DARK LOVE LETTERS

Standing in front a mirror, I stared at my own reflection. The harder I looked, the less I recognized the young lady looking back at me. My hair was tied up into a beautiful messy bun, soft strands falling around my face. A thin veil sat over my head, falling down to my shoulders. My innocent round eyes that once shined with hope had gone dark, like the dark smoky shadow painted on them. My lashes were heavy, my eyes lined with black. And my lips laced with venom, a burnt red. Like the forbidden apple. Full, painted, sharp. Everything was just right. But the color of my gown. I would have preferred black to this white for this funeral disguised as a wedding. The white gown hugged my waist and flared at the bottom, lace on the chest, pearls stitched into the sleeves. It was beautiful. It was expensive. It was not me. It made me look like a doll someone else had dressed for display. I was already exhausted from a wedding with no groom. When I walked into the church earlier, the hall was cold. High ceilings. White flowers everywhere, too many to count. Crystal chandeliers hanging low. The pews were full of people in expensive suits and glittering gowns, all turned to stare at me. Their eyes searching my face for tears, for joy, for a reaction. I saw a man standing at the altar in an all black suit looking at me like I was his lifeline. His broad shoulders made it seem like no one could wear a suit better than him. His chest was big, his shirt tight against his finely defined abs. A face crafted by God himself. I would say he is God's favorite because He gave him blue eyes just like the sky. I wondered how those eyes would look with emotions in them. With anger. With softness. With anything at all. I was starting to envision him as the man I was marrying. If only things were that simple. But this is Williams Gore. The right-hand man and adopted son of Damien Luciano. Standing at the altar for another man. I walked down the aisle. Every eye was on me, searching my reaction. The carpet was white, petals scattered across it. My heels sank a little with each step. I kept a straight face as I walked slow, not minding who was watching. That was only a mask. In my head there was a train of thought. How did I get here? I watched them all prepare to send me off to my death without even a drop of tear or regret as they gave me over to save the company. Zade Group. Which has lost its footing in the construction industry over the years. Projects abandoned. Debts rising. And this marriage alliance is the best thing that can ever happen to Zade Group. But not at the expense of my life. I knew my stepfather didn't care. He was my father's best friend and co-partner. He later married my mom shortly after my father died in a fatal accident. The brakes were tampered with and the investigation finally hit a dead end. No one was charged. No one looked deeper. I know he never saw me as his own. Only an asset because I bear the Zade name and blood. My mother made him my co-guardian. He talks about this alliance like it is the world, saying I was to become the richest and most influential man's wife in the whole city. Damien Luciano. fifty-two years old . CEO of Luciano Group. should i be grateful. Really every girl dreams I asked??. A sound from the door brought me back to reality where I was standing at the mirror reliving the wedding in my head. The door clicked. It was my very own mother. She was dressed in the most expensive gown I had ever seen her wear. Emerald silk that hugged her slim figure, diamonds around her neck, diamonds in her ears, all bought by the Lucianos. Her makeup was flawless, her hair styled in soft waves. She looked rich. She looked happy. She looked like a woman who had just sold something valuable. So this is all I'm worth? As I stared at her through the mirror I tried to find any bit of regret in her expression. Her eyes, same shape as mine but colder. Her lips painted nude, stretched into a small practiced smile. Maybe she's being forced. Maybe he has something against my family. Anything to make me feel love before this heart turns totally cold. I have always known I was the mistake she could not erase and I was never wanted. But I never thought my own mother would walk me down my funeral with a smile on her lips. "Mira, smile. It's time to go," she said. Her voice was soft, but firm. Like she was telling a child to pose for a photo. I took one last look at myself again in the mirror. The bun. The veil. The red lips. The white gown I hated. This won't be the last of me. Because I, Mira Zade, keep scores. I took a deep breath and finally walked out, straight, with my head held high as my heels clicked against the cold tiles. The hallway outside was long, marble floors, gold-framed paintings on the walls. My mother's perfume trailed behind me, too sweet, too strong. A bodyguard was waiting outside. Tall, black suit, earpiece. When he saw me, he immediately opened the door to the black Maybach for me. Two people were already seated. My stand-in husband Williams, who I presumed was nervous, was seated in the back. Even sitting, you could see how tall he was. Dark hair neatly combed, jaw sharp, blue eyes staring down at his hands. His black suit was perfectly tailored, but his hands were tight, knuckles pale. And the driver who eyed me wearily from the rearview. I got in and was seated. The leather was cold against my skin. The engine roared to life. The not-so-familiar house became more and more distant. The white wedding hall with its bright chandeliers and fake smiles disappearing behind us. On the ride to the Luciano mansion, the driver was cold so I stared outside the windows. Trees passing. Gates passing. The city blurring. I suddenly noticed someone staring at me. I turned my head to him. It was Williams. His blue eyes were on me now, open, watching. His face was handsome in a painful way, like a statue. When our eyes met, he quickly diverted his eyes like he was terrified I saw. I saw how he tried to relax the tension in his palm and was shaking one foot like he was trying to calm some nerves because I stared. Something rose in my stomach. An unusual feeling at the pit of my stomach. Am I supposed to be happy? So why do I feel this way? A small smile played on my lips. Welcome. So I said to myself, welcome to your hell, Mira.