Marriage Built On Lies And Manipulation

Aria Hale They say every girl dreams of her wedding night. I did too. I imagined candles, laughter, kisses, and a forever kind of love. But tonight, as I stare at the man I married, I realize that dreams can turn into nightmares in a blink. Today is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. My wedding day. The day I finally became **Mrs. Aria Sebastian Hale**. The day I thought would erase the pain of my past — the heartbreak, the loneliness, the betrayal. I truly believed love had found me again. After my ex broke me into pieces, I never thought I’d be able to trust another man. But then came Sebastian. Charming, patient, kind. He made me laugh when I couldn’t even smile. He called me “his peace.” For the first time in years, I felt seen. Safe. Loved. Or so I thought. “Babe, is there anything you need?” I called out softly, smiling as I adjusted my wedding robe. I had been hearing faint whispers from the bathroom and thought he was talking to me. No reply. “Sebastian?” I called again, stepping closer. Still nothing. Confused, I pushed open the door to the bathroom. He froze the moment he saw me. His face, once gentle and familiar, now looked… cold. His eyes flashed something I’d never seen before. “What’s wrong?” I asked carefully. “What’s wrong?” he repeated, his voice sharp. “Are you mad? Can’t you knock before coming in?” I blinked, stunned. “Sebastian, what are you saying? Why would you talk to me like that? It’s me—your wife. I only came because you didn’t answer.” He gave a low, humorless laugh. “Oh, now you’re my wife? You think that changes what you really are?” My stomach twisted. “What… what do you mean?” “I can see right through you, Aria,” he said, his voice laced with venom. “You’re just another slut pretending to be innocent.” The word **slut** hit me like a slap. My heart clenched painfully. I was a virgin before tonight. He knew that. He was supposed to be the first man to ever touch me. “Sebastian, what did I do?” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Why are you saying this?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked toward me, his face blank, his eyes burning with something dark and unfamiliar. I took a step back, but he grabbed my arm roughly. “Sebastian, you’re hurting me!” I cried. “Shut up!” he barked, shoving me toward the bed. His strength caught me off guard, and I stumbled, landing hard on the mattress. My heart pounded in fear. This wasn’t the man I married. This wasn’t the Sebastian who once kissed my forehead and called me his angel. “What are you doing?” I screamed, panic rising in my throat. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” He didn’t speak. He just started tearing at my clothes with a rage I couldn’t understand. Tears welled in my eyes as I tried to push him away. “Sebastian, please stop! You’re scaring me!” He didn’t stop. The first slap came without warning — loud and brutal. My face burned, and my ears rang. I froze, staring at him in disbelief. He had hit me. My husband had hit me. My mind screamed that this couldn’t be real. This was my wedding night. We were supposed to be celebrating, not destroying each other. But before I could gather my thoughts, he pushed me down again, pinning me beneath him. His breathing was rough, his eyes wild. “Sebastian, please,” I sobbed, trembling. “It’s my first time. Please, be gentle.” “If you say another word,” he growled, “I’ll strangle you.” And then he took me — roughly, painfully — ignoring my tears, my pleas, my shaking voice. The pain was unbearable. I felt my body split open, my heart breaking with every thrust. I stopped fighting. I just lay there, numb, staring at the ceiling as my tears soaked the pillow. When it was over, he got up without a word. He walked into the bathroom, the sound of running water echoing through the room. I stayed where I was, broken and bleeding, my wedding gown lying torn on the floor. When he came out, he didn’t look at me. He just grabbed his car keys and left. The door slammed. Silence. I turned my head toward the window, praying this was all a bad dream. That when I woke up, I’d find myself back in my old apartment, still engaged, still innocent. But the ache between my legs reminded me it was real. Three hours passed. I kept glancing at the clock, hoping he’d come back and tell me it was all a misunderstanding. That he was drunk. That he didn’t mean it. But when the door finally opened, it wasn’t the man I knew who walked in. It was a stranger. Sebastian stumbled inside, reeking of alcohol. His once-pressed shirt was half unbuttoned, his eyes glassy and empty. He dropped his phone on the table and slumped into a chair, muttering incoherently. I sat up slowly, my body sore and trembling. “Sebastian, where have you been?” I whispered. He looked at me for a second, then let out a bitter laugh. “You’re still here?” My heart dropped. This wasn’t about me anymore. Something was wrong with him. But what? Why would he change overnight? He had promised me he didn’t drink. He had promised me he didn’t smoke. He had promised me love. But tonight, all I saw in him was hate. And deep inside me, a cold fear settled — a whisper that told me this marriage was built on something far darker than love. I just didn’t know yet that tonight was only the beginning.