CHAPTER 2
1079 Words
The Aftermath
The weight of the diamond ring on Clara’s finger felt heavier than iron shackles.
The crowd inside the cathedral had barely begun to process what had happened, their whispers still swelling like waves crashing against the shore.
She barely remembered walking out of the church. Or maybe she was dragged.
All she knew was that one moment, she was a runaway bride without a groom, and the next, she was Mrs. Richmond.
And now, she was sitting inside a sleek, black limousine beside her new husband.
The car door slammed shut, locking her inside with him.
Smith adjusted the cuffs of his expensive suit as if this were nothing more than another business deal. His sharp jaw was set, his piercing gaze fixed straight ahead.
The driver, an older man in a crisp black uniform, started the engine, pulling away from the church.
Silence filled the space between them, thick with tension.
Clara could still hear the echoes of her mother’s sharp whispers, her father’s resigned sigh, the gasps of the wedding guests.
The moment played over and over in her mind—Smith’s lips pressing against hers in that claiming kiss, the way he had sealed her fate before she could even process what had happened.
She gritted her teeth, hands curling into fists in her lap.
Then, finally—
“Take this ring off me.”
Smith’s head turned slightly, amusement flickering in his icy blue eyes. “Pardon?”
Clara held up her hand, the diamond glittering under the limousine’s soft lighting. “Take. It. Off.”
His gaze dropped to her hand. His smirk deepened. “It suits you.”
She exhaled sharply, turning in her seat. “You don’t get to decide what suits me, Richmond.”
“Smith,” he corrected smoothly.
“I don’t care.”
His smirk didn’t fade. “You should. After all, you’re my wife now.”
Clara’s pulse pounded at her temples. “I never agreed to this!”
Smith tilted his head. “You said ‘I do,’ didn’t you?”
“That was—” She stopped, realizing there was no way to justify it. She had said it. But under duress, under the crushing weight of expectation.
He chuckled. “Exactly.”
Clara’s nails dug into her palms. “You tricked me.”
Smith leaned back against the leather seat, his expression unreadable. “James tricked you. I merely fixed the situation.”
She scoffed. “Fixed? You call this fixing?”
His gaze sharpened. “Yes. Because now, you’re exactly where you belong.”
Clara’s breath caught. Where I belong?
The Groom Who Never Showed Up
She turned away from him, staring out the tinted window as the city skyline blurred past.
Her voice was quieter now, but just as firm. “Where is James?”
For the first time, Smith’s smirk faded.
A flicker of something dark passed through his gaze. Something unreadable.
Clara noticed the shift immediately.
Her stomach tightened.
“You said he ran,” she continued slowly. “Where did he go?”
Silence.
Her pulse quickened. “Smith.”
Nothing.
She turned back to him. “Answer me.”
Finally, he exhaled and met her gaze. “James was a coward. He didn’t deserve you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Smith didn’t blink. “It’s the only answer you need.”
Clara’s heart hammered. Why won’t he tell me?
Something was wrong.
James hadn’t just run. Something else had happened.
Something Smith wasn’t saying.
A Deal with the Devil
The limousine slowed.
Clara turned to see a massive iron gate ahead, its towering black bars parting as the car approached. Beyond it, a sprawling estate loomed in the night, bathed in golden light.
The Richmond estate.
She had visited once before—with James.
Now, she was entering it as a prisoner.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the grand entrance. Before she could reach for the door, Smith was already opening it, stepping out first.
Then, with infuriating patience, he held out a hand. “Shall we?”
Clara ignored his hand and stepped out on her own, her heels clicking against the marble steps.
He smirked. “Feisty.”
She glared at him. “Where do you think you’re taking me?”
Smith gestured toward the massive double doors. “Inside. Unless, of course, you’d rather spend your first night as my wife in the driveway?”
Clara clenched her jaw.
He led her inside, his stride confident as they walked through the grand foyer. The ceilings stretched impossibly high, chandeliers casting a warm glow over the polished floors.
A woman in a crisp black uniform bowed slightly as they entered. “Welcome back, sir.”
Smith gave her a nod. “Has everything been prepared?”
“Yes, Mr. Richmond. As you requested.”
Clara frowned. Prepared?
Smith turned to her, his smirk returning. “Shall we?”
Before she could react, he placed a firm hand on the small of her back, guiding her up the grand staircase.
Her skin burned under his touch, but she refused to react.
He led her down an impossibly long hallway, stopping in front of an ornate double door. He pushed it open.
Clara’s stomach dropped.
Inside was a massive, luxurious bedroom—gold and cream accents, plush velvet drapes, a fireplace crackling softly in the corner.
And in the center—
A bed. One bed.
She turned to him sharply. “I’m not sleeping here.”
Smith leaned casually against the doorframe. “You’re my wife. Where else would you sleep?”
Her jaw tightened. “In a separate room.”
He chuckled. “That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”
Clara folded her arms. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Smith arched a brow. “Be my guest. But don’t expect me to wake you when you start freezing.”
Her eyes burned with frustration. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
He smirked. “Completely.”
Clara exhaled sharply, stepping further into the room. She refused to let him win.
Smith watched her, his gaze lingering. Then, finally, he pushed off the doorframe.
“I have a meeting,” he said. “Try not to run.”
Clara’s hands clenched into fists. “And if I do?”
Smith smirked. “You won’t get far.”
Then, without another word, he stepped out, locking the door behind him.
- Writer
