The Wedding Night
1214 Words
“Sleep well, Mrs. Vex. Tomorrow you learn what happens when ice melts... and burns.”
The contract was signed. But I wasn’t Mrs. Vex yet.
Not really.
5am. Knock. A woman in black. No smile. No “good morning.” She held up a white Chanel garment bag.
“Courthouse. One hour. Wear this.”
That was it.
I stared at her. At the bag. My brain short-circuited.
Ah... wedding? The word felt foreign in my mouth. I’m not even aware of! No phone calls, no texts, no “Ava, tomorrow we—” Nothing!
Just a dress. Dropped off like dry cleaning.
Oh God, I’m not into this marriage yet and it’s like this? My chest got tight. How about when I’m IN the marriage? How is it gonna be? Treated like a piece of trash I just... stop.
I couldn’t finish the thought.
This is my wedding? No input. No choice. No “are you okay?” Just orders.
Treated like trash. Like I wasn’t in this marriage. I was the paperwork.
God, if he’s like this NOW... what happens when the law says I’m his?
I put on the dress. Perfect fit. Caleb Vex never misses a detail. Only feelings.
The Wedding.
Monaco courthouse. He checked his watch when I walked in.
“Sign.” Certificate. Cold. “Rule three: This is business.”
I signed. Ava Laurent. Mrs. Vex in invisible ink.
He signed. “Done.”
No kiss. No vows. No “I now pronounce you.” The lawyers took the papers.
We walked out. To separate Maybachs.
His door shut. My door shut. Two black cars. Opposite directions.
And that’s when it hit me.
I didn’t feel like I was married.
How could I? I wasn’t invited to a marriage I’m unaware of. Not just any wedding. My wedding. And I didn’t know the schedule, the terms, the rules of being Mrs. Vex until I was already one.
I’m unaware of my own life.
And now I’m going home - to his home - without my husband. Not a ring on my finger. Nothing on my hand but the ghost of ink from a pen he handed me. No photo. No memory. No us.
Just two signatures and two cars driving apart on what was supposed to be the first day of our life.
What kind of wedding night starts with your husband in a different zip code?
The Wedding Night.
His penthouse. We stepped out of the elevator. Three floors of silence.
He reached into his suit jacket. Pulled out a black keycard.
No words. No eye contact. He held it out between two fingers. Like it was contaminated.
He dropped it in my palm. Didn’t touch my skin.
“Third door on the left. Guest suite.” His voice was ice. “Code’s already set. Don’t lose it. Replacements are billed to you.”
Then he walked away. To the master suite. Alone.
A keycard. Not a ring. Not his hand. Not “our room.”
A keycard. Like I was a hotel guest. Like I’d be checking out soon.
I stared at it. Matte black. No name. No warmth. Just access to a room I didn’t want in a marriage I didn’t choose.
Not husband and wife. CEO and liability with a room key.
I went to the guest suite. Showered. Found his black Tom Ford shirt. Put it on. Armor.
He came in without knocking.
Saw the shirt. Saw the keycard on the nightstand.
His jaw ticked. Face = stone.
“I see you are putting on my clothes...” Disgust.
“Take it off.” Order.
“Scared I’ll think you’re a husband?” I snapped. “Scared I’ll think the keycard makes me your wife? Scared I’ll think this marriage is real?”
“Rule four: You do not touch what is mine. You are not my wife, Ava. You are a contract with a pulse. My shirt isn’t in the terms. Neither is my bedroom.”
I ripped it off. Flung it at his face. “TAKE IT! I. AM. NOTHING. TO. YOU! Not a ring. Not a wife. NOTHING!”
He didn’t flinch. Folded the shirt. Like I was the stain.
“Wardrobe at 6am. Food. Clothes. Security. Provided. That’s the contract.”
Hand on door. No eye contact.
“But a husband?” Knife-laugh. “Refer to Rule three. I don’t provide what isn’t invoiced. And Mrs. Vex... your keycard doesn’t work on my door.”
Click.
He walked out. Door shut.
But I wasn’t done.
I was shaking. Humiliated. Treated like a piece of trash. And something in me snapped.
I yanked the guest suite door open and ran after him. Bare feet on marble. Tom Ford shirt I wasn’t supposed to touch flapping around my thighs.
“CALEB!” My voice cracked. “You don’t get to—”
He was already at his master suite door. Black keycard in hand.
He turned. Slow. Eyes dead. “Rule five: You do not follow me.”
I didn’t stop. “You married me! You put this ring—” I held up my empty hand. “You didn’t even give me a ring! But you own me?! You think a keycard—”
I reached him. Grabbed his arm.
Mistake.
His hand shot out. Not to hit me. Worse.
He grabbed my wrist. The one with the invisible shackle. His thumb pressed right over my pulse point. Holding me still.
His face was inches from mine. I could smell his cologne. See the gold flecks in those ice eyes. Feel his breath.
“Let. Go.” His voice was a whisper. Lethal. “Of me. And of the idea that you have rights here.”
I should’ve been scared. I was. But I was also furious.
So I did the stupidest thing possible.
I shoved him. Hard. Both hands to his chest.
He didn’t move. He’s a wall. But his eyes... something flickered. Shock? Rage?
Then his other hand came up. Gripped my jaw. Not hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to own.
“You want to play wife, Ava?” His thumb dragged over my bottom lip. Slow. Dangerous. “Wives don’t touch what isn’t theirs. Wives don’t scream. Wives—”
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
An alarm. Loud. Coming from HIS suite.
His head snapped toward the door. Jaw locked.
For one second - one split second - I saw it.
Panic.
Real, raw panic. On Caleb Vex’s face.
Then it was gone. Mask back on.
He let go of me like I burned him. Stepped back.
“Get in your room.” Order. “Now.”
“What was that?” I breathed. “What’s in there?”
“Rule six.” He swiped his keycard. His door clicked open. “You do not ask questions about my door.”
He stepped inside.
And just before the door slammed shut between us, I heard it.
A sound. From inside his room.
A woman’s voice. Crying.
Not me.
Someone else.
The door shut. Lock engaged.
I stood there. Barefoot. In his shirt. Wrist throbbing where he’d held me.
A woman was in his room. On our wedding night.
And he’d panicked when that alarm went off.
- Writer
