Beneath His Heart

chapter 7

April's pov

The reception was grand — crystal lights hanging from the ceiling, live music playing softly in the background, and expensive flowers wrapped around the marble columns like vines. Everything looked perfect from the outside.

But everyone there was pretending.

Fake smiles, fake laughter. Everyone looked happy, but I could feel how cold it really was.

And there I was — the bride, but only by name.

Alexander didn’t walk beside me.

He walked near me.

Like I was someone he didn’t want close, but couldn’t avoid.

Every time our eyes met, it felt like he was cutting through me with his silence.

Not anger.

Not hate.

Just... nothing.

And that hurt the most.

His cousins and relatives were polite but cold. Polished smiles with sharp edges. They spoke to me with formality — as if they were obligated to acknowledge me, not welcome me.

I heard the whispers when they thought I wasn't listening.

“That’s her?”

“She doesn’t look like much.”

“Well, no wonder April disappeared.”

The cruelty didn’t come in daggers. It came in silken threads. Tightening around my throat little by little.

I caught Alexander’s cousin — Serena, I think she was sneering behind her champagne flute as I passed. His other cousins avoided my eyes entirely.

Soon, they all gathered into a group, laughing and chatting. No one called me over. No one even looked at me. I was invisible to them.

Alexander joined them, laughing and shaking his head at something one of them said. He looked relaxed — as if I didn’t exist.

Then someone else walked over to them — a tall man. It was too dark to see his face clearly, but I could tell he belonged there. He leaned in and whispered something to Alexander, and they both smiled.

Then he looked at me.

His face changed immediately. Even from far away, I could see the way his smile faded. He looked at me like I was trash — something he didn’t want to see. There was hate in his eyes.

I felt like a stranger at my own wedding party.

An uninvited ghost at my own celebration.

A problem no one wanted to deal with.

An embarrassment in a dress.

Alexander played the role of the perfect host — smiling, greeting people — but not once did he come to me. Not once did he make me feel like I belonged.

Later, when we were asked to pose for a photo, I gently reached for his arm.

He moved. Just slightly. But I felt it.

Like I was something dirty, he didn’t want to touch.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t obvious.

But it hurt more than anything else that night.

I saw his younger brother, Xavier, from across the room. He didn’t look like Alexander. His face was softer, and his eyes — the same brown which were sharp, like he was looking for someone. He seemed distant, different.

When he saw me, he gave a small smile. It's not warm, but not cold either.

That was more than anyone else gave me.

And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd.

Alexander’s mother, Teresa, stood by the veranda with a woman — maybe her sister. She gave me a small smile from where she stood. I couldn’t tell if it was real or fake. She used to be kind to me when I was a child. But now… she hadn’t said a single word to me since the wedding.

Maybe she hated me, too.

His father, Samuel Black, didn’t speak much either. He was quiet. Calm. He introduced us to some important guests, and that was it. He looked at me like I was part of a business deal, not his new daughter-in-law.

That night, surrounded by lights, music, and laughter, I felt completely alone.

At one point, someone made a toast — to the bride — and the hall clinked glasses. I stood there, smiling like a porcelain doll, while Alexander whispered something in my ear, his voice a razor cloaked in velvet:

“Smile wider, gwen. Everyone’s watching. Let them believe you're still the luckiest woman alive.”

I held the smile, my teeth aching from the strain.

But inside, I was unraveling.

This wasn’t a marriage.

This was a stage.

And I was nothing more than a prop in his perfect little tragedy.

*********

The reception had ended. Applause faded, lights dimmed, and laughter gave way to silence as we stepped into the penthouse suite.

Alexander said nothing back on the ride back. And now, as we stood in the silence of the penthouse again, nothing had changed. The walls still loomed, cold and beautiful. The city still blinked beyond the glass like it pitied me. I didn’t take off my heels. I didn’t move.

I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me collapse.

Alexander hadn’t spoken to me once since the toast.

Not a word. Not a glance.

I found him again on the balcony, drink in hand, staring out like the city owed him something. Or maybe like he’d already taken everything it had.

“You enjoy humiliating me?” I asked quietly, standing in the doorway.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn.

“You humiliate yourself,” he said, voice low. “I just let the spotlight follow.”

I stepped forward. “Do you even see me? Or just the shadow of someone you lost?”

His jaw tightened.

Then, he turned, eyes sharp and unreadable. “I see exactly what you are.”

“And what’s that?”

He leaned in close, voice a ghost against my skin. “An ugly lie."

They were simply true — in his eyes.

I didn’t speak. What was left to say?

The silence yawned open between us like a chasm. I thought maybe he would walk away again and disappear into another room like the night before.

But this time, he didn’t.

He stepped closer, undoing the top buttons of his shirt, and drink still untouched in his hand.

I felt him behind me. Close. Too close.

His reflection appeared in the mirror, standing still like a shadow.

“You really know how to put on a show,” he said, his voice low.

I met his gaze in the mirror. “You told me to act the part. I did.”

His hand reached for my hair, fingers brushing it back gently. Too gently.

“You wear silence better than lies,” he murmured.

Then, before I could respond, his lips were on my neck.

Heat surged through me, confusing, electric. His hands trailed down my arms slowly, deliberately, his breath hot against my skin.

I froze.

Not in fear, but something else.

His lips traced the marks he’d left last night—only this time, it felt different. Less like punishment. More like… possession. Hunger. Need.

I turned to face him. “Alexander…”

But he didn’t stop. His hands slipped around my waist, pulling me to him. His mouth crashed into mine—urgent, unrelenting. And for a second, I kissed him back.

For a second, I let myself forget.

But then, he stopped.

Just like that—he pulled away.

His hands dropped from my body like he’d touched fire. His jaw clenched, and his eyes changed—turned colder than before.

“What?” I whispered, breathless.

His voice came like a blade.

“You’re not her.”

I stared at him, confused. “What are you—”

“You’re not April,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but don’t ever try to act like her again.”

I stepped back, the weight of his words slamming into me harder than his grip ever could.

“I didn’t act—”

“You look like her, but you’re not,” he muttered. “Not even close.”

He turned away, running a hand through his hair like he regretted touching me at all. “Don’t make me forget that again.”

And just like that, he walked out into the other room, leaving me standing there in a beautiful dress, stripped of every ounce of warmth he almost gave.

The door shut behind him with a cold finality.

He left me standing in the middle of the room—dress clinging to my skin, heart pounding against my ribs, mouth still tingling from a kiss that meant nothing to him.

Not because I was a stranger.

But because he thought I was Gwen.

A lie I never wanted to live. A mask I was forced to wear.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, trembling fingers reaching for the zipper of the dress he picked out. The silk suddenly felt suffocating, like it was stitched with chains instead of thread.

“You’re not her.”

The words echoed in my mind over and over again, each time slicing deeper.

But I am her.

I am April.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t see.

To the world, I’m Gwen—the unwanted half-sister, the imposter. And to him… I’m the mistake he was forced to marry. A woman he loathes. A woman he punishes.

But behind that name, behind that lie—I am the very woman he loved once from a distance. The one he was supposed to marry.

And now, he can't even look at me without disgust.

My throat tightened, chest heaving with the weight of it all. I pressed my palm against my mouth to keep the sobs silent, but it was useless. The tears came anyway. Hot and bitter.

I curled into myself, burying my face in the pillows, where his scent still lingered.

How cruel fate could be—to make him mine by law but never by heart.

To have his touch… but not his trust.

To have his name… but not his love.

He held me like he wanted me.

Then threw me away like I was poison.

Not because he saw me.

But because he never really did.

My heart stuttered.