Chapter Two: The Ice Beneath His Vows
439 Words
Alina stared at her reflection in the mirror of the bridal suite—if you could call it that. A sleek, high-rise penthouse with towering windows, emotionless walls, and not a flower in sight.
No veil. No kiss. No guests.
Just a dress.
A contract.
And a man she now called husband.
She tugged at the blood-red silk gown that hugged her curves like it had a secret of its own. She hadn’t picked it. Xander had.
“You don’t have to look like you’re preparing for your funeral,” a deep voice said from the doorway.
Her head whipped around.
Xander Valtieri leaned against the frame, his black shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing a hint of ink near his collarbone. Tattoos? A mark of rebellion, or something more?
“You didn’t exactly dress me for a celebration,” she said dryly.
He stepped into the room slowly, like a storm warning coming to life. His gaze slid down her body, sharp and slow. Calculating. Possessive. Almost cruel.
“You clean up well, wife.”
“I’m not your wife,” she snapped. “I’m your business transaction.”
He stopped inches from her, and the air thickened. “Then let’s keep it that way.”
His scent hit her—expensive cologne, smoke, and something darker. Something... dangerous.
“What happens now?” she asked, forcing steel into her voice.
“You move into the Valtieri estate,” he replied. “You smile at the cameras. Wear the ring. Stand beside me like you belong in my world.”
“And behind the scenes?”
He stepped even closer. “You follow my rules. You stay out of my office. You don’t ask questions. And you never—ever—try to get inside my head.”
Alina narrowed her eyes. “You act like your secrets are sacred.”
“They are,” he whispered, voice razor-sharp. “You weren’t chosen at random, Alina. You’re here for a reason. But that truth? You’re not ready for it.”
Before she could speak, he turned and walked out, leaving the faintest trace of his cologne in the room—and a crack in her soul.
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Later that night, as the city burned in golden lights beneath them, Alina stood on the penthouse balcony, fingers curled around her ring.
“Who are you really, Xander Valtieri?” she whispered.
Inside, she didn’t see him watching her through the glass—face unreadable, heart locked behind shadows.
But his thoughts were anything but silent.
“She’s not supposed to matter.
She’s not supposed to make me feel.”
- Writer
