Elena's POV
"You're making a terrible mistake."
I freeze with my hand on the church door. The wedding starts in ten minutes, and Sarah—my only bridesmaid—is staring at me with worry in her eyes.
"Sarah, not now—"
"When then? After you marry a man you've known for three weeks? Elena, this is insane!" She grabs my shoulders. "Something's wrong. I can feel it. He's too perfect, too rich, too interested in someone like—"
"Someone like me?" I pull away, hurt flashing through me. "You think I'm not good enough for him?"
"That's not what I meant." Sarah's voice softens. "You're too good for this world, Elena. These people—they're sharks. And you're swimming in the ocean wearing a meat suit."
"Dante loves me," I say, touching the ring on my finger like a talisman. "I know it's fast, but when you find the right person, you just know. Isn't that what everyone says?"
Sarah looks at me with something like pity. "Just promise me something. If anything feels wrong—anything at all—you'll call me. Promise."
"I promise." I hug her quickly. "But everything's going to be perfect. You'll see."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I push down the doubt.
The church is beautiful and freezing cold.
Not cold from the temperature—cold from the people. Dante's world has come to watch me marry their prince, and they look at me like I'm a stain on their expensive carpets.
Women in diamonds whisper behind their hands. Men in thousand-dollar suits smirk. Everyone seems to be in on a joke that I don't understand.
And standing in the front row, wearing a white dress to my wedding like some kind of statement, is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
Blonde hair. Perfect body. Eyes like green poison.
She stares at me with pure, undiluted hatred.
"Who is that?" I whisper to Sarah.
"Vivienne Ashford. Dante's... friend." Sarah's tone makes it clear she's more than a friend. "She expected to marry him. You can imagine how thrilled she is about you."
My stomach twists. Dante never mentioned an ex-girlfriend. Never mentioned that some beautiful socialite thought she had a claim on him.
But before I can worry about it more, the music starts.
I walk down the aisle alone—no father to give me away, no family to watch me marry. Just me in a beautiful dress that Dante bought because I couldn't afford a wedding gown.
Dante waits at the altar, and God, he's so handsome it hurts to look at him. His gray eyes lock on me, and for a moment, everything else disappears.
This is right. This is my fairy tale. Vivienne can glare all she wants—I'm the one Dante chose.
But when I reach the altar, Dante doesn't smile.
His face is cold and blank, like he's at a business meeting instead of his own wedding. When he takes my hand, his fingers are ice.
"You look beautiful," he says, and the words sound rehearsed.
"Are you okay?" I whisper.
"Fine. Let's begin."
The ceremony is quick and impersonal. The priest rushes through his words like he has somewhere else to be. Dante's grandfather—a terrifying old man with dead eyes—watches from the front row with a satisfied smirk.
When it's time for vows, Dante recites his like he's reading a grocery list. No emotion. No warmth. Just empty words about loving and honoring.
My heart starts to pound with anxiety. Something's wrong. This isn't how weddings are supposed to feel.
But I say my vows with my whole heart, meaning every word. "I promise to love you forever. Through everything. No matter what."
Dante's jaw tightens, but he doesn't meet my eyes.
"You may kiss the bride."
He kisses me, but it's cold and brief. Nothing like the passionate kisses from our dates. This feels like an obligation.
People clap politely. Vivienne looks like she wants to murder me. And Dante's grandfather stands up and walks over, examining me like I'm a horse he's considering buying.
"Good bone structure," he says, circling me slowly. "Wide hips. Good for bearing children."
I feel sick. "Excuse me?"
"You'll give my grandson strong sons," the old man continues, touching my arm like he's checking my quality. "That's your job now. Produce heirs. That's all you need to do."
"Grandfather," Dante says sharply. "That's enough."
But the damage is done. The old man's words echo in my head: That's all you need to do.
Like I'm not a person. Like I'm just a baby-making machine.
"Don't mind him," Dante says coldly. "He's old-fashioned."
But he doesn't apologize. Doesn't tell his grandfather he's wrong. Just moves us along to the reception like nothing happened.
The reception is worse.
People congratulate Dante but barely acknowledge me. Vivienne corners me by the champagne table, her smile sharp as knives.
"Enjoy it while it lasts," she purrs. "You're just the placeholder, sweetheart. The acceptable womb. When you've served your purpose, he'll toss you aside and come back to me. We both know you're not his type."
"Then why did he marry me?" I shoot back, trying to sound confident.
"Because you're disposable." She leans close, her perfume suffocating. "Girls like you don't get fairy tale endings with men like Dante. You get used and discarded. And I'll be there to pick up the pieces when he's done with you."
She walks away, leaving me shaking.
Sarah appears at my side. "What did that witch say to you?"
"Nothing. It's fine." But it's not fine. Nothing about today is fine.
Dante barely speaks to me during the reception. He makes the rounds, shaking hands with business associates, talking about deals and mergers. I'm his wife, but I feel invisible.
When we finally leave, I'm exhausted and confused and starting to doubt everything.
Dante drives us to his penthouse in silence. Our wedding night. The night I've been nervous and excited about for weeks.
But the man sitting next to me feels like a stranger.
"Dante," I say quietly. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No."
"Then why have you been so distant all day? It's our wedding. You barely looked at me."
"I had a lot on my mind."
"What's more important than our wedding?"
He pulls into the garage and finally looks at me, and his eyes are empty. "You need to understand something, Elena. This marriage is not what you think it is."
Ice floods my veins. "What do you mean?"
"You'll understand soon enough." He gets out of the car, leaving me sitting there in my wedding dress, fear crawling up my spine.
I follow him into the penthouse on shaking legs. The lights are off. The space feels cold and impersonal, nothing like the home I imagined building with him.
"Dante, you're scaring me. What's going on?"
He pours himself a drink, his back to me. "Take off your dress, Elena."
The words are harsh. Cold. Nothing like how he spoke to me during our courtship.
"I... what?"
He turns, and his face is a mask of ice. "We have a job to do tonight. You're ovulating, according to my doctor's report. This is the optimal time for conception."
My blood runs cold. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about why I married you." He sets down his glass and walks toward me, and suddenly he looks like a predator. "You're here to give me a child, Elena. An heir. That's your purpose."
"Stop it." My voice breaks. "This isn't funny."
"I'm not joking." He's right in front of me now, and the man I fell in love with is gone. In his place is a cold stranger. "Take off your dress. Let's get this over with."
Tears blur my vision. "Dante, please. Don't do this. I love you—"
"Love?" He laughs, and the sound is cruel. "You actually believed I loved you? Elena, I chose you because you were weak and disposable. Because getting you pregnant and divorcing you would be easy. Because no one would care when I threw you away."
The room spins. I can't breathe. This can't be real.
"No," I whisper. "You proposed. You said you loved me. You—"
"I lied." His gray eyes are empty. "All of it was a lie. Now stop wasting time and take off your dress."
My fairy tale dies right there in that cold penthouse.
And the nightmare is just beginning.