Beneath His Heart

Chapter 4

April's pov

The wedding was silent.

Not the kind of silence that brings peace — this one was suffocating. Cold. Hollow.

I stood at the altar, dressed in ivory lace that felt more like a burial shroud than a gown. The pearls on my neck were tight, almost strangling, as if mocking the bruises hidden beneath the fabric. Makeup masked the fingerprints he had left on my throat. A perfect illusion for a perfectly broken day.

Beside me, Alexander stood like a statue carved from stone — expressionless, motionless, monstrous.

He didn’t look at me once.

Not when the vows were spoken.

Not when the priest declared us bound for eternity.

Not even when his ring — gold, glinting like a noose — slid onto my finger.

It was done.

I was Mrs. Alexander Black.

The applause was polite, restrained — more like the closing of a deal than the union of two souls. Dorothy wept crocodile tears in the front row. Gwen sat beside her, lips curled into a blade of a smile, as if she were watching her enemy walk to execution. I didn't get why she was smiling. Within seconds she covered her smile.

The reception was lavish. A ballroom soaked in candlelight and champagne. Music floated like perfume, but beneath it all was the low thrum of whispered scandal.

I felt their eyes on me — vultures in designer gowns and suits worth fortunes, murmuring their poisoned versions of the truth.

"She must have seduced him."

"He’s only marrying her to protect the family name."

"She’s a nobody — what does she have on him?"

And Alexander? He played his part — charming, composed. A hand on my back here, a kiss on my cheek there. But when no one watched, his touch changed. Fingers that caressed in public turned cruel in private, digging into my flesh like claws. Not out of love. Not even lust. Just a reminder:

I was his. Nothing more.

I couldn’t breathe.

“I need a moment,” I whispered, forcing a smile as I slipped from his grasp.

He didn’t let go at first. His grip lingered, heavy with warning. But eventually, his eyes met mine — and something flickered. Recognition? Disgust? He released me.

I turned away and fled, my heels echoing like gunshots against marble. My heart thundered in my chest. On my way to the washroom, I crashed into someone — solid, unyielding like a wall. Arms caught me before I could fall.

“Are you alright?” a voice asked. Low, concerned. Familiar.

I looked up. Green eyes met mine — piercing, stormy. The man held me firmly, and something in his gaze shifted.

I nodded quickly and tried to move away.

But he didn’t let go.

“I never said you could leave,” he murmured, voice cold now, foreign.

The softness in his eyes evaporated, replaced by something jagged. Recognition. Resentment.

“So it worked,” he sneered. “The innocent act. The sweet disguise. I should’ve known. You're still the same — just like your mother. A thief.”

His grip on my wrist tightened. I winced.

“You’re hurting me—”

“Good,” he hissed. “Maybe you’ll finally learn what pain feels like.

“I don’t know you,” I said, voice trembling. Tears welled up, blurring the harshness of his face.

“Stop pretending.” His voice turned cruel. “Your act might work on others, but not me. You’ll pay for what you’ve done.”

His voice cut through me like a blade.

“You should feel pain,” he hissed, his grip tightening. “Or do you even understand what pain is? A heartless creature like you — how could you possibly know?”

His eyes — a deep, stormy green — bore into me like a haunted forest with no way out. I felt trapped in them, like prey cornered with no escape.

“I think you’re mistaken,” I whispered, wincing under his hold. “I don’t know who you are.”

And I didn’t. I had never seen this man before tonight. But the agony he inflicted now, the venom in his voice — it felt deeply personal. As if I had carved the wound myself.

Tears stung my eyes, but I held them back, refusing to crumble in front of him.

“You’re a hell of an actress,” he spat, his voice twisted with betrayal. “But the show’s over. If you think you’re safe now, you're dead wrong. I’ll make you pay for what you did to me.”

With that, he shoved me against the nearest wall. The impact stunned me. By the time I blinked, he was gone — vanished like a ghost summoned only to haunt me.

I lay there in stunned silence, heart pounding. Voices floated down the hallway like whispers from vultures circling above.

I forced myself to stand, slowly, carefully, not wanting to be seen like this. Weak. Disheveled. Broken.

I stumbled into the washroom and turned the faucet on full. Cold water hit my face, but it did nothing to soothe the burn beneath my skin. I looked in the mirror.

The woman staring back wasn’t a bride. She was a corpse dressed for celebration. Pale. Hollow. Eyes filled with unanswered questions and bruises that ran deeper than flesh.

Who was that man?

Why did he hate me?

Why did he speak of my mother like that ?

His words echoed like curses. A shiver ran down my spine as I tried to silence them.

And then—footsteps.

Voices.

I hurried into a stall, shutting the door silently. My breath stilled as I listened.

“She got what she wanted, the little w***e,” one woman sneered.

“I heard she’s pregnant. That’s why Alexander agreed to marry her. Otherwise? He wouldn’t even spit in her direction.”

“I bet she blackmailed him.”

“Someone said she was jealous of her sister — the one Alexander was actually going to marry. So she drugged him. Slept with him. Trapped him.”

“It was in the papers.”

“Did you see Andrew Nicholas walking out just before we came in here?”

“What? Andrew Nicholas? The business tycoon?”

“Yeah. Let’s go find him. He probably hasn’t even gone back to the hall yet.”

Their voices faded into silence.

But I couldn’t move. I sat there, curled up on the floor, numb.

Andrew.

The man I was promised to marry. The man who had just looked at me like I was the villain in a play I never auditioned for.

I barely had time to catch my breath before the door flew open again.

Alexander.

His storm-dark eyes scanned the room with fire, landing on me like a death sentence.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled.

He didn’t ask why I was on the floor. Didn’t ask why my makeup was ruined or if I was hurt.

He just grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet, dragging me out of the washroom like I was nothing more than a stain on his night.

“Smile like a happy bride,” he whispered venomously. “You’re a good actress — don’t make me remind you what happens when you disobey me.”

I said nothing. Just forced a smile onto trembling lips as we re-entered the ballroom.

The lights dimmed. The announcer called our names for the final dance.

A perfect couple, the world believed.

He took my hand. One arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. Too close. His grip was possessive, bruising, like a cage closing around me.

“Obey me,” he whispered against my ear, “or I’ll make you suffer more than you already have.”

Then he pinched my waist — hard, cruel — like he wanted to crush the breath from my lungs.

I smiled.

I danced.

And I died a little more with every step.