CHASING THE UNWANTED WIFE

2 - The Unwanted Marriage

And it really never did.

Theron, true to his word, never fell in love with Callista.

He fell in love with another woman—his beloved nanny’s only daughter, Isolde, who was the same age as them. A woman with wavy, chestnut-brown hair, a pale complexion, and lips touched with a faint, natural cherry tint.

Someone who looked fragile. Delicate. As though her eyes were always on the verge of welling up with tears. She always wore an old, faded blue dress, its color washed so pale that it was nearly white from years of repeated washing.

But she was… beautiful.

There was something almost painfully innocent about her, something soft and gentle in her features. She possessed the kind of beauty that made her seem as though she needed protection.

And Theron fell in love with Isolde, but he was forced to marry Callista because of one desperate, selfish night—born of Callista’s desperation, her greed—the one night she had thirsted for after years of loving a man who never loved her back.

That night, he took her innocence.

She remembered that night clearly. It had happened after Theron’s mother’s birthday banquet, when they were both twenty-two years old. She climbed into his bed, only to be surprised to find him already under the influence of a drug.

She did not drug him—let heaven bear witness. It really wasn’t her. But she had not told anyone that he had been drugged, either.

That was the first sin she had committed.

The second sin was letting him tear away her virginity.

Their families found out that they had given in to what they should never have allowed, and Theron was forced to marry her against his will. He was miserable and unwilling.

On the day of their wedding, held on a vast stretch of land near a cliff overlooking the ocean, with waves crashing against the rocks far below, Theron’s eyes were dead. The flowers decorating the venue did nothing to soften the brutally cold expression on his face.

He didn’t pretend to be polite or gentle with her.

While she was walking down the aisle, he stared at her as though she were his approaching death warrant. With every step she took toward him, she saw the glint in his eyes grow darker. His emotions were dying.

He hated her.

She could see it.

He looked at her as though she were something he wanted to fling away, if only he could. He was disgusted by her.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant declared as the ceremony drew to a close.

Callista gazed up at her husband’s face. Hope flickered in her eyes. Pleading. “Theron…” she called, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes begged for even the slightest kiss. Even the quickest one. If he would only press his lips against hers for even half a second, she would already be content.

The guests surrounding them watched, waiting for that one magical kiss shared by the newlyweds.

But Theron’s lips just curled into a dark, mocking smile. And for what felt like an eternity, he remained still, his back stiff and straight. He didn’t bend toward her. He only stared at her with cold disdain.

Then, finally, he lowered his face toward hers, until his lips were barely an inch away. “I hope this marriage brings you hell and burns everything happy and light inside you,” he whispered cruelly. “I hope you slowly rot away beneath the title of wife you coveted so much.”

Beneath her makeup, Callista’s skin went pale as her heart pounded painfully against her chest. And she didn’t even know how to respond to him or how to react.

He was hostile, rude, and deliberately cruel. He wanted to hurt her.

And yes, she was hurting.

Deeply so.

It felt as though a knife were carving her heart out.

Her throat tightened as she tried to push the pain down.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant repeated, unaware of the cold tension brewing between the bride and the groom.

Kiss her? He did not.

Instead, Theron uncaringly turned his back on her and marched away, leaving everyone at the venue stunned. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Many were left confused as to why the groom had refused to kiss his bride and walked away without looking back.

And then all eyes turned toward her when they realized something—the groom wasn’t willing. He did not love her.

With every eye fixed on Callista, she felt so small. Tinier than an ant.

She forced a smile onto her lips and ran after Theron. He was tall—six feet five inches—while she was only five feet four. His long strides made it difficult for her to catch up, but she pushed herself harder. She ran faster, ignoring the pain despite the wedding shoes still biting into her feet.

The shoes rubbed the backs of her feet raw, leaving scrapes on her skin. And that felt like a message to her.

A warning—that her marriage had already begun telling her exactly what it would bring.

Nothing but pain.