The wedding was held in the Blackthorn family's private chapel, nestled at the edge of a cliff in upstate New York. From the outside, it looked like something out of a gothic novel—tall stained-glass windows, cold stone walls, and a silence so heavy it pressed on Kara's lungs.
Inside, it felt colder.
No guests.
No flowers.
Just a contract, a priest paid to keep his mouth shut, and a man she was beginning to think didn't have a soul.
Kara stood in a satin gown that wasn't hers, in heels that hurt, beside a man who hadn't said a single word to her since they arrived. Xavier Blackthorn looked like a fallen god in black. Impeccable. Untouchable.
And utterly uninterested.
The priest began speaking, but the words blurred. Kara could only hear her own heartbeat.
"Do you, Xavier Blackthorn, take this woman"
"I do." His voice was ice.
The priest turned to her.
"And do you, Kara Martins, take this man"
"I do." Her voice barely carried. But she said it. For her brother. For her mother. For the life this contract promised to save.
"You may kiss the bride," the priest said awkwardly.
Xavier didn't kiss her. He handed her a pen instead.
The contract.
Twelve months. No love. No children. No betrayal. If she broke the rules, she lost everything. If he broke them, he lost nothing.
She signed. So did he.
The priest left in silence. The driver waited outside.
And they were alone.
Xavier looked at her. Finally.
"You'll sleep in the guest wing," he said. "Your staff will be assigned in the morning."
"I'm your wife," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Shouldn't we at least"
"This is not a real marriage."
Kara clenched her fists. "Then why go through all this trouble?"
He walked to the window, staring at the endless black of the Hudson River.
"Because image matters. Because family names matter. And because some things are easier to control from the inside."
She stepped closer. "Then let me be inside. Don't shut me out."
He turned. For the first time, his face softened but only for a second.
"Be careful what you wish for, Kara. The things I keep behind closed doors are not things you want to see."
She didn't reply. She couldn't. Her throat felt tight.
"Good night," he said. And walked out.
That night, Kara lay in a bed too big, in a room too quiet, and told herself she didn't care.
But when she closed her eyes, all she could think of was how a vow could feel like a prison.
And how cold a wedding night could truly be.