The Wedding That Wasn’t Real
696 Words
Chapter Four: The Wedding That Wasn’t Real
First-person POV (Amara)
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The wedding dress arrived in a glass box.
Not a bag. Not a hanger. A glass box — like it was too sacred to be touched by human hands.
When Helen wheeled it into my room, she didn’t speak. She just nodded and left me there, staring at the shimmering white silk and hand-stitched lace that looked like it belonged to a princess from another planet.
I stood in front of it for a long time.
This wasn’t how I imagined my wedding.
No friends. No music. No laughter. Just silence and cold air and a dress too expensive for my soul.
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Two hours later, I sat in a chair while a stranger curled my hair and painted my lips like I was her canvas.
“You’re lucky,” she said as she powdered my cheeks. “He’s beautiful. And powerful. The whole city envies you.”
I smiled politely.
They didn’t know the truth.
This wasn’t love.
It was a contract.
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By noon, I was ready.
I looked at myself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the girl staring back. She was elegant. Flawless. Dressed in white and diamonds.
But her eyes were hollow.
Helen returned with a tablet in her hand. “There will be photographers outside. Smile. Hold his hand. Say nothing unless he speaks first.”
I nodded.
My hands were already trembling.
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The ceremony wasn’t in a church or garden. It was in the Voss Tower ballroom. Cold, beautiful, and filled with people I didn’t know.
Businessmen. Journalists. Women in gowns that sparkled like stars.
The moment I walked in, cameras flashed.
I smiled, like I’d been trained to. One foot in front of the other, chin up, heart sinking.
Liam stood at the altar, flawless in a black tuxedo. His face gave nothing away.
No smile. No nerves. Just control.
As I reached him, he held out his hand.
I placed mine in his — and it felt like giving something away.
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The officiant spoke words I barely heard.
It all passed like a dream I couldn’t touch.
“Do you, Liam Voss, take Amara—”
“I do.”
“Do you, Amara—”
“I do.”
A ring slid onto my finger. Cold. Heavy.
And then he leaned forward, brushed his lips against mine, and whispered:
“Smile. They’re watching.”
I smiled.
And that was it.
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The applause came like a wave.
Pictures. Toasts. A fake kiss here, a polite nod there.
Liam held my waist, posed with me, said all the right things.
But he never looked at me.
Not once.
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The reception was a blur of expensive wine and strange hands shaking mine.
“You’re a lucky girl.”
“He hasn’t smiled like that in years.”
“What’s your secret?”
I smiled at them all.
I was the perfect bride.
A good actress.
A beautiful lie.
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Later that night, I stood on the balcony of the mansion, staring at the lights of the city, still wearing my wedding dress.
The wind was cold. My heart colder.
He walked in without knocking.
Still dressed in his tuxedo, tie loose, eyes unreadable.
“You played your part well,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You’ll move into the master bedroom tomorrow. For appearances.”
“Okay.”
He stared at me for a moment. “You did well today, Amara.”
It was the first time he said my name like it meant something.
“Thank you,” I said again.
He walked to the door, paused, and said without turning around:
“Don’t fall in love with me.”
I blinked.
“I wasn’t planning to,” I whispered.
He nodded once and disappeared into the hallway.
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I stood there for a long time after he left.
Still in white. Still wearing the ring. Still pretending to be a wife.
And for the first time since the contract began, a tear slipped down my cheek.
Not because I was hurt.
But because…
a part of me already had.
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- Writer
