THE WEDDING NIGHT
924 Words
The elevator doors slid open with a sterile hiss.
Cassian stepped into the penthouse without a word, his footsteps echoing across cold white marble. Selene followed behind, her heels clicking softly as if she were trying not to offend the silence.
The place looked like it had been carved out of ice—glass walls, silver fixtures, floors so polished they reflected your doubts at you. Not a single picture adorned the walls. No hint of warmth. Just space. And silence.
Cassian led her from room to room without a word of welcome. His voice, when it came, was clipped, as if each syllable cost him more than he wanted to give.
"This is the kitchen. Don’t expect to use it. You’ll find meals already prepared."
Selene didn’t respond.
The penthouse was everything she’d imagined a billionaire would live in.
"This is it," he said flatly. "Home."
She turned in place, taking in the chilling grandeur. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s empty,” he corrected.
They stood there for a breath too long, strangers on opposite ends of the same polished room. The weight of the contract still clung to the air, unspoken but suffocating.
The master bedroom was expansive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline. But Cassian didn’t pause.
He didn’t toast to the wedding. Didn’t touch her. Didn’t even look at her for longer than a few seconds at a time.
"Your closet’s stocked. You’ll find everything in your size." He stopped at the end of the hallway, hands shoved into his pockets, jaw tight.
"We’ll make appearances together. You’ll play the part of my wife. Beyond that, don’t ask for more."
"Would you like something to drink?" she offered, her voice small.
Cassian walked over to the bar but didn’t pour a thing. "No."
She moved closer. "I know you don’t want this marriage. But if we’re going to survive a year of this, maybe we could…"
He cut her off.
"You’ll learn that everything you touch turns to ash," he said, finally turning to look at her. His eyes were knives. "Starting with me."
The words struck like a slap. Selene was left alone.
Selene stood still in the center of all that wealth and whiteness. She simply stood there for a moment, clutching her coat like armor. She didn’t cry. Not yet.
But something broke inside her. Quietly. Like glass under snow. The air in the penthouse felt thinner. The chandelier above her glittered like frostbite.
She paced the living room slowly, every inch of the space as sterile as a pristine museum, but unlived in. There were no flowers. No personal touches. No softness. Just ice.
And Cassian had been right.
It was empty.
Dinner arrived on silver trays brought up by private staff, served on opposite ends of a table long enough to seat a board of directors.
Cassian barely touched his food. Selene forced herself to swallow two bites before giving up.
"Did you always picture your wedding night like this?" she asked softly, trying to cut the tension.
His fork paused mid-air, then clinked against the plate as he dropped it.
"No. I pictured being with someone I trusted." His voice was flat. "You were never part of that picture."
She lowered her gaze. Neither was this marriage.
He stood, collecting his untouched plate. "Then we’re even."
He didn’t wait for her reply. He walked past her, disappearing into the hallway. A door closed.
Hard.
Hours later, long after midnight, Selene padded through the penthouse barefoot, unable to sleep. The silence had grown teeth. She wasn’t trying to spy. She just wanted… something. A glimpse. A c***k in his icy facade.
She didn’t belong here. In this sterile palace. In his world of sharp edges and unspoken grief.
This was a mistake.
But her father’s voice echoed in her mind.
"If you ever find yourself at a crossroads, Selene… choose the road that burns. Sometimes pain is the only path to truth."
Cassian’s office was the only room with a closed door. She pushed the office door open.
The office was painfully neat. Dark walnut shelves lined with legal binders and curated books, Cassian probably hadn’t read in years. A framed degree from Oxford. A photo of the Ward family before the fall.
Then the desk drawer caught her eye. Slightly ajar.
She hesitated, then pulled it open.
Inside was a single photograph.
Her breath caught.
It was her father.
Smiling. Standing outside Langford Industries. But someone had drawn a red X through his face.
A violent mark.
A warning.
Selene’s hand trembled as she reached deeper into the drawer and pulled out a file folder.
It wasn’t thick. Just a few pages. But when she unfolded it, her blood turned cold.
The Langford-Ward merger agreement.
She stared at the date. Eight years ago. The same merger that had ruined the Wards. The same deal her father had always claimed was signed in his name alone.
But this contract had two signatures.
One was her father’s.
The other…
She blinked.
Selene Langford.
Her name. Her handwriting.
But that wasn’t possible. She had been nineteen. A college freshman. Her father had sworn she had nothing to do with it.
Hadn’t he?
Her heart pounded. No, this wasn’t real. She hadn’t signed this. She would remember.
Wouldn’t she?
And then she saw it.
Just beneath the signature line, scrawled in red ink like a final curse:
"The bullet never knows it killed the gunman."
Behind her, a floorboard creaked.
She froze.
She wasn’t alone.
- Writer
