Chapter Two: The Wedding Night
1007 Words
The wedding had ended, but Isabella’s nightmare was only beginning.
Silk roses littered the marble floors of the bridal suite, the scent of champagne and honey still clinging to the air. Candles flickered softly in crystal holders, casting golden shadows on the walls. It should have felt romantic, beautiful even—but to Isabella, it felt like a prison dressed in diamonds.
She stood motionless near the window, her white gown heavy with lace and regret. Outside, the garden lights shimmered beneath the night sky, and faint laughter drifted upward from the lingering guests. But inside the suite, it was deathly quiet—until the door clicked open.
Adrian entered, unhurried, removing his cufflinks with casual indifference. His tuxedo was pristine, his hair swept back as if not a strand had dared disobey him. He looked like every woman’s dream. But Isabella knew better—he was her curse.
“You didn’t even flinch,” he said, his voice smooth like silk over steel. “Not many women would be this calm after being forced into marriage.”
She turned to face him slowly, meeting his eyes without fear. “What good would screaming do? You got what you wanted.”
Adrian’s lips quirked into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not the only one who gets something from this arrangement.”
“You mean my father’s debt erased?” she said bitterly. “How generous of you.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he walked past her, poured himself a glass of scotch from the bar cart, and took a slow sip. “You could have said no.”
“You would’ve ruined my family if I had.”
There it was—the truth neither of them cared to sugarcoat.
He set the glass down and stepped closer. “This doesn’t have to be war, Isabella.”
She arched a brow. “Doesn’t it?”
Adrian chuckled softly, but his gaze sharpened. “I suggest you rest. The press will expect a smiling couple tomorrow.”
“I’ll manage,” she muttered, stepping around him toward the dressing screen. Her heels clicked against the floor like war drums. “But let’s get one thing clear, Adrian. This may be a marriage, but don’t mistake it for something sacred. I will never belong to you.”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “We’ll see.”
She changed into a modest silk nightgown, her back rigid with tension. When she emerged, he was already on the couch, scrolling through his phone, utterly unbothered.
“The bed is yours,” he said without looking up.
“I’m not sleeping while you’re in this room.”
Adrian finally glanced at her. “You’re safe, Isabella. I’m not some monster.”
She scoffed. “No? You bought me like a trinket and dragged me into a loveless union. Forgive me if I don’t trust your moral compass.”
He didn’t flinch at the accusation. “You’ll learn I always repay my debts. One way or another.”
She paused, her pulse quickening at the subtle edge in his tone. “Is that a threat?”
“A promise,” he replied softly, then lay back, shutting his eyes as if the conversation bored him now.
Isabella climbed into bed slowly, keeping her eyes on him. Even in stillness, he radiated control—too much control. It made her skin crawl. She slid under the sheets and turned her back to him, willing herself to sleep. But her mind wouldn’t rest.
Images of her father’s desperate face haunted her.
“Just marry him, Bella. It’s the only way.”
“You’re selling me.”
“I’m saving you from a worse fate.”
The ache in her chest flared, sharp and bitter. She swallowed back the emotion and clenched the pillow tight.
This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
She would play the obedient bride for now—but she hadn’t given up. She had her own agenda.
And Adrian King would never see it coming.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
At some point, Adrian rose quietly and disappeared into the bathroom. Isabella cracked one eye open, heart pounding. She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to his discarded jacket draped over the chair. Her hands trembled as she searched through his pockets.
Inside, she found his phone and something else—a key card.
Before she could examine it further, a floorboard creaked behind her.
Her heart stopped.
She turned slowly—and froze.
Adrian stood there in the dim light, shirtless now, a towel slung over his shoulder. His eyes were no longer calm.
“Curious little wife,” he said, voice low and cold. “What exactly were you looking for?”
She hid the card behind her back instinctively. “Nothing. I was just—”
“Lying doesn’t suit you,” he cut in, stepping closer.
Isabella backed up until her spine hit the wall. “Let me go, Adrian.”
He paused, then extended his hand.
“The key.”
She swallowed hard. Her mind raced. If she refused, she’d raise even more suspicion. If she gave it up, she might lose the only leverage she had.
With forced calm, she placed the key card in his hand.
He took it without a word, studied her for a long moment, then leaned in—close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath.
“Sleep well, Mrs. King. You’ll need your strength. This marriage is just beginning.”
Then he turned, locking the card in the drawer by the minibar before returning to the couch like nothing had happened.
But Isabella remained frozen, her pulse thundering in her ears.
Because in that brief moment, when he took the card from her hand…
She’d seen something else tucked inside his jacket.
A photo.
Of her.
From years ago.
Before they ever met.
Her knees nearly buckled.
He knew her long before this arrangement.
And she had no idea why.
- Writer
