Bound to the Billionaire's Vow

The Dress I Didn’t Choose Alina’s POV | First Person My mother always told me that one day, a man would look at me like I was the only girl in the room. She didn’t mention he’d be paid to do it. The room smelled like roses and pressure. Big chandelier above, velvet curtains, gold everything. I sat still, like a glass doll in a dress worth more than my father’s house. My fingers trembled where they rested on my lap, the diamond on my ring finger heavy foreign. I hadn’t even spoken to him yet. Dominic Blackwell. Thirty-one. Billionaire. Ruthless. And apparently my husband in less than an hour. Smile, my father whispered as he moved closer to me. The unattractive scent of his aftershave irritated my stomach. You’ll ruin your makeup. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I only stared ahead at the floral arch that looked like something out of a wedding magazine. There were cameras, guests, champagne flutes… and security. Security. At a wedding. I wasn’t stupid. I was being married off, not married into. This wasn’t about love or even connection. It was about power. Blackwell Enterprises needed Dominic to be legally married by the end of the fiscal year to secure his full rights to the board. My father needed influence. I was the collateral. Alina, a soft voice whispered beside me. It was my stepmother. Sweet on the outside, rotten underneath. I know you’re scared, she cooed. But he’s not going to hurt you… as long as you don’t mess it up. I turned to look at her, really look. Her flawless smile, her fake lashes, the way her hand rested protectively over her designer clutch. She didn’t care. None of them did. I was a bargaining chip. One that would be locked away with a man everyone feared. I swallowed, but whatever that stayed in my throat wouldn’t go down. Then, the violins started. Everyone turned. I didn’t. I already knew it was him Dominic Blackwell. Walked like he owned the place or maybe like the place owed him. His face was hard, almost too perfect, like it didn’t know how to be soft. Jaw tight. Eyes straight ahead. Cold. He didn’t even have to look around. People just moved. And me? I just sat there, pretending not to care. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even glance at me. I stood because I was told to. I walked because my father’s hand pressed into my lower back. And when Dominic reached for my hand, it felt more like a transaction than a vow. Do you take Alina Yes, he said sharply, before the question was finished. My lips parted. Everyone laughed politely but again I didn’t. When it was my turn, I couldn’t find my voice, i knew my mouth moved but no sound came out of it. Until I felt my father's stare burn into the side of my face. I... I do. It was not even close to being a whisper, but it was enough to seal my fate. The officiant smiled, completely unaware that a human soul was being handed over like property. You may kiss the bride. Dominic didn’t move. He leaned in, brushed the side of my cheek with his lips not a kiss, not even a real touch and turned to the crowd. Applause. Champagne. Camera lights. In the middle of it all, I just stood there. Empty. (The reception) The reception was everything you'd expect from two wealthy families trying to pretend they liked each other. Other not fascinating things like Ice sculptures, violinists, people clinking glasses for a kiss that never came. Dominic disappeared halfway through the event. I sat at the bride’s table alone, pretending to sip champagne while my father gave a speech about alliances and strengthening ties. It wasn’t even subtle. Later that night, I was ushered into a black car and driven to his penthouse on Fifth Avenue. No words exchanged. No congratulations. No warmth. Just silence and city lights. When we finally arrived, the driver opened my door like I was royalty, but I stepped out like I was entering a cage. Dominic walked ahead of me. Didn’t offer his hand. Didn’t say welcome. The elevator ride was a vertical grave. His penthouse was stunning tall ceilings, glass walls, the skyline spread out like a promise and the likes of it, but I couldn’t enjoy any of it. I just stood by the door while he poured himself a drink. Let’s get something straight, he said, finally turning to face me. I braced. This isn’t real, he said, his voice cold and measured. You don’t get to ask questions. You don’t get to snoop. You don’t speak to the press. You show up when needed, smile, and pretend we’re in love. My chest tightened. And if I don’t? He took a long sip of his drink. Then this little arrangement ends, and both our fathers go down with it. You think your father sold you to protect you? He did it to save his own ass. And I agreed to it because I needed the board’s vote. He stepped closer. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. I flinched when he brushed past me, heading into the hallway. Your room is down the hall. Last door on the right. That was it. No goodnight. No welcome. Just a stranger in a tux, with power in his eyes and ice in his veins. I cried that night quietly. Not the loud, dramatic kind of sobs. Just the quiet ones the kind you bury into a pillow so no one knows you’re breaking. It was my wedding night, and I was alone. In a room so big it could swallow my entire old apartment. I lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling until they stung. I kept telling myself I should hate him. I wanted to hate him. But all I really felt was hollow. I wanted to scream. But mostly… I just wanted to go home. Wherever that was.