THE BRIDE HE NEVER WANTED

ELENA

The car ride felt like driving toward my own funeral.

The driver didn't speak. He just drove through the city in silence while I sat in the back, trying not to throw up. The wedding dress rustled every time I moved, reminding me that this was actually happening.

I was really doing this.

My phone buzzed. Victor's number flashed on the screen-except it wasn't my phone anymore. It was Sophia's. I'd left mine in my car on that bridge, along with everything else from my old life.

I turned the phone face-down and watched the city disappear behind us as we climbed into the hills.

The estate appeared after about thirty minutes of winding roads. It wasn't a church. It was a massive stone mansion that looked like it had been airlifted from Italy. Manicured gardens stretched in every direction, and people in expensive clothes clustered near the entrance, their voices carrying on the morning breeze.

This wasn't a wedding. This was a statement.

"We've arrived, Miss Laurent," the driver said.

I couldn't move. My body had apparently decided that staying in this car forever was a better option than getting out.

"Miss Laurent?" The driver's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.

Right. I was Miss Laurent now. Elena Morrison didn't exist anymore.

I took a breath and opened the door.

Every eye turned toward me. A dozen conversations stopped mid-sentence as I stepped out of the car. I felt them assessing me, judging every detail from my dress to my hair to the way I held myself.

Show nothing, I reminded myself. Sophia had drilled it into me all night. In her world, emotion was weakness.

A woman in her fifties approached, her smile sharp. "Sophia, darling. You look absolutely radiant."

I had no idea who she was. My brain scrambled through everything I'd memorized. Dark hair going grey, expensive jewelry, sharp features-

"Aunt Margot," I said, praying I was right. "Thank you for coming."

Her smile widened slightly. "Of course, dear. Though I must say, you seem remarkably calm. Most brides are basket cases by now."

"I've had months to prepare," I said, keeping my voice steady.

"Mm. Yes, I suppose you have." Her eyes were calculating, searching for something. "Your father's waiting inside. He wants to see you before the ceremony."

My stomach dropped. Sophia's father. The man who knew his daughter better than anyone. If anyone was going to see through me, it would be him.

"Of course," I said. "Lead the way."

She escorted me through marble hallways lined with what were probably priceless paintings. Everything in this place screamed money. Old money. The kind that came with expectations and traditions and arranged marriages.

Margot stopped at a heavy wooden door and knocked twice. "Your bride, Henri."

She pushed it open and I walked in.

Henri Laurent stood by the window, backlit by morning sun. He was exactly what I'd expected from Sophia's description-silver hair, expensive suit, the kind of posture that came from a lifetime of looking down at people.

He turned, and his eyes locked onto mine.

I stopped breathing. He was studying me like I was a painting he was considering buying. Every detail. Every flaw.

He knew. He had to know. There was no way I could fool this man.

"Leave us," he said to Margot.

The door closed with a soft click.

We stood in silence. Henri walked to the bar and poured two glasses of scotch. He handed me one without asking if I wanted it.

"Drink," he said.

I drank. The scotch burned going down.

Henri sipped his own drink, still watching me. "You're nervous."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "Yes."

"Good. You should be." He set down his glass. "Do you understand what today means, Sophia? What this marriage represents?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"This alliance secures our family's future. Dante Castellano may be new money, but he's powerful. And power is the only thing that matters in our world." He stepped closer. "I know you didn't want this. I know you think I'm cruel for forcing you into it. But one day, you'll understand that personal happiness is a luxury we can't afford."

The irony hit me hard. He was giving this speech about sacrifice to a woman who wasn't even his daughter. To a stranger who'd taken Sophia's place so she could escape him.

"I understand," I said quietly.

He seemed satisfied. "Good. Now finish your drink. The ceremony starts in twenty minutes."

I downed the rest of the scotch, grateful for the burn. It gave me something to focus on besides my racing heart.

Henri offered his arm. "Ready?"

No. Absolutely not. This was insane and I should run right now.

"Yes," I said, and took his arm.

We walked down a corridor lined with portraits of stern-looking people who were probably Sophia's ancestors. Through open doors, I glimpsed the ceremony space-rows of chairs filled with guests, flowers everywhere, and at the front, an altar draped in white fabric.

And standing at that altar was Dante Castellano.

My breath caught.

The photo hadn't done him justice. He was tall-well over six feet-with broad shoulders that filled out his black suit perfectly. Dark hair, styled but not overly so. And that scar on his jaw, a pale line that somehow made him more intimidating instead of less.

But it was his stillness that got me. He stood there completely motionless, hands clasped in front of him, face showing absolutely nothing. Like he was carved from stone.

Music started. Classical and dramatic.

"That's our cue," Henri murmured.

The doors opened wide.

Every head in the room turned to look at me.

I gripped Henri's arm tighter and started walking. Each step felt impossible. The aisle stretched forever, and at the end of it stood a man who would destroy me if he knew the truth.

Halfway down the aisle, Dante's eyes locked onto mine through the veil.

I stumbled slightly. Henri's hand tightened on my arm, steadying me.

Dante's head tilted just a fraction. Like he'd noticed. Like he was already filing away details that didn't fit.

We reached the altar. Henri placed my hand in Dante's and stepped back.

Dante's hand was warm. His grip was firm but not crushing. He looked down at me through the veil, and even though I couldn't see his eyes clearly, I felt the weight of his attention. The intensity of it.

Like he was trying to see through the fabric. Through the lies. Straight down to the truth.

"Dearly beloved," the officiant began.

I barely heard the words. My entire focus was on Dante, on his hand holding mine, on the way his thumb brushed once across my knuckles. Was that a warning? A test?

"The couple has chosen to exchange personal vows," the officiant said.

My heart stopped. Sophia hadn't mentioned vows. What was I supposed to say?

Dante spoke first, his voice deep and controlled. "Sophia Laurent. I vow to protect you and provide for you. To honor the alliance between our families. You will want for nothing, as long as you remain loyal."

As long as I remained loyal. The threat was barely hidden.

Everyone was looking at me now. Waiting.

I swallowed hard. "Dante Castellano. I vow to stand beside you and honor our agreement. To fulfill my role in this union."

Short. Vague. The best I could manage without knowing what Sophia would have said.

Dante's hand tightened on mine for just a second. His head tilted again, that same analytical movement.

He knew something was off. I could feel it.

"You may now kiss your bride," the officiant said.

Dante reached for my veil.

This was it. The moment he'd see my face and know I wasn't Sophia. The moment everything would fall apart.

The veil lifted.

His grey eyes met mine, and I watched his expression change. Confusion flickered across his face, then something darker. Suspicion.

He knew. Maybe he didn't know what exactly, but he knew something was wrong.

Then he leaned in and kissed me.

It wasn't gentle or romantic. It was a claim. A statement. His hand cupped the back of my neck, holding me in place, and I felt the controlled power in him. The danger just beneath the surface.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine for a long moment.

"Hello, wife," he said quietly, so only I could hear.