"Honey, we found this in your sister's room," she said, holding up a piece of writing paper. My legs shook as I walked towards her and took it from her hands. In my sister's flawless handwriting were the words:

"I'm sorry but I can't do this. I can't go through with this wedding; I don't love him. Please try to understand that I'm doing this for the both of us. I'm going away, and I'm not sure if I ever plan on coming back. Don't try to find me and please don't hate me."

A gasp escaped my lips as I held the note in my trembling hands. This couldn't be happening; it had to be some sick joke everyone was playing on me. I searched their faces for any sign of contradiction, but there was none. Shock and hurt mirrored in their expressions. However, one face confirmed the horrifying truth: Zacchaeus. He looked broken, dejected, and crushed, and my heart ached for him. His slumped shoulders, tensed body, and clenched fists portrayed a silent struggle to mask the pain. His eyes, however, revealed a genuine story of heartbreak. How could Olianna have done this to him?

"Ari, we know that this must be so difficult for you, but we have a wedding to go to in less than four hours with over three thousand people arriving."

I stared at my aunt, incredulous. What wedding? The bride had run away, leaving us to deal with the frightening consequences. There couldn't be a wedding anymore.

As if reading my mind, my father spoke up, his usually confident voice now lacking assurance. "We can't cancel the wedding, sweetheart. It'll ruin us, all of us. If a wedding doesn't take place today, not only will we be utterly humiliated, but we could stand to lose everything," he choked out. I stared at him, dumbfounded, uncertain of where this was headed.

My mother, a woman who had never allowed herself to be humbled by anyone, turned to me, her eyes pleading.

"We need your help, Ari. You're the only one who can save this family now."

About four hours later, I was led into the church, closely followed by my mother, aunt, and a few cousins who had been entrusted with the truth. A long veil covered my face, and the corset underneath the dress contoured my shape to fit into my sister's wedding gown.

The music began to play, and I fixed my gaze firmly on the ground, determined not to let any tears escape. My father linked his arm with mine as everyone else left the room.

"Ari, honey, you have no idea what this means to us," he whispered in my ear. I nodded slightly, not trusting myself to speak.

To the beat of the traditional wedding march, I walked towards the altar, my father gripping my arm tightly—comforting yet suffocating. He let go of me when we reached where Zacchaeus and his best man stood. After completing his duty of giving me away, my father left me alone to take the biggest step in my life.

The vows were said, the lies concealed, as I took Zacchaeus Winston to be my husband, for better or for worse. My actions were mechanical, my tone robotic. I had once dreamt of the day I would get married, but now I knew better. Those dreams hadn't been dreams; they had been signs of the nightmare to come.

With the priest's pronouncement of us as husband and wife, I whispered one sentence, hoping the words would somehow reach him.

"I love you, Noel. Please forgive me."

Fifty times. That's how often Noel had called me in the past hour, and it coincidentally matched the number of times I had rejected his calls, hitting the red button each time. A part of me was withering away as I pushed him away, but a larger part was already dead inside. Numbness had taken over, leaving me void of any emotions. The shock had been so overwhelming that I couldn't react in the way a normal person would under these circumstances.

Leaning my head against the car window, I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, offering a brief reprieve to my fevered skin. Suffering from an illness with a temperature of 102 degrees, it was a miracle I still had some level of consciousness. I couldn't bring myself to tell Noel the truth; facing him felt like tearing my own heart out. How had this day gone from perfection to the worst nightmare of my life?

I, Ariyah Miller, was now married to Zacchaeus Winston, the man who was supposed to marry my sister just hours ago. The thought made me sick, and all I wanted was for someone to wake me from this surreal nightmare. Any moment, I expected Olianna to come into my room, calling for me and shaking me awake to make her favorite chocolate chip pancakes.

But it didn't happen. She didn't come. No one woke me up. Olianna had abandoned me, leaving me to face the dire consequences of her actions. In the car, I couldn't even bear to look at Zacchaeus, afraid of the hatred I might see in his eyes. I had sacrificed my happiness willingly for my family, but Zacchaeus? He had been coerced into it; I had overheard the arguments, his parents trying to convince him. In the end, his father had resorted to threats of disinheritance. I didn't need to look at him to sense the resentment.

The car halted outside the imposing Winston Mansion, a place I had visited with my family but never seen so foreboding. It was cloaked in darkness, and as I gazed out, I realized this reception was specifically tailored for me. If the day had gone as planned with Olianna, there would have been lights, celebration, and an air of festivity. Instead, I brought gloom and perpetual doom. The gates opened, allowing the car inside, and I felt the watchman's stare following me as we entered. As soon as the car stopped, Zacchaeus jumped out, slamming the door behind him.

A migraine intensified, coupled with my burning fever, further deteriorating my condition. I tried to move, but my body felt too weak to respond. The driver noticed and opened my door with a concerned expression on his face.

"Are you alright, Miss?"

I shook my head, a sharp pain shooting through it as I did so. Gripping my temple, I laid my head back on the seat. Everything started to spin around me, my eyes beginning to water. I distinctly heard the driver calling for someone before it all faded to black.

...

"Will she be fine?" he asked and even in the state of near unconsciousness that I was in, I scoffed. He didn't care, the carefree tone of his voice made that obvious. He'd left me in the car and now was putting on act for God knows who.

"Well I've written down the required medicines and a nurse will arrive shortly to stay with her as you requested. I'm sure that when she wakes up, the temperature will be considerably lower. There's no need to worry, Mr. Winston."

A doctor, I assumed and tuned them out. Couldn't he just let me be? I'd prefer to be in this state forever than to wake up and have to face reality. A reality in which I was Zacchaeus's wife, a reality in which my sister had left me to be fed to the sharks, a reality in which my parents literally sacrificed me on the altar. Worst of all, a reality in which there was no Noel.

A pain shot through my chest at the thought of his name. Noel, Noel, Noel. Would he ever find out about what happened to me? What would he think? Would he hate me? I loved him so much, could he be able to see that? The questions made my head hurt and I felt the migraine come back with a vengeance. My head felt like it was being crushed with the weight of a thousand boulders and I couldn't hold it in any longer. A low scream left my mouth and immediately I felt someone rush into the room.

Zacchaeus hovered above me protectively and I shivered inwardly at the size of him. He towered above me as I lay on the bed, his features masked by the lack of light in the room. I couldn't see the expression on his face; was he angry, annoyed, worried?

"What's wrong Ariyah?" he asked softly and knelt beside the bed. He was near enough for me to smell his cologne, an expensive one at that. Noel didn't smell like that, not like rich people. He had his own wonderfully warm scent. I quickly pushed the thought out of my head.

"My head..." I managed to choke out in between the spasms of pain that were now rocking my entire body.

"Here, take this. The doctor said it'd make the pain go away."

Zacchaeus made me sit upright and noticed how disabled the pain had made me. He made me open my mouth and placed some pills inside it and then placed a glass of water near my mouth, forcing me to drink. The simple act of kindness was all it took for my inner guilt to come back and haunt me.

Voluntarily or not, I had taken a place in Zacchaeus's life that was never meant for me. I had invaded his world without permission and he had to bear the brunt of that. My sister, my own flesh and blood had ruined his life because of her selfishness. He did not deserve what he'd gotten.

After laying me down carefully on the bed Zacchaeus walked out of the room, switching off the bedside lamp as he left. The last thought that crossed my mind before the sleeping pills began to take effect was how unusual it was for someone to be so fond of the dark. Not a single light illuminated his way as he walked out so easily into the darkness. Is that how he perceived his life to be now? Full of darkness, was there no room for light in his life anymore?

I awoke abruptly, my breathing labored, and my eyes swollen. Had I succumbed to tears once more in my sleep? It seemed I had. I often tried to avoid sleep altogether; the fewer hours I slept, the fewer nightmares haunted me. The recurring dream was a relentless cycle — encroaching walls, a window with Noel smiling on the other side. I struggled to dismantle the barrier between us, but time always ran out; the walls inexorably closed in, and I'd awaken, screaming for release.

I pondered if Zacchaeus heard my screams, if it affected him in any way. Since the day the doctor visited me, Zacchaeus and I had not crossed paths. For once, I found solace in the vast house where two people could coexist without encountering each other. Zacchaeus resided on the first floor, while my room occupied the upper one. This arrangement suited both of us — he could move freely, and I could relish my solitude. The only interactions I had were with the staff, the cleaning women, and the butler who delivered my meals. Despite my aversion to being waited on, something within me restrained me from leaving the confines of my room. The house was not mine; I did not belong there. I had no right to roam around as if I owned the place.

Pulling a robe tightly around myself, I shivered in my silk nightgown. My belongings arrived from my former house, prompting a breakdown. Clothes, shoes, books, old photographs — all meticulously packed in boxes. A bitter laugh escaped me as I realized not a single item related to Noel was included. The gifts he had given me — a framed photograph, the occasional teddy bear, some jewelry — none of it made the journey. Perhaps my mother believed it was for the best, erasing any reminders of the past in my new life. If only she knew that my new existence felt more like purgatory; then, perhaps, she would have shown compassion and sent the things that connected me to the one good memory from my old life.

I ascended to the balcony attached to my room, taking in the crisp morning air around six a.m., my usual waking time. Mist enveloped everything, casting an eerie, lifeless atmosphere. Each day, I harbored hope that something would change, that a miracle would occur, and I could finally accept this place as my new home. However, the Winston mansion loomed just as formidable and grim, unwavering in its refusal to accept me. It remained loyal to its owner.

The screeching of tires jolted me, and I peered down to witness Zacchaeus's Ferrari speeding through the gates. Had he been out all night? I watched, waiting for him to emerge. To my surprise, the first person stepping out of the car was wearing high heels.

My heart skipped a beat. My initial hope, perhaps Olianna had returned, maybe he had found her, maybe there was a chance to save my life. The person who emerged, however, was blonde, clad in clothes even my sister would shy away from. Zacchaeus walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and kissing her neck. A slight clumsiness in his walk hinted at his inebriation. I gulped as the two engaged in an intense make-out session in the foyer. I expected pain to hit, but it didn't. I felt nothing. He could do as he pleased; I didn't care. Tearing my eyes away, I headed to the bathroom for a shower.

Two hours later, while randomly changing TV channels, I heard the sound of something shattering from outside. Help wouldn't arrive until about nine, leaving only one or rather two people who could be here. Panic set in, realizing I didn't want to face either.

The sounds persisted, loud crashes of things being thrown, objects violently breaking. I decided it was enough. With determination, I left the safety of my room, only to find the living room in complete disarray. Everything was turned inside out, and anything destructible was reduced to pieces. Lamps were broken, vases shattered, paintings strewn across the floor, and cushions torn open. Amidst the chaos stood Zacchaeus, looking murderous. When his eyes met mine, his rage seemed to intensify tenfold.

To be honest, I was terrified. His anger was palpable, sending a chill down my spine. I began to retreat carefully, hoping not to attract attention, but it wasn't careful enough. Zacchaeus caught up to me before I could reach my room, grabbing my arm and pushing me against the wall. The scent of alcohol on his breath sickened me, his gray eyes piercing mine. I cowered under his touch, his grip on my arm unrelenting.

"Zacchaeus," I whispered, hoping he would sense the pleading in my voice.

"Shut up! Shut the hell up," he yelled, and I instinctively closed my eyes, terrified of what was to come. Would he hit me? Did he hate me that much?

"You ruined everything," he growled, running his free hand through his hair.

I regarded him with questioning eyes, tears stinging mine as I struggled to keep it all together. This was the moment I had feared, anticipating his breakdown and blaming me for ruining his life. I wanted to convey that this situation was just as challenging for me as it was for him, but I doubted he cared. The alcohol in his system had robbed him of rationality, and there was nothing I could do to make him see reason.

"I couldn't be with that girl I brought home! I couldn't touch her without the guilt eating at me. You did this to me," he spat, leaving me speechless.

He pushed himself off me and struggled to walk straight; he was on the verge of falling when I quickly ran and caught him, his weight crushing me. He muttered a few more incoherent things, words aimed to hurt me. I did my best to support his weight, grappling to get him to my room, the closest one. I managed to lay him down on the bed, doing so more roughly than I intended. After taking off his shoes and placing a blanket over him, I stared at the sleeping form of my husband. Try as I might, I couldn't summon anger toward him. He wasn't at fault; what he had been subjected to was not something he deserved. He hated me, I knew that, and I was far from loving him, but there was something I needed to do, something that would mend his wounded heart.