The Wedding That Should Never Have Happened
1246 Words
The courthouse smelled faintly of disinfectant and cold rain. Fluorescent lights hummed with the same impatience that vibrated inside Zian Verden’s chest. He stood in a borrowed suit—too tight around the shoulders, a little loose at the waist—and tried to ignore the sinking weight in his stomach.
This was not how he imagined his wedding day.
Not that he had ever dared imagine one.
Across the room, Lyana Brielle stood stiffly near the window, arms wrapped protectively around her stomach. Her face, sharp and beautiful in a way that cut rather than soothed, was turned deliberately away from him.
She refused to look at the man she was about to marry.
“Let’s get this over with,” Lyana said sharply, her voice slicing the air without a shred of warmth. “I told you—I don’t want you. I just need a husband on paper. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Zian nodded once, his voice steady but soft. “And I agreed. I’ll honor that.”
She scoffed, finally turning her head just enough to glare at him. “Don’t act like you’re noble. You’re just desperate enough to marry a woman carrying another man’s child.”
The words hit him with the force of a slap, though he didn’t let it show. He had learned long ago how to hide pain behind silence.
But oh, how it hurt.
Not because her accusation was wrong—but because it was true in ways she couldn’t fathom.
“I’m not pretending to be anything,” Zian murmured. “I know my place here.”
“And what place is that?” Lyana asked coldly. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re barely even a placeholder.”
He did not defend himself.
What would be the point? She didn’t want an answer. She wanted a wall between them—built of contempt if necessary.
The courtroom clerk called their names. “Lyana Brielle and Zian Verden?”
Lyana strode forward without waiting for Zian. He followed quietly, each footstep echoing like a countdown.
The judge, an older woman with tired eyes, looked between them with a flicker of confusion. “Are we… in a hurry today?”
“Yes,” Lyana said before Zian could open his mouth. “Let’s skip the sentimentalities.”
The judge frowned but opened the file.
Zian forced himself to focus on breathing—just enough to stay upright, not enough to let emotion escape. He kept his gaze on Lyana’s profile. She was beautiful in a sharp, cool way. Strong cheekbones. Glossed lips pressed tightly together. Chin lifted in defiance. But exhaustion clung to her like a shadow. Her pregnancy was wearing her down, though she would never admit it aloud.
Her fingers trembled against the document.
Was it fear? Anger? Or reluctance?
The judge slid the marriage papers toward them. “Sign here and here.”
Lyana scribbled her name so quickly the pen nearly snapped. Zian took the pen afterward, his handwriting calm, practiced… but hollow.
Cliffhanger: Lyana saw the gold in his eyes.
As the judge raised the official seal, Lyana muttered under her breath, “God, this is pathetic.”
Zian swallowed the hurt.
This marriage wasn’t about love.
It wasn’t even about companionship.
It was about cleaning up a scandal—one that didn’t originate with him, yet he would pay the price for.
He thought of the family that had thrown him out, the people who had erased his name from every record, every inheritance list, every memory they pretended he never existed in.
He had been desperate, yes.
Desperate for a sliver of stability.
Desperate for a reason to keep existing.
Desperate for anything that resembled a chance.
Even if that chance meant chaining himself to a woman who despised the sight of him.
The judge lowered the stamp.
The thud echoed through the room like a hammer sealing fate.
“You are now legally married,” she said.
Lyana immediately stepped back from the table as if the very air around Zian had become toxic.
“Great,” she said, voice icy. “Can I go now?”
Zian blinked. “Don’t we need to—”
“No.” Lyana cut him off. “We don’t need to do anything together. Not today. Not ever.”
He lowered his gaze. “If that’s what you want.”
“Oh, don’t act hurt.” She grabbed her purse. “You signed up for this. You agreed to be a replacement husband. You know exactly what you’re worth.”
He did.
But hearing it aloud still cracked something inside him.
Lyana brushed past him toward the exit. As she passed, a faint gust of air stirred the loose strands of her hair… and Zian felt something—an odd shiver—crawl beneath his skin.
He ignored it.
Probably just nerves.
“Lyana,” he called gently. “Wait.”
She froze but did not turn around. “What?”
Zian took a step closer, careful not to touch her. “I won’t make anything harder for you. I just… want to do my part.”
Her grip tightened around her purse strap. “You don’t have a part. You’re a signature on a document. Nothing more.”
She walked away.
Zian stood there long after she disappeared through the courthouse doors.
A hollow ache spread through him—not entirely because of her words. There was something else. A strange pressure in his chest. A warmth that wasn’t his own. He pressed a hand to his sternum, frowning.
The light above him flickered.
He blinked, looking up.
Another flicker—then another—until the room pulsed as though reacting to something inside him.
A tiny spark shot through his vision.
His heartbeat slowed… then sped up… then steadied in a rhythm he didn’t recognize.
For a brief second, the world blurred.
And then—
His reflection in the courthouse window caught his eye.
His eyes—
They were no longer brown.
They glowed faintly… like molten gold trapped beneath glass.
Zian inhaled sharply. He blinked once—twice—
and the color vanished.
Normal again.
Human again.
He staggered slightly, gripping the edge of a bench.
“What… was that?” he whispered.
The remaining clerk glanced at him. “Sir, are you alright?”
“Y-Yes,” he said quickly. “Just… dizzy.”
He stepped outside, heartbeat racing, mind spinning. Rain misted the air, cooling his feverish thoughts.
Lyana was standing beneath the courthouse awning, one hand absently stroking her belly. She looked troubled—unusually so—as she stared into the distance.
When she heard his footsteps, she turned.
Her eyes narrowed, studying him more closely than before.
“Your eyes…” she murmured, almost to herself. “Did they just—?”
Zian froze.
“Did they what?” he asked cautiously.
Lyana’s brows knitted. She stepped closer, searching his face.
But before she could finish her sentence—
A violent shudder went through her. She inhaled sharply, clutching her belly.
“Lyana?!” Zian reached out instinctively.
She flinched back. “Don’t touch me!”
Her voice trembled—not with anger this time… but fear.
Or something else.
Something unfamiliar.
Something dangerous.
Her gaze fixed on his eyes again.
And this time, she whispered the question neither of them knew how to answer:
“Who… are you really?”
- Writer
