The Ceo's Reluctant Wife

Chapter 5: Fractures

Ten days left until the wedding, and Ella felt like she was unraveling thread by thread.

It wasn't just the endless appointments, though those were bad enough. It was the way everything piled up, like bricks on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Monday kicked off with the final dress fitting at the boutique in SoHo. The seamstress poked and prodded while Rebecca hovered like a hawk, clipboard in hand.

Ella stood on the platform in front of those mirrors, staring at herself in the chiffon gown that flowed like water but felt like chains.

"It's too loose here," Rebecca said, pointing at Ella's waist. "We need it cinched. Mr. Harrington won't want it looking sloppy."

Ella's cheeks burned. "It's fine. I can breathe in it now."

Rebecca arced a brow. "Breathing's overrated for photos. Trust me."

The seamstress nodded and pinned tighter. Ella bit her lip to keep from snapping. What did Alex care anyway? He hadn't shown up to a single fitting. Probably hadn't even seen pictures of the dress. She imagined him somewhere in the city, buried in meetings or worse out with some woman who wasn't being forced into this mess.

By Tuesday, the hair and makeup trial at that fancy salon Midtown pushed her closer to te edge. The stylist tugged her hair into an updo that pulled at her scalp, while the makeup artist layered on foundation that made her look like a doll, perfect but nor her.

"More contour," Rebecca directed from the chair behind her. "She needs definition. And red lips. Bold, but not slutty."

Ella met her own eyes in the mirror. "I don't wear red lipstick."

Rebecca smiled thinly. "You do now. It's the Harrington way."

Ella wanted to wipe it all off right there, scream that she wasn't some mannequin they could dress up. But she thought of Mom, another bad night at the hospital, fever spiking, doctors whispering about complications and swallowed it down. One more trial, one more layer of fake, and Mom got another shot at fighting.

Wednesday brought the jewelry selection, and that's when the first real crack showed. The showroom was locked down. Diamonds sparkled under the lights, necklaces and earrings that screamed money. Ella tried on a simple pearl set first, but Rebecca shook her head.

"Too understated. Try the emeralds."

The emeralds were stunning, deep green stones surrounded by diamonds, heavy around her neck. She touched them lightly, feeling like an imposter.

"That's better," Rebecca said. "Mr. Harrington will approve."

As if on cue, Ella's phone buzzed. Victor: How's it going? Need anything?

She typed back: It's overwhelming.

His reply: Hang in there. You're doing great.

She almost laughed. Great? She was drowning.

That night, back at the estate, she couldn't sleep. She wandered the halls in her pajamas, ending up in the library, dark woods shelves, leather chairs, the kind of room that smelled like old books and secrets. She curled up with a blanket, staring at the fire cracking in the gate.

Footsteps made her jump. Victor appeared in the doorway, robe over his pajamas, looking older in the firelight.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Too much in my head."

He sat across from her. "Talk to me."

The words spilled out, the fittings, the makeup, the jewellery that felt like a noose. "I feel like I'm losing myself," she whispered. "Like I'm just... playing a part."

Victor's eyes softened. "You're stronger than you think, Ella. This isn't forever."

"But what if it breaks me first?"

He reached over, squeezed her hand. "It won't. And Alex... he's coming around. Give him time."

She wanted to believe him. But time like it was running out.

Alex, across the city, was fighting his own demons. He'd turned the penthouse into a war zone, papers scattered, laptop open 24/7, bottles piling up on the bar. Work was his escape, but even that was cracking. He snapped at his VP during a conference call, hung up on a supplier mid-sentence. His assistant tiptoed around him like he was a bomb.

Marcus dragged him out that night to a dive bar in the Village, dim lights, sticky floors, nothing like their usual spots. "You need to blow off steam, man. Before you explode."

Alex nurser a beer, staring at the scarred wooden table. "What's there to blow off? It's just a wedding."

Marcus laughed. "Just a wedding? To a girl you barely know? Come on. Spill."

Alex shrugged. "She's fine. Quiet. Not what I expected."

Marcus leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Fine? That's all? I saw her at the estate last week. She's got that innocent vibe. Bet she's wild underneath."

Alex hands tightened on the bottle. "Watch it."

"Whoa." Marcus held up his hands. "Touchy. You falling for her already?"

"f**k off." Ales stood, tossed cash on the table. "I'm out."

He stormed into the night, rain soaking him in seconds, Marcus's words echoed—falling for her? No. But she was in his head. The way she'd looked at him in the office, voice cracking. The way she'd accepted everything without complaint.

He ended up at a club—old habits. A redhead approached, all smiles and low cut dress. "Buy me a drink?"

He almost did. Almost took her home to forget. But he walked out alone, drove back to the penthouse, and poured himself a whiskey instead.

The real drama hit on Friday, six days before the wedding. Rebecca had scheduled the full rehearsal at the estate. Not just the walk through, but the whole thing—vows, music, even a stand-in officiant. Victor wanted it prefect.

Alex arrived early for once, hungover and irritable. Ella was there already, in a simple sundress despite the chill, talking quietly to the musician turning a violin.

She looked up when he entered, and something in her expression stopped him cold, could be exhaustion, maybe. Or fear.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hey," he responded dryly.

Rebecca clapped. "Let's start!

The lined up. Victor took Ella's arm for the walk down the aisle. Alex stood at the front, hands clasped, feeling like an i***t.

The music started, soft, classical. Victor and Ella walked slow. She kept her eyes down, steps measured. When they reached him, Victor placed her hand in Alex's. Their fingers touched—hers cold, his warm. She looked up at him, and for a second the room faded.

The officiant, a bored looking guy in a suit cleared his throat. "We'll run the vows now. Groom first."

.

Alex froze. He hadn't thought about this part.

"I, Alexander Harrington, take you, Ella Thompson..."

He stumbled over the words, voice rough. Ella's hand trembled in his. When it was her turn, her voice was barely a whisper. "I, Ella Thompson, take you, Alexander Harrington... to have and to hold..."

She stopped, eyes filling with tears. The room went silent.

"I can't," she whispered, pulling her hand back. "I'm sorry. I just... can't right now."

She turned and fled—out the side door into the garden.

Alex stood there, stunned.

Victor sighed. "Go after her."

"I—"

"Go."

He found a bench by the frozen pond, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders shaking.

He approached slow. "Ella."

She didn't look up. "Leave me alone."

He sat anyway, a foot between them.

"What happened?"

She wiped her eyes. "It's too real. Saying those words... it feels like a lie. And I can't lie like that. Not in front of everyone.

He nodded slowly. "It is a lie."

She looked at him then, eyes red. "Then why are we doing this?"

"Because we have to." He paused. "Or... do we?"

She blinked. "What?"

"We could stop. Right now. Tell my dad its off. I'll cover your mom's bills anyway. No strings."

Tears spilled over. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah." He meant it. Seeing her like this—broken, it twisted something inside him.

She stared at the pond. "I can't let you do that. It's not fair."

"Fair?" He laughed bitterly. "None of this is fair."

"My mom had a scare last night. Fever spiked. They thought..." He waited. "She's okay now. But it reminded me why I'm here." She turned to him. "I'll do the wedding. But after... I want out. As soon as possible."

He nodded. "Deal."

Back inside, they finished the rehearsal without another hitch. But the air was thick, everyone tiptoeing around them.

That night, Alex didn’t go back to the city. He stayed at the estate, in his old room. He heard her crying through the walls, soft, muffled sobs. He almost knocked on her door. Almost.

Instead, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering when this had stopped feeling like a game.

Six days.

He wasn't sure he'd make it.