Page 7

The alarm clock perched on the bedside table wouldn’t shut up. I'd snoozed the damn thing three times already, but it kept buzzing after every five minutes.

My eyes fluttered open, awakened not only by the alarm clock but also by the cacophony of sounds emanating from the bustling household. I clenched my jaw, seething silently at the clinking of dishes and the murmur of muffled conversations outside my door that blended together to create a chaotic symphony.

I groaned, frustrated by the unnecessary noise that plagued me with a dull headache. Couldn't a girl just sleep in peace in this house anymore?

Mom's voice boomed across the hallway, instructing the maids to make sure everything was in place. “It's my daughter's big day, and I want nothing but perfection.”

My eyes widened at the realization of what day it was, and my heart skipped a beat. “Oh, God!” I grumbled, slapping a pillow against my face, my hand slamming the mattress. “I wish I didn't wake up this morning,” I mumbled, rolling over to the other side of the bed.

The morning sun’s rays streaming through the window were like a slap to my face, mocking my dark mood. I hugged my pillow, squeezing my eyes shut as if trying to force myself back to sleep, but it was no use.

This was it. This was the day my family would offer me as a living sacrifice on an altar to a man I barely knew—a man I'd grown to despise. My heart was beating like a drum, and I gritted my teeth in an attempt to fight and resist the urge to cry.

Crying wouldn't change anything, and frankly speaking, no one would give a shit about my tears. So, why waste them? This day was bound to come sooner or later, but despite all of my preparations, I still wasn't ready for it. I'd give anything right now just so this union wouldn't take place. However, I knew better.

Besides, Erik and I had decided on a plan.

I reopened my eyes, squinting them ever so slightly, hoping that he wouldn't double-cross me in the end. I couldn't trust him, but I didn't have a choice. The deal was to stay married for two years before going our separate ways; however, two years was a long time. A lot would happen within that period—good and bad. Was I ready for it?

The more I thought about it, the more my head hurt. Crying over spilled milk was pointless, and there was nothing I could do at this stage to make a difference. I would have to come to terms with my new reality and accept my fate if I wanted to get through this in one piece.

I exhaled sharply and let go of the pillow, throwing off the covers as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I lowered my head, my face cupped in my palms while my feet dangled in the air.

As I hopped off the bed, I yawned, rubbing my eyes and gliding across the room, my tangled hair framing my face. Mom's voice outside drew closer, her instructions louder and clearer.

The door burst open, and she strolled inside. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she trilled, her head facing the tablet in her hand as she flitted around the room. “I've instructed the staff to set up the—oh, my God, you look like shit!” The slight pause came when she raised her head and finally set eyes on me.

“Well, thanks, Mom.” My lips curled into a plastic smile.

“Are you still sulking about the whole situation? Come off it, darling. It's not as bad as you think.” The words burst out of her in a rush, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“That's encouraging,” I whispered to myself, taking my eyes off her.

She let out a sharp exhale and lowered her tablet, her shoulders slumping slightly. Mom stepped closer, a sympathetic smile playing on her lips. “I know this is hard for you,” she began, her tone mild and somewhat soothing. “But trust me, it might not be as bad as you think.” Her palm rested on my cheek, her fingers brushing off the strands of hair that concealed my face.

“What if it is?” I asked, looking into her eyes, hoping to at least hear something to help me carry on.

But what did Mom say? She replied with a question, leaving me hanging and confused.

“What if it isn't?” She shrugged and patted my shoulders, brushing off my distress. “Chop, chop. You don't want to be late for your own wedding, do you?” She smiled at me and rushed out of the room. “That dress isn't going to wear itself.” She pointed to my wedding gown before closing the door behind her.

“Perfect pep talk. Just what I needed.”

The sarcasm in my grumble couldn't be any more glaring.

My gaze drifted to the ivory wedding gown hanging on the dress form nearby. It was a beautiful piece of clothing that cost a fortune, intricately beaded and embroidered. However, all it was to me was a shroud, a symbol of the life I was being forced to lead.

The house was bustling with preparations for the big event, and everyone else was happy—everyone but me. All of this was happening without my input or consent, and that hurt. I was just a pawn in a much larger game.

Ironic how, overnight, I'd become such a big deal, an important tool that my family couldn't do without. For the longest time, all I wanted was attention from those I called family. All I wanted was to matter, to fit in. And now I did. But not in the way that I'd hoped.

This whole situation felt so heavy—less like a dream and more like a weight pressing down on my chest.

I sat at my vanity, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes looked sunken, my skin pale, and I smoothed my hair backward, a soft sigh escaping my lips.

A gentle knock on my door caught my attention, and my eyes drifted to the door's reflection in the mirror. “It's open!”

Liam, dressed in an ash-colored robe, waltzed into the room. His gaze met mine in the mirror. “Morning, sis,” he greeted me, a smile perched on his lips.

“If you're here to give a speech about how my sacrifice is for the greater good, save it,” I said, a hint of warning creeping into my tone.

He chuckled, stepping closer, his feet almost soundless against the floor. “Actually, that's not why I'm here,” Liam said, halting behind me. His lips retained their charming smile.

“It's not?” I squinted, swiveling around to face him, my head slightly tilted to the side.

He shook his head, his gaze locked to mine. “I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of you.”

Wait, what?

My brows arched at his words, his confession melting my heart. I wasn't expecting that at all, and now I was dumbfounded.

“You're just as good as I am in more ways than one, just as important,” he continued, his voice dripping with sincerity. “And Dad may not tell you this, but he knows it to be true.”

I blinked rapidly, resisting the urge to shed tears. His words had touched my very soul, and I stared into his eyes as if searching for any sign of insincerity. However, to my surprise, I didn't find any.

“Why are you telling me this now?” I asked, my throat wobbling as I swallowed.

“Because it's the truth and because I know how much you hate this,” he replied.

“You're right, Liam. I do hate it. I hate it so much,” I answered, my voice cracking, struggling against indignation. “For the sake of the family, I have to give up my own dreams. My future will suffer because I'm trying to do the right—is this even the right thing?” The words tumbled out of me in a rush.

“I know it's hard,” he said calmly, taking a step forward. “But I also know that you're stronger than you think.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, his smile broadening. “You've got this, Tess. I believe in you.”

This was surprisingly comforting and quite encouraging, unlike Mom's half-empty words.

My lips pursed as I tried to suppress the smile threatening to break out.

He beamed at me and withdrew, his finger pointing at the dress. “Can't wait to see you in that.”

I watched him dematerialize, and my chest heaved, a heavy sigh coming forth.

*****

The venue, a grand estate garden—chosen as a neutral ground for the ceremony—was alive with the soft of conversations. The sweet scent of blooming flowers wafted through the air, blending with the aroma of champagne.

Perfectly manicured lawns and towering trees provided a picturesque backdrop for the serene occasion. Our guests, powerful figures from both families, all dressed to impress, sat in their seats, their expensive fabrics rustling in the cool breeze.

The iconic “Wedding March” played in the background as I walked down the aisle, my elbow locked with my father's. My heels clicked on the stone path, each step heavier than the last as we approached the altar. I felt like I was pulled toward a fate I couldn't escape from, and that alone quickened my pulse.

I could feel the gazes lingering on me and could hear the murmured admiration rising from the crowd. But that was the least of my concerns. They weren't the ones being offered to the devil himself.

My wedding dress flowed out at my feet, hugging me in the right places and accentuating my curves. My hair was styled into a perfect bun on top of my head, and my light makeup, together with my skin, glistened in the sunlight filtering through the trees.

At the altar, Erik stood tall, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit. The delicate fabrics highlighted his imposing frame and masculine form. His dark eyes met with mine, and in a fleeting moment, he held my gaze. The intensity of his stare stole my breath, and my heart resumed pounding in my chest.

His expression was blank and unreadable, accentuating my concern. Yet, he had me glued to him, unable to look away.

Dad led me to the altar, where he left me to my fate, giving me away like a lamb to be slaughtered. I stood beside Erik, the priest's voice droning on as he commenced the ceremony.

Oh, my God, this is really happening, I thought to myself, my heart pounding and my chest heaving slowly. This was it. This was the moment I got bound to Erik Tarasov for life…or two years, in our case.

No one else knew of our plan, though, and at this moment, all I could do was hope that it would all play out well in the end. And in my favor.

Everything happened so fast, and the ceremony was a whirlwind of formalities. Our vows were exchanged quickly and efficiently. While speaking my lines, my voice trembled subtly under the weight of the situation.

However, when it was his turn, his voice was stern, firm, and resolute. I felt a shiver run down my spine as he slid the ring onto my finger, his lips curling into a self–satisfied smirk.

Then came the moment of truth.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest said, his voice piercing through my thoughts.

I steeled myself, my breath hitched in my throat as I watched Erik's eyes drop to my lips. He leaned closer, my heart racing with anticipation. My palms were sweaty, and my pulse was going haywire, making it almost impossible to breathe.

Erik did the unexpected. Why? I wasn't so sure.

He edged closer, but instead of claiming my lips, he settled for my forehead, his mouth against my skin. The tender act sent a spark of electricity surging through my body, and I felt a flutter in my chest.

As he pulled back and held my gaze, a fraction of my reservations dissipated into thin air. I stared into his dark eyes, and for a fleeting moment, I felt something weird, something…peaceful.

Did I like the feeling of his lips on my skin? Maybe, maybe not. But one thing was certain: His kiss had awakened something inside me.

I maintained a plastic smile as we stood before our cheering guests, the air thick with a heavy round of applause.

Erik mingled with the crowd, moving with ease across the sea of guests, a faint grin plastered on his face. His calm demeanor and charisma drew people's attention and admiration.

While he was doing all of that, I just stood there at the altar, almost completely detached from the ceremony. I just wanted the day to come to an end so I could get away from all of these people.

The plastic smile on my face was starting to wear off, and God knew I didn't have what it took to renew it. Not in this present state of mind, anyway.

Mom and Dad seemed happy, smiling widely and shaking the guests with firm grips. Of course, they were happy—the family was out of danger, and the business was safe. What more did they have to worry about?

“Shall we?” Erik materialized out of the blue, his hand extending toward me. “It's time to go home.”

By “home,” he meant his place, not my father's. Honestly, it would take some getting used to before this would stick in my skull.

I drew a deep breath and took his hand, ready to leave. I was in desperate need of an escape from this place anyway.

Together, hand in hand, we walked through a chorus of congratulations and well-wishes. We smiled and waved as the crowd watched our every move.

Outside, a sleek black car awaited us, and the closer we drew to it, the more my heart raced like a galloping horse. The back door was open, waiting for our entry.

I stopped for a moment, heaving a sigh, knowing this was it—there was no turning back now. I managed to pull myself together; wearing a mask of confidence and composure, I slid into the car. The cabin welcomed me with its warmth as I sat beside my husband, avoiding his eyes.

His gaze lingered, and I could feel it, but I had to maintain my composure.

I couldn't believe I was a Tarasov now. How poetic!