Laurel:
"I was marrying the man I hated most in this world… and I was smiling."
At least, that's what the mirror said.
But my smile? It wasn't joy. It was armor.
The wedding dress clung to me like a shackle, its lace and satin suffocating under the weight of what it represented. To anyone else, I was the radiant bride-to-be of billionaire Aaron Vance — the dream man every society girl wanted. But the truth? This wasn't love. This wasn't fate.
This was war.
I fixed a stubborn strand of hair behind my ear, my reflection's eyes hard and unblinking. The plan was simple: marry him, sign the papers, get my father out of custody, and start the slow, delicious process of taking back everything Aaron had stolen.
And God, he had stolen everything.
The memory was sharp enough to taste — the night they dragged my father away in handcuffs, the headlines screaming about Sinclair fraud, the way Aaron Vance stood in the shadows with a look that said checkmate. He'd ruined Sinclair Estates with one carefully executed move, and he hadn't even flinched.
Not yet.
The door opened without a knock, without so much as the courtesy of hesitation. Of course. Only one man would be that arrogant.
Aaron Vance filled the doorway like he owned the air I breathed — tall, broad-shouldered, every inch of him polished in a black tailored suit. He didn't look at me, not directly. And I didn't look at him. We stood like reflections turned away from each other, his deep voice slicing through the quiet.
"Walk down the aisle. Sign the marriage papers. And your father walks free." His tone was smooth but lined with something darker. "It's a shame, isn't it? Someone's father missing the most important day of his daughter's life. That hurts, doesn't it, Laurel Sinclair?" He paused, a cruel flicker of amusement in his voice. "Or should I say… Mrs. Laurel Vance?"
I didn't flinch. I wouldn't give him that. I kept my gaze locked on the mirror, my voice steady.
"You'd better keep your word, Mr. Vance. I think you care for your reputation enough not to destroy it in front of your precious guests. Play smart — consider that a friendly suggestion."
For a split second, something unreadable flickered across his face. Then he laughed — low, humorless — and left without another word.
I let out the breath I'd been holding. The game had begun.
Aaron:
She thought she could threaten me.
It was almost adorable.
Laurel Sinclair — soon to be Laurel Vance — didn't realize she wasn't just marrying me. She was signing a contract with the devil, and I intended to make her remember it every day.
She walked down the aisle moments later, her steps measured, her chin high. To anyone watching, she was the picture of grace. But I saw it — the flicker in her eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly against the silk bouquet. She was holding herself together by sheer force of will.
Good.
I didn't look at her for long. I didn't need to. This was business. She was leverage, a pawn in a far larger game.
Laurel:
The marriage certificate slid across the table like a final nail in a coffin. My hands shook as I reached for the pen, but not from fear. From rage.
Aaron didn't even glance at me. To him, this wasn't a vow — it was an acquisition.
If he thought marrying me meant he'd won, he was dead wrong.
I was reading the legal clauses when he leaned forward, his voice dropping low enough that only I could hear.
"Enjoy the vows, Laurel. They're the prettiest words you'll hear from me… until I destroy your family."
His smirk was a knife. I wanted to drive it back into his chest.
Just then, someone brought in my bouquet — pure white roses. My fingers curled around them, but my eyes caught on the slip of paper tucked between the petals.
Don't trust your husband.
My blood ran cold.
Who would send that? And why now?
Aaron:
I saw her fingers tense around the flowers, saw the faint flicker of confusion in her gaze. She hid it quickly, but I noticed. I noticed everything.
She signed. I signed. The priest began the closing words, and the room leaned forward to watch two powerful families unite.
And then—
Laurel:
"…I now pronounce you—"
The doors slammed open.
I turned, my breath freezing in my lungs.
Standing there, framed in the light, was someone I'd buried in my memory. Someone I thought was dead.
And if she was here… nothing about this day — or this marriage — would ever be the same.