One Year,Then A Divorce

Daphne’s POV I stood in the dressing room, staring at my reflection in the mirror. In a matter of minutes, I would be married to a man I had never met—a man I didn’t even know if I could trust, love, or rely on. My fingers trembled as they smoothed down the lace of my dress. The last time I felt truly loved was before my parents died. I thought I had found love again with Reynold. I glanced at my phone, the screen glowing faintly with his last message. My chest tightened. After years of toying with my emotions and leading me on, he shattered my heart and broke up with me just days before Christmas—with a mere text. I read the message again, the words blurring through the tears threatening to fall. My grip tightened until my hand ached, and before I could stop myself, I hurled the phone at the wall. The sound of glass shattering filled the room. “How could he be so cruel?” I yelled, my voice breaking as tears rolled down my cheeks. “He found someone else abroad and chose them over me.” I wiped at my face, but the tears kept falling. My hands trembled as I pressed them to my cheeks, desperate to stop the sobs. “I would have fought tooth and nail to avoid marrying a stranger, but now—” My voice cracked. “Now there’s no reason to stop this wedding from happening.” I let out a shaky breath and wiped the tears away again, this time more forcefully. The door swung open. “What is going on here?” Aunt Lucy stepped inside, her eyes immediately landing on the broken phone. She jabbed her finger toward it. “This mess, Daphne!” I turned quickly, brushing my fingers under my eyes. “It wasn’t intentional, Aunty. I was—” “I don’t care about that,” she snapped, cutting me off. “Fix yourself up. It’s time for you to get married.” Her voice was sharp, but I didn’t dare look her in the eye. “You should be thankful for what my husband and I are doing for you,” she continued, her tone colder now. “Your parents left you with nothing, and we alone had to take care of everything. Don’t be an ungrateful brat. Get ready.” She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving her words hanging in the air. I swallowed the lump in my throat, but her voice echoed in my head. Grateful. I should feel grateful. Maybe this wedding was my chance to finally escape her suffocating control—the constant reminders of how much I owed her, the sharp words that cut deeper than knives. I was grateful. Wasn’t I? But sometimes, I wondered if an orphanage would have been better. At least there, I wouldn’t have been forced to wake up at dawn to scrub floors while my cousin lazed around. I wouldn’t have been crammed into a storage room that barely fit my cot while my cousin lived like royalty in the room across the hall. A soft knock interrupted my thoughts, making my heart jump. My aunt would surely yell at me again for taking so long. But it wasn’t her. The makeup artist peeked inside, her smile faint and hesitant. “It’s time for the ceremony,” she said softly. I studied her face for a moment. She knew. Her eyes held the same sadness I felt—the same quiet understanding. She knew how unhappy I was, but there was nothing she could do about it. “I will be out now,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. The makeup artist gave me a small nod before stepping aside. I took a deep breath, pressing my trembling hands against the fabric of my dress. It wasn’t heavy or extravagant like the gowns I had dreamed of as a child. It was plain, simple—barely more than a white slip. Somehow, that made me feel even more exposed. Steeling myself, I stepped out of the room and into the garden. The moment I crossed the threshold, I felt the weight of dozens of eyes on me. My chest tightened. Were they happy for me? Or were they judging me? I couldn’t tell. I kept my eyes down, afraid to meet anyone’s gaze, but then they landed on Thea. She sat near the front, her lips curved into an amused grin. My stomach churned. She looked entertained—as if this entire ceremony were a joke, and I was the punchline. I swallowed hard and kept walking, forcing one foot in front of the other. My heart pounded against my ribs, loud enough to drown out the whispers I imagined circling around me. Halfway down the aisle, I stumbled. My ankle wobbled, and for a brief, horrifying moment, I thought I would fall. But I caught myself—barely. Heat crept up my neck as a few gasps rippled through the crowd. I didn’t dare look up. By the time I reached the edge of the aisle, my legs felt like jelly. Then I saw my uncle, and the tension in my chest loosened just a little. He stood waiting for me, his smile warm and proud. Out of everyone here, he was the only one who had ever shown me genuine kindness. The only one who ever made me feel safe. He reached out his hand, and I took it without hesitation. His fingers gave mine a reassuring squeeze as we stepped forward together. I kept my eyes on the grass beneath my feet, afraid to look up, afraid to see the face of the man I was about to marry. But when we reached the altar, I couldn’t avoid it any longer. I lifted my head. And there he was—my future husband. For a moment, my breath caught. He looked familiar. Too familiar. I studied his face, searching my memory for where I’d seen him before, but nothing came to mind. Maybe I was imagining it. Or maybe it was just nerves. His expression was unreadable, his sharp features betraying nothing of what he might be thinking. Was he pleased? Disappointed? Annoyed? I couldn’t tell. My uncle released my hand and stepped aside, leaving me standing there alone. I swallowed the lump in my throat as the priest began to speak, but all I could focus on was the man in front of me—the stranger who would soon be my husband. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of Miles Harrington and Daphne Winslow in holy matrimony,” the priest announced. So his name is Miles. I swallowed hard, my hands trembling as I clutched the bouquet. My eyes darted toward Miles. He looked composed—too composed—his expression unreadable. The priest turned to him first. “Miles Harrington, do you take Daphne Winslow to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love, honor, and cherish her for as long as you both shall live?” Miles’s gaze shifted to me, steady and unflinching. “I do.” The priest nodded and turned to me. “Daphne Winslow, do you take Miles Harrington to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love, honor, and cherish him for as long as you both shall live?” My throat tightened, but I managed to force the words out. “I do.” “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest declared. “You may kiss the bride.” I braced myself, hoping for even a flicker of connection. Instead, he blocked the cameras with his head, pretending to kiss me. My chest tightened as I realized that even from the start, this marriage felt as cold and hollow as the life I had been trying to leave behind. The crowd clapped as he backed away from me. He smiled at the crowd like he had kissed me for real. I smiled too, holding the expression just long enough for the cameras, but my eyes kept drifting to him, searching for answers he didn’t give. The ceremony ended, and the car arrived for us. My uncle hugged me goodbye, his arms warm and steady. My aunt and cousin didn’t even bother with a farewell. They were nowhere to be found. “Don’t worry about them. Call me if you need anything,” my uncle said when he noticed me looking for them. “I’ll miss you, Uncle,” I whispered, and he hugged me one last time. Miles took my hand then, and my uncle’s face softened at the gesture. I forced a faint smile. “Please take care of her,” my uncle said, but Miles didn’t answer. He just nodded before leading me to the car. The drive was silent. The house we arrived at was huge. Rows of maids lined up outside to greet us. I smiled weakly at them, but the moment the door closed behind us, he dropped my hand and turned to face me. His expression was cold, hard. “You aren’t my wife. You’re my grandfather’s wife.” My eyes widened. The air thickened around me. What?