The Wedding Night

POV Elara

The heavy silence in the grand hall presses down on me until my lungs burn. I look at my aunt’s clenched fists in the front row, a silent promise of the hell that awaits me if I ruin this. With a heavy, broken sigh of crushing defeat, I surrender.

"I do," I whisper.

Beside me at the grand altar, the priest turns toward my supposedly crippled soon-to-be husband. "Do you, Mr. Kaelen Vexton, take Miss Tinsley Crestwell to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do." Kaelen echoes his vow without a single second of hesitation. His raspy voice rumbles through the microphone, laced with an unhidden, deep-seated anger that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The tension between us is electric, sparking in the narrow space separating my trembling frame from his wheelchair.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest announces, his booming voice followed by a polite ripple of claps and cheers from the elite crowd. The priest smiles, gesturing between us. "You may now ki—"

He halts mid-sentence. Kaelen aggressive grips the metal rims of his wheels. His jaw ticks. Without a single glance in my direction, he shoves the wheels forward and rolls himself away down the long aisle. He leaves me stranded at the altar.

The clapping dies instantly. Hundreds of eyes follow his retreating figure, and an agonizing, deeply humiliating silence crashes over the room. I stand frozen in my heavy gown, an abandoned prop on a lavish stage. Heat rushes to my cheeks. The whispers start, low and mocking, drifting up from the rows of gold chairs.

Mrs. Vexton rushes forward from the front row, her heels clicking against the pristine marble floors. She forces a nervous, breathless laugh, waving her hands to draw the guests' attention. "Come on, everyone! Let’s celebrate the new addition to the Vexton Family! Drinks are served!"

The crowd resumes their scattered cheering, pretending the bride was not just left standing alone at the altar.

As the long night wears on, the grand event room transforms into a lavish reception. I huddle alone in a dim corner, weighed down by the ridiculously expensive diamond gown. The fabric scratches my skin. It feels like a beautiful, glittering cage. I watch the guests drink and laugh, enduring the whispering stares of the socialites who point their champagne flutes in my direction.

When it is finally time for my so-called family to leave, Mrs. Vexton walks them toward the grand exit. I drag myself out of my dark corner to face them.

"I know you will miss your daughter so much," Mrs. Vexton says, offering a sympathetic smile, "but best believe she’s in great hands."

My aunt Rowena bursts into sickeningly fake tears. "Oh, Tinsley! No, my dear Tinsley."

She lunges forward and pulls me into a painfully tight embrace. Her arms wrap around me like a vice. Under the guise of a loving mother saying goodbye, her sharp acrylic nails dig deep into my bare shoulder, piercing my skin.

"You better not pull anything or tell the truth," she hisses menacingly right into my ear, her breath hot and full of venom. "This is your life now."

She pulls away, dabbing at her dry eyes with a silk handkerchief. Tears blur my vision. The crushing realization settles deep in my chest. For twenty years, I never knew an ounce of love, and now they have officially sold me like I was nothing more than a profitable object.

"Aw, don't cry, Tinsley," Mrs. Vexton pats my back, misreading my silent despair. "You can visit your family anytime you want." She turns to my uncle. "My husband will request a meeting and we can conclude the rest of the marital deal. It's a shame he couldn't be here today. He had a very important business meeting abroad."

"All is well," my uncle chuckles, running his thick fingers through his receding hairline.

Behind him, my cousin Tinsley smirks. She steps forward, her eyes gleaming with sheer malice. She leans in close, pretending to give me a parting hug.

"I'll miss you, my favorite cousin," she whispers, her vile mockery scraping against my ear. "Enjoy your crippled husband and his crippled dick."

She pulls back, flashing a bright, fake smile at Mrs. Vexton. They step out into the cool night air, slipping into their waiting luxury car. The engine purrs, and the tires crunch over the gravel driveway, abandoning me in this massive, cold, marble-floored manor packed with total strangers.

Once the final guests depart the estate, the silence in the manor becomes deafening. Mrs. Vexton drops her polite hostess smile. She grips my shoulder, her fingers biting into the fabric of my dress, and leads me down a massive white hallway lined with minimal gold accents and ancient ceramic vases. The estate feels like a deserted, freezing museum.

She marches me directly to the private lounge. The heavy scent of dark liquor and expensive cologne fills the air. Kaelen sits in his wheelchair near a low glass table, drinking amber liquid with his formidable brothers. A few unknown women linger in the room, their eyes darting toward us as we enter.

"Kaelen Vexton!" his mother barks, her sharp voice echoing off the high, painted ceilings. Every head in the lounge snaps in our direction. "Thank goodness only family was present. How could you do such a thing? Did you plan on embarrassing us?!"

Kaelen pours himself another glass of dark liquor. His flawless, chiseled face remains void of any emotion. He raises the heavy crystal glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before lifting a single, dark eyebrow at her.

"Stop yelling, woman. I did as you wished," his deep voice cuts through the room. "You don't expect that I will treat her as a real wife, do you?"

Mrs. Vexton gasps loudly, clutching her chest in utter shock. "Kaelen, how can you say such a thing?"

His calm tone instantly turns lethal and freezing. "I've done my end of the deal. I've granted you the bride you fucking desperately needed. Don't cross the line."

He forcefully sets his heavy crystal glass down on the table. The sharp clack of glass hitting glass rings out like a gunshot. Without another word, he grips his wheels, spinning the chair around. He wheels himself straight into the private glass elevator at the back of the lounge and disappears from sight without ever looking back at me.

Immediate, heavy silence blankets the room. I stand rooted to the spot, my heart hammering against my ribs. The piercing, assessing stares of his three siblings burn into my skin. Desperate to escape their highly uncomfortable gazes, I take a shaky step backward.

"I... I think I'll just go to bed," I murmur, my voice trembling.

Mrs. Vexton quickly masks her boiling anger. She turns to me, forcing a tight, strained smile onto her lips. "Of course, dear. Don't worry too much. He will warm up to you eventually. You must be tired after all that stress. Go to your husband's room. It's the first room on the right on the second floor. I'll tell you all you need to know tomorrow."

I bow my head, gathering the heavy skirts of my diamond gown in my fists. I haul myself up the grand sweeping staircase. Every step feels like climbing a mountain. I navigate the endless, empty hallway until I reach the first massive oak door on the right.

I stare at the brass handle, sucking in a shaky breath. I seriously debate just curling up on the thick hallway carpet and sleeping out here, away from him.

With a visibly shaky hand, I turn the handle and push the door open.

I step into the massive, grey-walled master bedroom. It is twice the size of Tinsley's lavish room back at the Crestwell estate. A massive king-sized bed dominates the center. A huge black leather couch sits by a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the dark gardens.

Kaelen sits by his heavy oak desk in his wheelchair, scrolling through his phone. He has changed out of his suit. He wears a fitted black tank top that exposes thick, muscular arms covered in faint scars. White shorts cling to his thighs, and his dark hair is pulled back into a messy, low bun.

He glances up at my entrance, greeting me with a heavy, intimidating frown.

I close the door behind me, my fingers lingering on the wood.

"You've got what you wanted, the Vexton Family title," his deep, rumbling voice slices through the absolute silence of the room. "Stick to knowing your place. Do not expect any husbandly duties from me whatsoever."

Panic seizes my throat. My heart races wildly against my ribs, beating so hard I fear it might break through my chest.

"Ye... yes, Mr. Kaelen," I nod fast, my voice barely a squeak.

He tosses his phone onto the desk. He wheels his chair closer to me, closing the distance between us. His dark, cold eyes bore straight into mine, pinning me in place.

"There is a reason why the other fifteen women broke off the engagement," he warns, his voice dropping an octave. "And that's because no one gets in the way of Kaelen Vexton. Nothing, and no one."

I take a frantic step backward, my heels sinking into the plush rug. I keep nodding, desperate to appease him.

"You are nothing to me," he spits the words with ruthless precision. "And that's all you'll ever be. Do you fucking hear me?"

Trembling under his intense, suffocating aura, I quickly turn my back on him. My hands shake at my sides. I just need to reach the black leather couch in the corner. I need to close my eyes, sleep off this nightmare of a day, and avoid his terrifying wrath.

"Where do you think you're going?" he calls out sharply.

His loud voice echoes across the large room, startling me. I flinch, my shoulders jerking up toward my ears.

"To sleep..." I murmur softly, keeping my back turned to him. I stare at the dark leather cushions of the couch, willing myself to take another step.

"I'm pretty sure that's not what couples do on their wedding night."

The words hang in the air. I turn sharply, ready to apologize or beg for space.

The sight before me drains all the blood from my face. My breath hitches. I nearly collapse backward from the sheer, mind-numbing shock.

He isn't sitting in his wheelchair anymore.

He is standing. Right next to me.

He hovers above me, a towering wall of solid muscle and raw dominance. I am five-foot-seven, but the sheer size of him makes me feel microscopic. He casts a massive shadow over my frame.

I stumble back in a blind panic, my glass heels catching on the heavy fabric of my gown.

Before I can fall, his steady, incredibly strong grip shoots out. His large hand clamps around my slender wrist like a vice. Snaking his other thick, heavily muscled arm securely under my waist, he yanks me forward.

He pulls me flush against his hard chest, trapping my body flush against his own. I gasp, my chest colliding with the solid wall of his torso. There is nowhere to run. He lowers his head, dipping his chin until his face is hovering in my personal space.

"Let me show you," he whispers, his hot breath fanning across my trembling lips, "what couples do on their wedding night."