THE WEDDING
1032 Words
(Leonardo’s POV)
Leonardo King had stood before investors, media giants, and cutthroat billionaires. But the silence before this wedding felt heavier than any boardroom.
He adjusted the cuff of his dark suit as the courthouse clerk stepped out to prepare their paperwork. Beside him, Amara Daniels sat stiff and motionless. She hadn’t said a word since entering the room.
Good. Silence was easier than defiance.
Leonardo had never once imagined himself marrying. The idea had always seemed primitive, unnecessary. Tying yourself to someone legally, emotionally, publicly—why? All it ever led to was weakness.
But Sterling & Rowe was standing on the cusp of something massive. The Redmont Acquisition would push them into a tier even Wall Street rarely touched. And the Redmont board—traditional, patriarchal, image-obsessed—wanted a CEO who looked “settled.” Stable. Married.
So Leonardo had done what he always did. He adjusted. He adapted.
He made the necessary move.
Amara sat like a statue beside him. Her face was calm—too calm—but her fingers betrayed her, clenching the edge of her cream dress beneath the table.
She looked fragile and furious at the same time. Her dark hair was pulled into a low bun, her makeup minimal but precise. She looked expensive, even though he knew her world had been crumbling for months.
He’d seen her file. Read the debt reports. Watched footage of her boutique in Brooklyn bleeding rent. He knew her father’s failed investments, the foreclosure notice on their family home, the frozen accounts.
Desperation had brought her here.
She didn’t look at him. Not once.
Good.
The ceremony was short. Cold. A judge recited the legal phrases, and they exchanged minimal vows—more like business terms. Leonardo’s voice was firm, clipped. Amara’s was quiet but clear, though her hand trembled slightly when she signed the papers.
When the clerk pronounced them legally married, Leonardo didn’t offer his hand. He simply stood.
“We’re done here,” he said.
Her eyes flicked to him for the first time that morning. There was no smile. Only steel.
Outside, a handful of paparazzi waited—a leak he’d arranged through a discreet contact. A surprise wedding always stirred the media, and he wanted whispers about their marriage everywhere.
Amara flinched slightly at the sudden flash of cameras. He didn’t. He placed a firm hand on the small of her back—only for show—and guided her toward the waiting black Bentley.
The door shut behind them, silencing the chaos.
The moment they were alone, Amara pulled away from his touch like it burned. She sat rigid against the door, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
“You could’ve warned me,” she said trying to keep her voice calm.
Leonardo didn’t look at her. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
Her breath hitched. “I’m not a prop.”
“Yes,” he said calmly, “you are.”
She stared at him, stunned into silence.
Leonardo turned his head then, meeting her gaze. “You made a choice, Amara. You walked into that office. You signed those papers. Don’t pretend now that you were dragged.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” he said. “You just didn’t like the alternatives.”
The drive to Fifth Avenue was quiet. Leonardo spent it checking emails and reviewing projections for the next quarter. Amara stared out the window, her reflection pale in the glass.
He noticed her fingers trembling again. This time, he said nothing.
The penthouse was pristine, as always. Glass walls offered an unobstructed view of the Manhattan skyline. Expensive art lined the walls, curated with precision. Everything here spoke of control.
Amara hesitated just inside the door. He watched her gaze move over the room like she didn’t belong in it—like this place might swallow her whole.
“This is home now,” he said flatly. “At least for the next six months.”
She didn’t reply.
He walked past her, loosening his tie. “You’ll have your own room. Top floor, across from mine. Do not enter my study. Don’t answer my phone. Don’t speak to the staff unless necessary.”
Amara blinked at him. “Is this a job or a marriage?”
He paused mid-step. “It’s a contract. Treat it that way.”
Dinner was served in silence. His private chef placed the meal in front of them and left the room. Amara stared down at her untouched plate.
Leonardo ate without comment.
Finally, she broke the silence. “Are you always like this?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Detached. Cold. Like none of this matters.”
Leonardo set down his fork. “It doesn’t.”
“You really believe that?”
He leaned back, eyes unreadable. “Belief is irrelevant. What matters is outcome. I needed a wife. You needed salvation. We both got what we came for.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “This doesn’t feel real.”
“It doesn’t have to feel real,” he said. “It only has to look real.”
After dinner, she stood abruptly, walking toward the massive window. The city glimmered outside like a world she no longer belonged to.
He watched her reflection in the glass—her arms wrapped tightly around herself, like she was afraid she might shatter.
“This wasn’t what I dreamed of,” she whispered.
He approached slowly. “Then stop dreaming.”
She turned to him, eyes glassy. “Is that what you’ve done?”
“Yes,” he said. “A long time ago.”
Leonardo moved past her, heading for the stairs. He paused at the base and looked back once.
“You have six months, Mrs. King,” he said. “Smile for the cameras, play your part, and keep your feelings out of it. Because if you slip—even once—I won’t hesitate to burn the contract. And you already know what that means for your family.”
Amara didn’t reply.
She didn’t have to.
Her silence told him everything.
- Writer
