ELENA'S POV
THE WEDDING DAY
The corset was too tight.
Or maybe it was the anxiety clawing up my spine that made it hard to breathe. Either way, I sat stiffly as hands tugged and pulled at fabric, brushed powders across my skin, and pinned strands of hair into something elegant and far removed from the girl I was hours ago.
I didn't speak. Not that anyone asked me to.
I could still feel her fingers-Clarssie's-on my skin. My shoulder ached where she'd shoved me into the wall the night before. My ribs throbbed beneath the bodice. All for dropping a porcelain tray. All for existing. All for being me.
I stared blankly into the vanity mirror as someone adjusted the veil behind me.
I didn't recognize the girl staring back.
Porcelain skin, carefully concealed bruises, lips tinted a soft rose. Lashes are long and curled. Eyes-too hollow to carry light. My hair was twisted into an intricate bun, loose strands framing my face like I was some ethereal painting instead of a broken doll.
"You look like a dream," one of the stylists said behind me.
No. I looked like a lie.
The gown... God, the gown.
It was exquisite. Hand-beaded lace trailing across the silk bodice, fitted tight around my torso and flaring into layers of sheer tulle below the waist. A delicate silver embroidery curled along the hem like vines from a cursed garden. The veil matched, whispering over my shoulders like ghost-silk.
I should've felt beautiful.
But all I felt was... numb.
I wondered, would I still be here if Mother hadn't died? Would Father still look through me like I was invisible if she were alive?
Or would I be someone else? Someone seen?
Instead, I was the girl hidden in shadows. The mistake they dressed up to send away.
The stylists chattered around me, praising the dress, the designer, the venue-some grand cathedral in the heart of the city I'd never even set foot inside. I was the bride they never expected to display, and yet here I was... on sale to the highest bidder dressed in white.
A sick joke.
I clutched the armrest of the velvet chair beneath me as the final touches were placed.
And still... no one asked if I wanted this.
They only told me to smile.
To walk.
To obey.
Would he be worse? The man I was marrying? Would he look at me like Father did? Would he raise his voice? His hand?
Or would he not look at me at all?
I took a breath and held it, feeling the corset press tighter against my bruised ribs.
Maybe this was it.
Maybe I was meant to fade out this way... in diamonds and silence.
The door creaked open, and a housemaid stepped in softly, whispering that the cars had arrived.
I stood on trembling legs, the veil falling into place.
And as they handed me the bouquet, a bitter thought whispered in the corner of my mind:
This is the most beautiful cage I've ever worn.
I barely had time to breathe.
The bouquet was shaking slightly in my grip-not from nerves, but from something colder. The kind of chill that settles deep in your bones when you know... something's about to change forever.
The door creaked open again.
Them.
Clarssie's heels clicked against the marble floor like tiny threats. She didn't even pretend to be gentle with her presence. Seraphina followed behind, her designer dress painted onto her perfect frame, lips curled in amusement, like this day was hers to enjoy.
They didn't look at me with affection.
They never had.
Clarssie's eyes scanned me slowly, like she was assessing a product before shipping it off. "Hm. At least you look decent today. Try not to ruin it by crying, will you?" She sneered.
Seraphina chuckled, leaning casually against the dresser, arms folded. "Oh, don't worry. I'm sure she's already cried enough for a lifetime."
I kept my head low. It was easier that way. Easier not to react. Easier to pretend I wasn't shaking inside.
"Such a pity you won't get to say your vows in a casket," Clarssie sighed dramatically, stepping closer. "Though, who knows? Maybe soon enough."
My eyes darted up. Her smile was cold.
"You do know who you're marrying, right?" she asked sweetly, her voice like poisoned honey. "Sebastian Blake. The Blakes don't just own companies, Elena. They own power. And when someone crosses them... well."
Seraphina giggled. "They disappear."
My mouth went dry.
"They say Sebastian once shot a man for interrupting him in a meeting," Clarssie continued, brushing imaginary lint from my shoulder. "Right in the kneecap. Then the head. He smiled after."
"You'll make such a lovely ornament on his arm, though," Seraphina added, circling me like a vulture. "Pretty. Quiet. Disposable."
I swallowed, heart pounding too hard beneath the corset.
"Oh, and Elena?" Clarssie leaned in, whispering near my ear. "If you embarrass this family today... I swear, bruises will be the least of your problems."
I closed my eyes. I had no tears left to shed.
They left like ghosts-laughing, cruel, and victorious.
And for a moment, I wished the veil covering my face could cover my soul too.
