I should have felt like a princess tonight. Every girl dreams of the sparkling lights, the champagne bubbles, the slow murmur of voices chanting her name as she stands beside a man who could buy the world twice over.
Instead, I felt like a prisoner dressed in silk and still smiling regardless of everything.
Alexander King stood beside me, jaw tight, gaze forward as if the guests didn't exist. His hand rested on mine only because the photographers demanded it. His grip was firm, almost commanding, but there was no warmth. He didn't look at me, not once, not even when people toasted us, not when his mother whispered blessings in my ear, not when the cameras flashed so bright I thought I'd go blind.
I smiled because I had to. I played the perfect fiancée because my father's company was bleeding and this was the price of its survival.
But deep inside, my heart whispered rebellions.
"Congratulations," an older businessman said, shaking Alexander's hand. "The perfect match. A King and a Hart. Who could have imagined?"
Alexander finally turned toward me then, his lips curving, not in affection, but in mockery. "Yes. Perfect." His voice was smooth enough to fool the crowd, but I heard the edge only meant for me.
Our eyes locked. For a moment, it was just us, the masks stripped away. His gaze was sharp, questioning, almost daring me to protest. I didn't. I couldn't. My silence was the only power I had left.
After the speeches, the music began, and we were forced onto the dance floor. His hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer than we had ever been. The crowd sighed at the picture we painted, two flawless heirs, bound together under crystal chandeliers.
"Smile wider," he whispered, his breath brushing my ear. "People are watching."
I bit back a retort and forced my lips into another practiced curve. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them before he smirked. "I'm the one saving your father's empire, sweetheart. You should be thanking me."
"Saving or buying?" I shot back, voice low enough not to carry.
For the first time that night, his grip on my waist softened. A shadow crossed his features, quickly hidden, but I saw it. There was more to Alexander King than arrogance and control, and that flicker of vulnerability made my chest tighten unexpectedly.
But then, as quickly as it came, it vanished. His mask returned, perfect and unshakable.
"Careful, Elena," he said smoothly. "In this game, the moment you forget your role, you lose."
When the music ended, the applause rose. I stepped back, breathless, my chest heaving not from the dance but from the storm building inside me. Everyone around us saw only glamour and power. No one saw the shackles tightening on my wrists.
That night, when the party ended and the guests left, Alexander and I stood at the grand doors of the ballroom, our smiles still plastered on for the world. But as soon as the last light dimmed, his hand dropped from mine, and the silence between us was louder than the orchestra had ever been.
"Get used to it, Elena," he said quietly, almost too softly for me to hear. "From now on, you belong to me."
My heart stuttered. I should have felt hatred. I should have drowned in resentment. But instead, there was something far more dangerous—something that felt like the beginning of a war I wasn't sure I wanted to win.