Chapter 5: The Wedding Night
1720 Words
Christmas Eve.
Elara stood in the bridal suite, staring at herself in the mirror. The dress fit perfectly. Hair in loose waves. Makeup natural. She looked like a bride.
She felt like a liar.
"You look beautiful, dear." Victoria appeared behind her, adjusting the veil. "Christian would have been proud."
Elara's jaw clenched. Christian. Always Christian. Even now.
"This is what he wanted," Victoria continued. "A Hartley wedding. Family legacy preserved."
"Is that all this is to you? Legacy?"
Victoria's reflection smiled. Cold. "What else would it be?"
The door opened. The wedding planner. "It's time."
---
The estate's ballroom had been transformed. White roses everywhere. Candles. String lights like stars. Two hundred guests in their finest.
None of them Elara's friends. All Hartleys. All strangers.
The music started. Pachelbel's Canon.
She walked alone. No father to give her away. No mother to cry. Just her and a dress and a choice she'd made.
Then she saw Logan.
He stood at the altar in a black tuxedo, hands clasped in front of him. But when their eyes met, his composure cracked. His chest rose. His jaw clenched. His eyes burned.
He looked at her like she was the only person in the room.
Like she was everything.
Her steps steadied. One foot in front of the other. Toward him. Toward this impossible choice.
When she reached him, he took her hand. His palm was warm. Steady.
"Hi," he whispered.
"Hi."
"You're so beautiful I can't breathe."
Heat flooded her face. "Logan—"
"I mean it." His thumb stroked her knuckles. "I don't deserve you. But I'm keeping you anyway."
The officiant cleared his throat. "Shall we begin?"
The ceremony blurred. Words about love and commitment and forever. Elara heard none of it. She was too focused on Logan's hand holding hers. On the way he never looked away. Never wavered.
Then came the vows.
"Logan Hartley," the officiant said. "Do you take this woman—"
"Wait." Logan's voice cut through the room. "I want to say something."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Victoria's face tightened.
Logan turned fully to Elara. Both her hands in his now.
"I don't have pretty words," he said. "I'm not good at this. But I need you to know—I'll protect you. I'll worship you. I'll burn the world down before I let anyone hurt you."
His voice dropped lower. Just for her.
"You're mine now. And I'm yours. No matter what happens next. No matter what you learn. That doesn't change."
Something in his words felt like a warning. A promise. A plea.
"I do," he said. "With everything I have. I do."
Elara's throat was tight. "Your turn, Miss Hayes."
She looked at Logan. At this complicated, dangerous, honest man.
"I do," she whispered.
Logan's exhale was shaky. Relief and triumph and something deeper.
"The rings?"
They exchanged bands. Simple platinum. His fingers trembled as he slid hers on.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife." The officiant smiled. "You may kiss your bride."
Logan's hands framed her face. Gentle. Reverent.
Then he kissed her.
And the world disappeared.
His mouth was soft at first. Testing. Then deeper. Claiming. His hand slid into her hair. Angled her head. She melted into him, hands fisting in his jacket.
Someone coughed. Applause started.
Logan pulled back slowly. His forehead against hers. "Mine," he breathed.
"Yours," she whispered back.
And meant it.
---
The reception was torture.
They had to sit at the head table. Smile. Accept congratulations from people who didn't care. Elara barely tasted the food.
Logan's hand never left her. On her back. Her knee. Her hand. Constantly touching. Like he needed the contact to believe she was real.
"Dance with your wife," someone called.
Logan stood. Extended his hand. "Mrs. Hartley?"
The name sent shivers through her. "Mr. Hartley."
He led her to the dance floor. The music shifted. Something slow. Romantic.
Logan pulled her close. One hand on her waist. The other holding hers against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat. Fast. Hard.
"Nervous?" she asked.
"Terrified."
"Of what?"
"That I'll wake up. That this isn't real." His eyes met hers. "That you'll realize you made a mistake."
"Logan—"
"I know what this started as," he said quietly. "A contract. A deal. But Elara—what I feel for you isn't fake. It's the most real thing in my life."
She wanted to respond. To tell him she felt it too. This pull. This connection.
But Victoria was watching. The family was watching.
"Later," Logan murmured, reading her expression. "When we're alone. I'll show you."
The promise in his voice made her knees weak.
---
Midnight came eventually. They said goodbyes. Accepted more congratulations. Finally escaped to the honeymoon suite in the east wing.
Logan closed the door. Locked it. Leaned against it.
"Alone," he said. "Finally."
Elara stood in the middle of the room. Suddenly nervous. This was happening. This was real.
"Having second thoughts?" Logan pushed off the door. Moved toward her slowly. Predator-like.
"No. Yes. Maybe."
"That's honest." He stopped in front of her. Reached up slowly. Started removing her veil. "We don't have to do anything tonight."
"We're married."
"Doesn't matter." The veil came free. He set it aside carefully. "I won't push. Won't take what you're not ready to give."
His hands cupped her face. Tilted her head back.
"But if you want this—want me—then say it. Because once we start, Elara, I won't be able to stop. I'll need all of you. Every piece. Every sound. Every breath."
Her pulse hammered. "That's very intense."
"I'm an intense person." His thumb traced her lower lip. "Especially about you."
She should be scared. Should push him away.
Instead, she rose on her toes. Kissed him.
Logan made a sound low in his throat. His control snapped.
He kissed her back. Hard. Consuming. His hands slid down her back. Found the zipper of her dress.
"Say yes," he breathed against her mouth.
"Yes."
The dress pooled at her feet. He lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him. He carried her to the bed without breaking the kiss.
The night became a blur of sensation. His hands everywhere. His mouth on her skin. Whispered words that made her burn.
"So beautiful."
"Mine."
"Say my name."
She did. Over and over. Until her voice was hoarse.
He was rough and reverent. Demanding and worshipful. He took her apart piece by piece. Then put her back together. Marked her. Claimed her.
By the time they collapsed together, breathless and tangled in sheets, Elara was boneless. Overwhelmed. Completely undone.
Logan held her close. His face buried in her neck. "Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?"
"For choosing me. For being mine."
She smiled against his chest. "You're welcome."
They fell asleep wrapped around each other.
---
Elara woke at 2 AM.
She needed water. Her throat was dry from all the—
Her face heated. God. What they'd done.
She slipped out of bed carefully. Logan didn't stir. He was sprawled on his stomach, one arm stretched toward where she'd been. Even in sleep, he reached for her.
She padded to the bathroom. Drank water. Felt deliciously sore.
Coming back, she saw his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a notification.
She shouldn't look. It was invasive. Wrong.
But something made her pick it up.
A text from an unknown number.
*It's done. He believed the crash. You have six months before he resurfaces. Don't f**k this up. And don't fall for her—she was never meant for you.*
Elara's blood went cold.
The date on the text: three weeks ago. The day after Christian's "death."
She scrolled up. More messages.
*The plane's ready. He'll be in Moscow by morning.*
*Make sure the girl doesn't suspect anything.*
*She's grieving perfectly. Very convincing.*
Her hands shook so hard she nearly dropped the phone.
Logan knew. He'd known from the beginning. This whole thing—the marriage, the contract, everything—it was all planned.
While she was grieving. While she was vulnerable. While she thought Christian was dead.
Logan had known he was alive. Had helped him disappear. Had manipulated her into this marriage.
The bathroom door opened.
Logan stood there. Naked. Magnificent. Watching her hold his phone.
His face went from sleepy satisfaction to cold realization.
"Elara—"
"You knew." Her voice shook. "You knew he was alive. This whole time."
"Let me explain—"
"You LIED." She backed away. "You said no more lies. You promised—"
"I didn't lie about this—"
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" She was shaking. Crying. Falling apart.
Logan moved toward her. "You're my wife. You're not leaving—"
"You lied to me. Used me. Made me fall for you while planning—" She couldn't finish. Couldn't breathe.
"I SAVED you!" he roared. "From a man who was going to destroy you!"
"By destroying me yourself?!"
"What are you talking about?!"
The room spun. She grabbed the bedpost for support.
"Christian didn't crash," she said. "He RAN. From his OTHER WIFE."
The words hit Logan like a physical blow. "What?"
"Christian married someone else. Six months ago. A Russian. He was going to use me as a mistress. And you—you helped him disappear. You manipulated me into marrying you while knowing—"
She couldn't finish.
Logan's face had gone white. "How do you know about—"
"It doesn't matter how I know!" She was screaming now. "You lied! After everything, you still lied!"
"No." He reached for her. "I protected you—"
"Don't touch me."
But there was nowhere to go. They were in the honeymoon suite. She was in lingerie. They'd just—
God, they'd just consummated this marriage. This lie.
She shoved past him. Grabbed her dress. She needed out. Needed air.
She ran.
Logan didn't chase. Maybe he knew she needed space. Maybe he was too shocked.
She made it to the hallway in her dress, hair wild, makeup smeared.
And stopped.
Because someone was standing at the end of the hall.
In a tuxedo.
Alive.
Christian Hartley stared at her. His face a mixture of shock and fury.
"Hello, Elara," he said coldly. "Miss me?
- Writer
