The wedding

The Wedding

“I do.”

Finally, Ethan and I were an officially wedded couple—though there was no love in it. I had love for him deep in my heart, but looking at him, I couldn't say the same.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest announced.

Ethan roughly pulled me toward him, biting my lip hard as he pressed his mouth to mine. I felt nothing in that kiss. It was as if a stranger were kissing me. I looked at him with tear-filled eyes, but he ignored me like a disease.

I knew this was what I signed up for. He had made it clear he was only marrying me for a deal. When I walked down the aisle, I hoped for a smile, but he didn't even look at me. His vows were robotic; he had roughly shoved the ring onto my finger.

“Ready for your party?” Dylan asked, breaking the silence. Ethan nodded and walked toward the garden behind the cathedral. Some employees and investors were there as witnesses.

Ethan held my hand for formality, but I felt sparks in my blood from his touch. A blush crept onto my face as we cut the cake. I expected a word from him, but he kept mum, talking only to the guests.

“Now, I would like to invite Mr. and Mrs. King for their first dance,” Dylan announced.

Ethan roughly pushed me toward the stage. I remembered how we had burned the dance floor at our prom night. As “Love Me Like You Do” started to play, I gasped and saw Dylan wink at me.

Ethan placed his hand on my waist, and I placed mine on his shoulder. We moved with the music; he spun me multiple times, and I followed gracefully. He pulled me close, and I collided with his hard chest.

“Don’t be so happy to be my wife, Olivia,” he whispered dangerously. “Remember, this marriage is just a formality.”

“Yes, I remember!” I snapped back, looking at him with feisty eyes. “You don’t need to remind me again and again. It’s a formality for you, but for me, it is an official marriage where we have taken vows.”

I walked off the dance floor, grabbed a glass of water, and gulped it down. I could feel his rage-filled eyes on me. Soon, he pulled me toward his car.

“Where are we going, Ethan?” I finally asked.

He groaned, looking at me with a frown. “My apartment,” he replied, returning to his mobile.

The car stopped in front of a skyscraper. I ogled at the building, realizing Ethan was already walking inside. “Hey, where are you going without me?” I ran after him, barely making it into the elevator before the doors closed.

“Why did you leave me behind?” I breathed heavily.

“Because I don’t have time to waste on you,” he replied coldly.

The elevator opened, and he led me to a double-door entrance. He pressed a code. “2708 is the code, in case you get locked out,” he said, using his birth date.

I entered, and a white theme greeted me. The living area was huge, with a glass wall leading to a balcony overlooking Boston.

“Liked the kitchen?” Ethan asked from behind me. I nodded.

“Great,” he chirped, “as you are going to sleep in the kitchen only.”

I shook my head, not understanding.

“You see, you will be living in my apartment, so you need to pay rent. Since I can’t allow you to go out, you will be working here as a maid.”

The floor seemed to slip from beneath my feet. “You want me to work for you as a maid?”

“Yes. It will be a pleasure to have you as a maid for this house. I don’t want you to get bored sitting alone, so from now on, you will cook, clean, and do what a normal maid has to do.”

I felt embarrassed and insulted. If he had asked me to do this as his wife, I would have been happy, but he wanted me as a servant.

“The maid's room is beside the kitchen. You can bathe and change there. Now, cook something quick; I am damn hungry.”

He turned and walked upstairs. I quickly searched the kitchen and found spaghetti. I was just turning off the stove when Ethan re-entered, looking dashing in a three-piece suit. I served two plates.

“Go and change; we are leaving for a meeting to sign the deal,” he ordered. “And wear something sophisticated.”

“I will change after I eat,” I said, moving toward the table. He gripped my hand harshly, jerking me up.

“Dare you defy me? I don’t have time to wait for you. Go now.”

“I am hungry,” I mumbled. “I haven’t had breakfast.”

“That’s your problem, not mine. You won’t die of hunger. Just go.”

I rushed into the room and turned on the shower, finally letting out loud sobs. Why didn't he care? After washing, I put on a business shirt, blazer, and pencil skirt. I stepped out to find Ethan typing furiously on his phone. He looked up, his eyes darkening with fury.

“What the hell are you wearing? You plan to wear that to the meeting? You are my wife now; you can’t flaunt your body like a slut.”

My heart churned at the word. “Why are you still standing here? Go and wear some pants. After today’s deal, you are free to leave, but control your slutty tendencies while you are with me.”

He walked away, leaving me broken-hearted. I knew he was trying to hurt me so I would leave, but that would never happen. I would break through the walls he built. I changed into pants and walked out with a new determination to bear the pain until I got my Ethan back.

Once Ethan was satisfied with the choice of my attire, we walked toward the car where a driver stood waiting for us. The driver held the door open, and for a fleeting second, I expected Ethan to step aside and let me enter first. But who was I kidding? This was Ethan—the man currently dedicated to my public and private humiliation.

Instead of a gentlemanly gesture, Ethan slid into the backseat and pulled the door shut right in my face. The driver, looking visibly uncomfortable and sympathetic toward me, hurried to the other side to open the opposite door. With a small, appreciative smile toward him, I stepped inside and settled in. I turned to look at Ethan, who was already deep into his own version of "comfortable," his laptop balanced on his knees as his fingers flew across the keys in a furious rhythm.

“From now on, you’ll be sitting in the front beside the driver, not beside me,” he commanded, his eyes never wavering from the screen.

I nodded instinctively, then realized he wasn't even looking at me. “Okay,” I said quietly, turning my gaze toward the passing city through the window.

No one looking at us would have guessed today was our wedding day. My husband was dragging me to his office solely to close a business deal, treating me more like an unwanted intern than a bride. He had issued nothing but orders and cold commands since we left the altar. I knew that once this deal was finalized, he wouldn't spare me a single glance; I was going to have to fight for every shred of his attention.

**