Chapter 4 Married Without Love
652 Words
The morning of the wedding came too quickly. Jenny Kate woke to the sound of rain against her window, the city of London gray and endless outside. Her stomach twisted in knots.
She dressed slowly, each piece of clothing a reminder of what she was about to do. The white dress felt like a costume for someone else’s life—a life she hated even thinking about. She did not want to marry Stephen Frederick. She did not want to live with him. She did not want to give him one inch of her heart company, her survival—they all depended on her walking down the aisle that day.
The church—or rather, the grand hall Stephen had chosen—was silent except for the soft hum of preparations. Everything was perfect, sterile, and cold, much like Stephen himself. Jenny hated it. She hated the flowers, the expensive decorations, the way everyone looked at her as if she were stepping into a dream.
She felt nothing but dread.
And then she saw him.
Stephen Frederick. Tall, immaculately dressed in a black suit that made him look untouchable. His dark eyes met hers for a brief moment, steady and unreadable. He said nothing, but that single glance made her blood boil.
He is calm. He always is. He never trembles, never falters. How can someone like that exist?
Jenny turned away, focusing on herself. She would not give him satisfaction. She would not let him see her fear, her anger, or the doubt in her heart.
The ceremony passed like a blur. Words were spoken, vows exchanged—but they were empty. Neither of them spoke from the heart. No smiles. No warmth. Only a cold, legal binding that now tied them together.
When the officiant said, “You may kiss the bride,” Jenny stepped back sharply.
“I’m not kissing him,” she whispered to herself.
Stephen did not protest. He simply nodded, his expression unreadable.
That small gesture—lack of arrogance, lack of insistence—made her pause for half a second.
She shook her head. Don’t let him get to you. He hasn’t earned it. He doesn’t deserve it.
The reception that followed was quiet, stiff, and tense. Guests smiled politely, congratulating them, but Jenny felt like she was walking through a dream she did not belong in. Every smile reminded her that her life had changed forever, tied to a man she had spent years hating.
Stephen, on the other hand, appeared unshaken. He moved through the room with the grace of someone who had always been in control. His eyes, however, occasionally flicked toward her, observing her reactions silently. Jenny noticed it, of course. She hated that she noticed it.
That night, as they entered the massive estate he had chosen for their “married life,” Jenny felt suffocated. The rooms were luxurious, but empty. Large halls, cold marble floors, and the constant hum of servants moving silently through the house—it all reminded her that this was Stephen Frederick’s world, and she was merely a guest in it.
“Your room is this way,” a butler said, pointing politely.
Jenny did not respond. She followed silently, clutching her small bag.
When the door closed behind her, she leaned against it, exhaling sharply.
This is it, she thought. I am married. I am trapped. I am alive—but at what cost?
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. Her mind raced, calculating her next moves. How could she live with him without losing herself? How could she survive the man she hated most without giving him power over her heart?
She had survived worse before. She would survive this too.
But deep down, she knew one thing:
Living with Stephen Frederick would be war.
And she had no idea how b****y that war would get.
- Writer
