Chapter 2
922 Words
“I’m ready,” Maria said.
The words slipped from her lips like shards of glass — smooth on the surface, but cutting deep beneath. Her tone carried the arrogance of someone pretending not to be afraid, yet the tremor in her hands betrayed her.
Mr. Maja looked at her for a long time, his shoulders sagging with relief. His lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came. Perhaps he wanted to thank her — or apologize — but the weight of what he’d done sealed his mouth shut.
Maria turned away before his regret could reach her.
Her mother stood near the doorway, her fingers nervously adjusting the black veil that framed Maria’s face. “You look… stunning,” she whispered, though her eyes glistened with sorrow.
The words meant nothing. Maria didn’t want to be stunning; she wanted to be free.
A sleek black limousine waited outside— the kind that gleamed like liquid glass under the fading light. Its windows reflected everything except the sky, as though even heaven refused to look down on what was about to happen.
Maria stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the stone. Her mother followed closely behind, clutching the edge of her gown as though afraid her daughter might disappear before reaching the car.
When they slid inside, the air was cold and smelled faintly of leather and perfume. Maria sat rigid, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the tinted glass.
“Mum,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite her best effort to sound strong. “Do you think he’ll treat me like his most prized possession?”
Her mother didn’t answer. She only looked out the window, her gaze fixed on the horizon. The silence said everything.
Maria leaned back, letting the hum of the engine fill the void. Outside, the city blurred by — glass towers and neon signs glowing in twilight. Each passing moment carried her further away from the girl she had been.
When the car stopped, the door opened before the driver could even move. James Raymond stood there — tall, composed, unbothered by the stares that followed him everywhere. His presence carried an aura of quiet authority; people moved aside without him saying a word.
He extended a hand, his eyes fixed on Maria. “Shall we?”
Maria hesitated. The air around him was colder somehow, heavier. He wasn’t smiling — not really — but there was something about the curve of his lips that suggested control disguised as charm.
Before she could refuse, he leaned forward and lifted her effortlessly, his hands steady against her waist. Gasps rippled from the onlookers, and camera flashes erupted.
To them, it was romantic — a billionaire carrying his bride to the altar.
To Maria, it felt like surrender.
Her heart pounded wildly against her ribs. His grip was firm, possessive, as though she might vanish if he didn’t hold tight enough.
The church bells rang.
Their deep, mournful sound echoed through the courtyard and across the estate, bouncing off the marble and disappearing into the dusk. Each toll struck her like a countdown — not to a beginning, but to the end of her freedom.
The black gown moved like liquid shadow as she walked, shimmering under the last rays of sunlight. The lace glimmered with faint silver embroidery, catching the light with every hesitant step.
The crowd fell silent. Whispered voices followed her down the path.
“Black? Is that a joke?”
“She’s defying tradition.”
“Maybe she was forced.”
At the church doors, James offered his arm. She hesitated, then took it — because what choice did she have?
Inside, the air was thick with incense and old secrets. Candles flickered in tall golden holders, their flames trembling in the faint draft. Stained-glass windows bathed the marble floor in crimson and sapphire light, colors that shimmered across Maria’s gown like bruises.
The priest stood waiting at the altar, an aging man with solemn eyes and a smile that didn’t quite reach them. His hands rested on the open Bible, as though steadying himself for what he knew wasn’t love, but transaction.
Maria’s footsteps echoed as she walked down the aisle, each one landing like a heartbeat in an empty chest.
James walked beside her, his presence commanding, his hand grazing hers occasionally — a silent reminder of ownership. He didn’t need to speak; his silence was dominance enough.
When they reached the altar, Maria’s eyes lifted toward the crowd. So many faces — some curious, some pitying, some judgmental. Every glance pressed against her skin, suffocating her.
Her father stood in the front row, avoiding her gaze. Her mother clutched a handkerchief, dabbing at tears smit were for guilhe would never adt.
Maria swallowed hard. She whispered to herself — so softly even the candles couldn’t hear —
“If they think I’ll bend, they’re wrong.”
The priest cleared his throat.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”
Her gaze darted toward the back of the church.
There, in the shadows between two towering columns, stood a figure — still and silent. Cloaked in dark fabric that seemed to swallow the light, their face was hidden beneath a hood.
Her lips parted in a quiet gasp. No one else seemed to notice.
Not the priest. Not the guests. Not even James.
Only her.
And as the words “Do you take this man…” began to echo, Maria’s breath caught in her chest.
- Writer
