You may kiss the bride,” Damien leaned in, barely brushing his lips against mine. The guests clapped. I froze. It felt like ice.
Later, at the reception, Damien kept his distance. He made toasts, spoke to investors, and posed for photographs, all while avoiding me like I carried the plague. I smiled through it all—every camera flash, every handshake, every lie painted as romance.
Hours later, we boarded the private jet for our honeymoon. Destination unknown. Damien didn’t speak a word on the flight. I tried. God, I tried.
“So... where are we going?” I asked with a small smile.
He stared out the window. “Somewhere quiet.”
Not a single glance. Not a single conversation. Just silence.
When we arrived, I was stunned. A mansion by the ocean, made entirely of glass and stone. Waves crashing beneath us, moonlight flooding the open space. It was paradise.
But I was alone in it.
Three days passed.
Three days of him sleeping in a separate room.
Three days of eating dinner in silence.
Three days of being invisible.
On the third night, I found him in the lounge, dressed in a black robe, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.
“We need to talk,” I said, my voice firm.
He didn’t look up. “Finally.”
That was when he handed it to me—a folder.
Inside: a contract.
Open Marriage Agreement.
My hands trembled as I read the contents.
Clause 1: Both parties are free to pursue other romantic or s****l relationships.
Clause 2: Discretion is appreciated but not required.
Clause 3: No emotional expectations between partners.
I looked up, heart pounding. “What the hell is this?”
Damien finally met my eyes.
“I’m giving you freedom, Elara. You don’t love me. I don’t love you. This—” he gestured between us, “—was a setup. We both knew it.”
“But it’s marriage,” I whispered. “You could’ve at least talked to me before this.”
He drank deeply, sighing. “Talking makes things messy. Sign it. Live your life.”
I stared at him. And that was when I heard the laughter—soft, flirtatious, female.
Two women entered the lounge.
Both stunning. One in red silk, the other in black lace. They looked at me with playful curiosity. I didn’t need to ask who they were.
“They’re my guests for tonight,” Damien said. “You don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable.”
He didn’t even blink.
I wanted to scream. Cry. Tear the damn contract in his face.
But I didn’t.
I sat down, picked up the pen, and signed.
“Elara…” one of the women began, her voice unsure.
I stood up. Straightened my silk robe. “Have a good night, Damien.”
He didn’t stop me.
He didn’t say a word.
I walked to my room, closed the door, and let the tears come.
Not because of heartbreak. That would require love.
I cried because I’d just given myself away for nothing.
But I made myself a silent promise that night.
If this was the game Damien wanted to play... I would make sure I never lost again.
- Writer
