Vows of Convenience
616 Words
The morning of the wedding dawned cold and gray, a mirror of the heaviness pressing against Eliana’s chest.
She stared at her reflection in the gilded mirror of the bridal suite, barely recognizing the woman staring back.
The dress Damon’s assistant had selected for her was stunning — a sleek white silk gown that clung to her curves and whispered elegance with every movement. But it wasn’t hers. None of this was hers.
Not the gown.
Not the future.
Not the man waiting at the end of the aisle.
Her fingers fumbled with the delicate veil as a soft knock came at the door.
“Come in,” she called, her voice hollow.
Lillian, Damon’s personal assistant, stepped in, her expression professional but kind.
“It’s time, Miss Carter,” she said.
“Mrs. Blackwood,” Eliana corrected bitterly, the name tasting foreign on her tongue.
Lillian hesitated, sympathy flickering in her eyes before she quickly masked it. “You look beautiful.”
Eliana managed a tight smile. Beauty didn’t matter when your heart was locked away, untouchable even to yourself.
Taking a deep breath, she followed Lillian down the long marble hallway toward the private chapel.
There were no guests. No flowers. No laughter.
Only cold grandeur and the weight of obligation.
As the heavy double doors swung open, Eliana’s heart stumbled.
There he was.
Damon Blackwood stood at the altar, dark and devastating in a tailored black suit. His expression was unreadable, a marble statue carved to perfection but utterly devoid of warmth.
Their eyes met — a clash of fire and ice — and for a moment, Eliana thought she saw a flicker of something beneath his cold exterior.
Regret?
Loneliness?
It didn’t matter.
The officiant, an older man with a stern face, began the ceremony with no fanfare.
Words washed over Eliana like a distant tide: love, honor, cherish — meaningless in a marriage built on convenience.
“Do you, Damon Alexander Blackwood, take Eliana Grace Carter to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Damon’s voice was a razor-sharp promise. “I do.”
“And do you, Eliana Grace Carter, take Damon Alexander Blackwood to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
For a heartbeat, she froze.
This was it — the moment her life split into a before and after.
She thought of her mother, her brother, the life she was protecting.
She thought of her father’s broken promises, the debts he left behind.
And she thought of Damon — the cold man who had offered her a gilded cage.
“I do,” she whispered.
The officiant nodded. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Eliana stiffened. She hadn’t thought this far ahead.
Damon stepped forward, his movements smooth and deliberate. His hand brushed her cheek — a touch that sent a shiver down her spine — and he leaned in.
Their lips met in a kiss that was anything but romantic.
It was a transaction.
A sealing of fates.
The room erupted in polite applause from a handful of staff who had been gathered to witness the union.
Eliana barely heard them. Her pulse roared in her ears.
Damon pulled back, his hand sliding to the small of her back, guiding her forward like a possession newly acquired.
“Smile,” he murmured into her ear, his breath brushing her skin.
“For the cameras.”
Sure enough, a photographer snapped photos of their first moments as husband and wife.
Smiling through the ache in her chest, Eliana clung to the image she projected — the dutiful bride, the perfect acquisition.
But inside, her soul screamed.
- Writer
