Chapter4
1178 Words
The Cross estate looked like something from a dream. Stone pillars. Manicured gardens. Windows that probably cost more than Elena's yearly salary.
She stood at the driveway's edge, wedding dress bag crushing against her side. In two hours, she'd marry a stranger while wearing her sister's name.
She walked toward the entrance. Each step felt like walking off a cliff.
A woman in black opened the door. "Miss Rivera! Thank goodness. Everyone's waiting!"
Elena's rehearsed smile slipped into place. Lucia's smile. "Sorry! Traffic was insane!"
The bridal suite was chaos. Stylists, makeup artists, a seamstress with pins. An older woman with silver hair stood in the corner.
"Lucia, darling!" The woman swept forward. "Look at you!"
Elena had no idea who she was. "Hi! So good to see you!"
They air-kissed. The woman—Patricia—studied Elena's face. "You seem different. Calmer than I expected."
Elena's heart slammed. "Finally taking things seriously!" She added Lucia's too-loud laugh.
Patricia smiled, but suspicion lingered in her eyes.
The next hour blurred. Hands in her hair. Brushes on her face. The wedding dress—cream silk that fit perfectly because she and Lucia were identical.
Elena watched herself disappear in the mirror. Lucia emerged.
"You seem more mature today," the makeup artist said. "Different from last month's fitting."
"Wedding jitters do that!" Elena's voice was Lucia's—breathy, careless. "Makes you grow up fast!"
Everyone laughed. Nobody suspected.
"Lucia?" The coordinator appeared. "The lawyers are ready."
Elena's stomach dropped.
She followed to a small office. Two lawyers waited. One kind-looking older man. One severe woman who never smiled.
"Miss Rivera." The woman—Ms. Chen—gestured to a chair. "Please sit."
Ms. Chen slid documents across the desk. "Sign pages three, seven, and twelve. Your signature must match your identification."
Elena had practiced Lucia's signature a hundred times. But now her hand trembled.
"Nervous, Miss Rivera?"
"Just excited." Elena forced a smile.
"Before you sign, confirm you understand. Legally binding marriage. One year. Two hundred thousand dollars within twenty-four hours of filing. Divorce after twelve months. Strict non-disclosure. Understood?"
"Yes."
"You're entering this freely? No coercion?"
Just a loan shark threatening to kill me.
"Yes. Completely my choice."
Ms. Chen studied her. Then tapped the contract. "Sign."
Elena's hand shook. The first signature came out wrong—too careful. Not Lucia's careless scrawl.
Ms. Chen noticed. "Something wrong?"
"My hand's shaking!" Elena laughed nervously.
The second signature was better. By the third, she'd found the rhythm.
Ms. Chen collected the papers. "Congratulations. In an hour, you'll be Mrs. Cross."
It felt like a death sentence.
They finished preparing her. Veil. Bouquet. Lipstick adjusted.
"Five minutes," the coordinator announced.
Elena's legs felt like water.
Through the doorway, she saw the ceremony space. Thirty guests. An officiant.
And Damien Cross.
Photos hadn't prepared her. He stood at the altar in a black suit, devastating. Tall. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Gray eyes—cold even from a distance.
He spoke to an elderly man in a wheelchair. His grandfather Margaret. The reason for everything.
Damien looked uncomfortable. Rigid. Tense.
Then his gaze swept toward her doorway. Even across the distance, his eyes were ice. They passed over her dismissively.
Elena stepped back, heart hammering.
"Ready?" the coordinator whispered.
Elena nodded.
The music started.
She walked alone down the aisle. Each step felt underwater. Guests blurred. Only Damien was in focus, expression carved from stone.
When she reached him, she looked up.
He was more handsome up close. Sharp cheekbones. Full lips pressed thin. Those gray eyes met hers briefly—and Elena's breath stopped.
He knows.
But Damien looked away, focusing somewhere over her shoulder.
He hadn't recognized her. Hadn't really looked.
The officiant spoke. Elena heard nothing through the ringing in her ears.
"Mr. Cross, your vows."
Damien's voice was deep. Emotionless. "I, Damien Cross, take you, Lucia Rivera, to be my lawfully wedded wife."
Elena's throat closed.
"Miss Rivera, your vows."
She forced air into her lungs. Kept her voice higher. Lucia's voice. "I, Lucia Rivera, take you, Damien Cross, to be my lawfully wedded husband."
The lie tasted like ash.
"The rings."
Damien took her hand—firm, impersonal—and slid on the ring. Too big. It would fall off within a week.
Elena's hands shook placing his ring.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Damien's jaw tightened. Then he leaned down—barely—and brushed his lips against hers. Less than a second. Cold. Distant. An obligation fulfilled.
Elena should have felt relief. Instead, she felt grief.
Applause. Polite. Restrained.
"I present Mr. and Mrs. Cross."
Chains snapping shut.
The reception was torture. Crystal chandeliers. Orchestra. People swarming with congratulations.
A man approached. Sharp eyes. "Lucia. Congratulations."
"Thank you! Have we met?"
"Marcus Chen. Damien's COO. We met twice." His smile was cold. "You seem different today."
Elena's blood ran cold. "Different how?"
"Calmer. Your energy changed."
"Wedding nerves before! Now I can relax!"
Marcus leaned close. "I don't know what game you're playing. But Damien is my brother. Hurt him, you'll answer to me."
He walked away.
Elena's hands shook. She grabbed champagne just to hold something.
Damien maintained distance. Never looked at her. Never touched her unless necessary.
Until the first dance.
"Time for your dance, Mrs. Cross."
Damien held out his hand without meeting her eyes.
They swayed. His hand barely touched her waist. His grip was impersonal.
This close, she saw details. Jaw tension. Callused hands. Eyes constantly scanning for threats.
"So, this is nice—"
"Don't. No one's close enough to hear. You don't need to perform."
Elena's mouth snapped shut.
The song ended. Damien walked away without a word.
Finally, the coordinator appeared. "Time to go, Mrs. Cross."
Damien stood by the exit. He walked out without waiting.
Elena followed.
A black limousine waited. Damien climbed in. Elena hesitated.
Last chance to run.
But Santos was watching.
She climbed in.
Damien moved to the far end, creating distance. He raised the privacy screen.
Alone. Silence suffocating.
"So, I guess we should—"
"Don't." His voice was arctic. "We're not pretending this is anything but what it is. At the penthouse, I'll show you your room. Explain the rules. Stay out of my way. I'll stay out of yours. In one year, we get divorced, go our desperate ways. Until then, spare me the small talk."
The words hit like blows.
"I just thought—"
"I don't care." He looked at her, gray eyes colder than ice. "This is business. Nothing more."
Elena nodded, throat closed.
Damien looked away, dismissing her.
The car stopped at a towering glass building.
Damien exited without waiting.
Elena stepped out in her wedding dress, looking up at her prison.
Her phone vibrated.
Congratulations, Mrs. Cross. Payment Monday morning. Don't make me wait.
Santos. Marriage hadn't freed her from anything.
Just added another cage.
Elena took a breath and walked inside.
Elena Rivera had ceased to exist.
Only Lucia Cross remained.
Three hundred sixty-four days to survive.
- Writer
