Erica had never seen such extravagance up close. The chandeliers hung like glowing waterfalls, their golden light bouncing off the polished marble floors. Silk drapes framed the walls, and massive bouquets of roses, lilies, and orchids stood proudly over tables set with crystal glasses and plates that probably cost more than her father's entire salary. Everything about the wedding hall screamed wealth—loud and unapologetic.
From the small window of her room, she could barely see the full view, but what little she managed to take in was enough to make her breath hitch. Happiness. That was the only word she could think of to describe what she felt.
But it was short-lived.
The memory of what happened before she left her parents' house rushed back, her father's words resounded in her ears.
There was no love in their family and that she was never going to fit in." She exhaled sharpl, turning over to the Uther side if the bed and was about to wabd ut iff when something else struck her— Jamal's cold expression especially when he had earlier seen her.
The moment after the meet, his request. No—his demand. The papers had been waiting, and with smooth persuasion, he had coaxed her into signing the contract and over every property in her name. Because they were "husband and wife" now. After the signing, she didn't catch a sight if him till this day.
Butterflies swarmed in her belly at how genuine his voice had sounded, but a nagging voice in her head whispered otherwise.
"Are they really using me like Father said?" She massaged her temples, slumping back onto the bed.
"Whatever," she muttered. "I shouldn't ruin this day with stupid thoughts. After all, it's for a whole three years nit days"
She was about to shut her eyes when the door flung open. A group of maids trouped in, their synchronized steps almost military-like. They were dressed as maids but didn't look the part—each of them had flawless skin, bodies sculpted like goddesses, and expressions that screamed you don't belong here.
Erica barely had time to register their presence before something else stole her attention—the gown.
Hung perfectly in a movable wardrobe, it was the most breathtaking piece of art she had ever seen. The Mullizers wedding gown shimmered under the light, the hand-sewn pearls and silver embroidery making it look almost unreal.
Her hand flew to her mouth, holding back a gasp as she rushed toward it.
"Is this… mine?" she whispered in awe.
Silence.
The maids didn't bother answering, only exchanging amused glances.
"I bet she's never seen a real diamond up close before today," one of them muttered, loud enough for her to hear.
Erica's smile faltered. Her gaze flickered to the redhead who had spoken, from her high, perky chest to her long, slender legs. There was something eerily familiar about her—her voice, her presence—but Erica couldn't place it.
"We don't have all day, little Miss," she sneered, the mockery in her tone razor-sharp.
Erica straightened. They're jealous. That was what she told herself, and instead of shrinking under their taunts, she lifted the gown and stepped into it without their help.
As she turned to the mirror, a scoff rang from behind.
"Who would've thought the chauffeur's daughter would be wearing a Mullizers wedding gown? Life is full of surprises."
Her heart clenched, but she held her head high. She knew what they were trying to do—break her confidence before she even walked down the aisle.
She wouldn't let them.
Instead, she sat down, regal and composed, knowing full well that part of their job was to dress her.
"Do your job." Her voice was steady, daring.
She didn't miss the flicker of irritation in their eyes as they obeyed. They threw insults at her the whole time, but she let them slide, focusing instead on her reflection. In less than twenty minutes, they were done. The face staring back at her was barely recognizable—elegant, refined, nothing like the girl she had once been.
Then the door flung open.
The maids stiffened, stepping aside as a woman adorned with everything that glitters walked in. Her appearance was a clear definition of wealth at its peak. Erica gulped hard, she was finally the woman she had always known and not the one she had been interacting with for the past two days — Mrs Selena, Jamal's mother, the only woman known to smile only on money related issues.
The maids, who had been bold just moments ago, shrank under her presence. The redhead quickly grabbed her bag from the table, but Selena's sharp eyes didn't miss the movement.
"It costs more than your existence," she said, voice cold. "You better be careful."
The girl gulped, gripping the bag like her life depended on it.
Selena's gaze shifted to Erica, her expression unreadable—no, full of disdain.
Erica tried to smile, but it withered under Selena's piercing stare.
"Listen to me, you gold digger," Selena spat, stepping closer. "The moment you walk down that aisle, you become part of this family. That means you follow my rules."
Erica's gaze flickered in disbelief as she tried to make sure that she was the one that was being spoken to. Selena tolerated nothing as she used her index finger to raise her chin up before her voice dropped to a warning.
"You do not speak unless spoken to. And even when you do, make sure it's in a whisper, because no one wants to hear your pathetic opinions."
The words hit like a slap.
Erica forced her lips shut, her throat tightening. If not for her makeup, she was sure her tears would be visible.
"Do you understand me?"
"Yes… yes, ma," she whispered, barely trusting her own voice.
Selena's lips curled into a smile, satisfied.
"Now move. Don't keep my guests waiting. They don't have all day."
Erica nodded, rising to her feet as gracefully as possible, her hands clenched at her sides. She took slow, careful steps toward the door, feeling Selena's gaze burn into her back.
As she left the room, the redhead scoffed behind her.
"Look at the way she walks—like she's afraid of stepping on the tiles. Probably because she's used to cleaning them instead."
Laughter followed.
Erica didn't react. She would not react.
Not today.
Erica walked down the aisle with measured steps, her heart pounding louder than the soft symphony playing in the background. The aisle itself was a masterpiece—lined with golden lanterns casting a warm glow over the pristine white carpet, scattered with delicate rose petals.
But the beauty of it all didn't distract her from the cold stares around her. Guests sat in perfect rows, dressed in the finest designer attire, yet their expressions were anything but welcoming. Some exchanged whispers behind gloved hands, their eyes flickering between her and Selena, as if questioning how someone like her had ended up here. Others didn't bother to hide their disapproval, their gazes sharp, their silence heavier than words.
Her grip tightened around her bouquet. She kept her chin high, her dress flowing behind her like a dream, but beneath the dazzling lights and forced elegance, she felt it—she wasn't a bride walking toward love. She was an outsider marching toward judgment.
Erica froze at the altar, her breath catching in her throat. Her heart, already unsteady, now pounded with a dizzying force. She blinked, once, twice—expecting, hoping, that her eyes were playing tricks on her. But no. The spot where Jamal should have been, stood empty, a glaring absence against the grandeur surrounding her.
"She got the ring but not the heart!" A lady sneered behind her, she could only stare at the empty alter why the priest obviously didn't want to be there.
"Move," she heard Selena whisper behind her. Heat crawled up her neck, her fingers tightening around the bouquet as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Her vision blurred—not from the dazzling chandeliers, but from the sheer, suffocating weight of humiliation.
Each step she took reminded her of her father's words, it was for a reason and nothing other than that. She believed him now and wished to turn back time as she drew closer. The contract she signed said three years, the property she gave him was for life, she had no option now, but to deal with it.
Swallowing hard, she gripped the bouquet tighter and waited for whatever faith had in stock for her.
"Did he leave her standing there?" someone whispered.
"Took him long enough to realize what a mistake this is." another voice scoffed.
"Imagine thinking a nobody's daughter could truly belong here."
Erica heard them clear and right but held her head high. She wouldn't let their intimidation ruin her. She signed up for this and would face it.
The priest, an elderly man with disapproving eyes, cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. "A wedding requires two souls, but it also requires dignity. If dignity is lost, what remains?" His gaze lingered on her, sharp and cold.
"Mr Jamal has important things to do and won't be joining us so Miss Erica, you will answer the questions and fix the ring on yourself." Erica felt her heart tear into pieces as she responded to the vows alone.
"What exactly could be more important than his own wedding?" She thought. A tear threatened to spill but she held them back. The smile on Selena's face was wide enough to tell her what she refused to acknowledge. They wanted her to marry herself and like her father said, she would never fit in.
This wasn't a wedding. This was a nightmare dressed in gold and roses.