The Wedding With no Vows.
973 Words
Celine had never worn white for anyone.
Not for love.
And certainly not for war.
But as the elevator doors slid open and she stepped onto the rooftop of Cain Enterprises—transformed into an elegant, paparazzi-ready wedding venue—she realized this wasn’t a wedding. It was a power play, staged with all the precision of a press conference.
The rooftop was decked in sterile elegance: sleek white arches, glittering champagne flutes, and rows of high society guests seated in calculated order. Strings of lights wrapped around cold steel beams, failing to mask the absence of warmth.
Cameras clicked. Drones buzzed. Reporters whispered. And at the end of the aisle stood Adrian Cain.
Unsmiling. Unbothered. Untouchable.
Their eyes locked. A silent war began and burned across the expanse between them.
She walked forward, each step echoing louder than the last—heels against glass, spine straight like she’d walked into battle a thousand times. Because she had.
He didn’t hold out his hand.
She didn’t offer hers.
The tension was the only thing they shared.
---
“Dearly beloved,” the officiant began, voice unsure, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of—”
“Skip to the signatures,” Adrian interrupted smoothly, his voice laced with disinterest.
The officiant blinked. “Excuse me?”
Adrian didn’t even look away from Celine. “We’re not here for vows. Just the contract.”
Gasps rippled through the audience. The cameras caught everything—the insult, the coldness, the lack of affection. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Celine gave a tight smile and turned to face the crowd.
“It’s fine,” she said sweetly. “Who needs vows when you’re marrying your enemy?”
Someone in the back actually laughed.
She snatched the pen from the officiant and signed the marriage certificate in one fluid motion, her red nails scraping the paper. Adrian followed, neat and calculated.
“Congratulations,” the officiant said weakly.
Adrian didn’t even nod.
Instead, he leaned in so only Celine could hear.
“Smile for the cameras, Mrs. Cain.”
Her cheeks lifted, but her voice was venom.
“Smile for the honeymoon, Mr. Cain.”
---
Hours Later – The Reception That Wasn’t
There was no dancing. No speeches. Just clinking glasses and whispers as New York’s elite looked on with morbid curiosity. A few tried to offer congratulations, but neither bride nor groom encouraged small talk.
“I can’t believe she agreed to it,” someone muttered near the dessert table.
“He’s punishing her,” someone else whispered. “You saw what she did to him in court.”
Celine stood at the balcony, swirling her champagne, every muscle in her body aching to flee.
Adrian appeared beside her without a sound, hands in his pockets.
“Enjoying the circus?” she asked without looking at him.
He followed her gaze to the skyline. “You should be used to it. Cameras. Judgment. Being the villain.”
Celine turned toward him, amused. “That title suits you better.”
A rare spark flickered in his eyes. “Then this is a match made in hell.”
---
That Night – Cain Penthouse
The city lights glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows as Adrian poured himself a glass of bourbon. The air was thick with silence, the kind that stretches long and sharp.
Celine stood by the fireplace, still in her dress, arms crossed.
“I hope you enjoyed your little show,” she said. “You made it very clear what this marriage is.”
Adrian sipped, unbothered. “I did warn you, didn’t I?”
She turned sharply. “You humiliated me.”
“You humiliated me in court. I’d say we’re even.”
Her laugh was bitter. “That was business. This? This is just you being cruel.”
Adrian set the glass down and walked toward her, stopping mere inches away. The heat between them surged—not romantic, but electric. Dangerous.
“I told you this wasn’t about love,” he said. “It’s about convenience.”
Celine didn’t back away. “And what’s convenient about marrying someone you can’t stand?”
His eyes darkened slightly. “I never said I couldn’t stand you.”
The air thickened.
Celine’s breath caught, just for a second. And then she stepped back.
“Don’t mistake tension for chemistry,” she muttered.
Adrian smirked. “Who said I was?”
---
The Next Morning – Headlines & Headlines
They were on the cover of every gossip blog in the city.
> “Cold-Blooded CEO Marries Firecracker Lawyer—No Vows, No Love, Just Business?”
“Celine Walker: A Trophy Wife or a Corporate Weapon?”
Celine dropped her phone onto the marble table and groaned. “They’re eating it up.”
Adrian, already dressed for a board meeting, barely looked up from his tablet. “Good. That was the plan.”
She studied him across the pristine kitchen. “So what now?”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just said—
“Now we play house, Mrs. Cain.”
She blinked, then laughed. “House? We don’t even sleep in the same zip code emotionally.”
“You’ll have a suite on the second floor,” he replied. “Decorate it however you want. Just show up when I need you to.”
Celine tilted her head. “Do I look like an accessory to you?”
Adrian met her gaze flatly. “You look like someone who needs this as much as I do.”
He turned to leave, but paused. “Dress well. Speak less. And don’t touch anything that bleeds headlines.”
As the elevator doors closed behind him, Celine clenched her jaw and muttered under her breath:
“This is going to be hell.”
- Writer
