Bound by Scandal

The Wedding Plans

The morning sun streamed through the windows of Liam’s penthouse, casting golden stripes across the marble floor. Ava sat at the breakfast table, her fingers tracing the rim of her untouched coffee cup. The diamond ring on her finger caught the light, a constant, glittering reminder of the cage she’d stepped into.

Liam entered the room, his presence filling the space like a storm front. He was already dressed in a tailored suit, his gray eyes sharp and assessing. “You’re up early.”

Ava didn’t look at him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He pulled out the chair beside her, the legs scraping softly against the floor. “Nerves?”

She finally met his gaze, her voice steady. “Regret.”

Liam’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—annoyance? Amusement? “It’s a little late for that.”

Ava’s fingers tightened around her cup. “Is it?”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “The invitations are being sent out as we speak. The venue is booked. The press has been notified.”

Ava’s stomach twisted. “The press?”

“Of course.” Liam’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “This isn’t just a wedding, Ava. It’s a statement.”

She set her cup down with a clink, her pulse roaring in her ears. “A statement of what?”

“Power. Stability.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered. “Legitimacy.”

Ava’s breath hitched. “You’re using me.”

“And you’re using me,” he shot back. “Don’t pretend this is anything but what it is.”

She wanted to argue. To tell him this was different—that she wasn’t the one turning their marriage into a spectacle. But the words died on her tongue.

Liam’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression tightening. “The wedding planner will be here in an hour. She’ll handle the details.”

Ava’s chest constricted. “I don’t want a wedding planner.”

“You don’t have a choice.” His voice was final.

She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I’m not a puppet, Liam. I won’t be dressed up and paraded around like some—some trophy.”

Liam’s gaze darkened. “You’re carrying my child. That makes you mine. And I protect what’s mine.”

Ava’s hands clenched. “I’m not a thing.”

“No.” His voice dropped, rough and low. “You’re my wife.”

The word hung between them, heavy and irreversible.

Ava’s vision blurred. “I hate you.”

Liam didn’t flinch. “No, you don’t.”

She turned on her heel, storming toward the door. But his voice stopped her.

“Ava.”

She paused but didn’t turn.

“You can choose the flowers.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because the truth was, it wasn’t about the flowers.

It was about the fact that she was losing herself—one concession at a time.

The wedding planner arrived exactly on time.

Elena was all efficiency and polished smiles, her tablet clutched in one hand, a measuring tape in the other. She greeted Ava with a warm handshake, her dark eyes assessing. “Mrs. Carter—“

“Monroe,” Ava corrected, her voice sharp. “It’s still Monroe.”

Elena’s smile didn’t waver. “Of course. Let’s get started, shall we?”

Ava followed her into the living room, where fabric swatches and flower samples were already laid out on the coffee table. She sat stiffly on the couch, her fingers twisting in her skirt.

Elena flipped open her tablet. “First, the dress. We have appointments at three boutiques this afternoon. I’ve pulled some options based on your—“

“No.”

Elena blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Ava’s voice was steady, despite the tremor in her hands. “I’m not wearing white.”

Elena’s brows lifted. “Oh.”

“And I’m not having a big wedding,” Ava met her gaze, unflinching. “No ballroom. No hundred guests. No spectacle.”

Elena hesitated, then nodded. “Understood. What do you want?”

Ava looked away, her gaze landing on the city skyline. “Something small. Something real.”

Elena’s voice softened. “I can make that happen.”

Ava exhaled, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. “Thank you.”

Elena smiled. “Now, let’s talk flowers.”

Ava almost laughed. Almost.

But the weight of the ring on her finger reminded her that this wasn’t her wedding.

It was her surrender.