Chapter 5 Lady Volmore

Liana's POV

I feel my body move before I decide. My hands come up to his chest - light, hesitant - and I close in. Slowly. Softly. Instinctively.

His lips are inches from mine.

He doesn't move. Doesn't flicker an eyelid.

But I do.

I force my mouth onto his.

It's not soft.

It's not passionate.

It's empty - a kiss with no heart.

I don't know why I'm doing this. I just know I have to. Like something is tugging behind my ribcage. Like resisting would tear me in two.

His breath catches. Barely.

When I take a step back, something in his eyes has shifted. It's no longer cold. It's on fire.

On fire with something that's dangerously close to hate.

The claps crash over me like a wave I did not invite to drown me.

I blink. Once. Twice. My lips. remain buzzing.

What happened?

I can still feel his mouth on mine. Warm. Insistent. Last. My stomach heaves so hard I'm sure I'll puke in front of all of these people. In front of the blinding lights, the throng of suited strangers, the wolves masquerading as men, and the gods masquerading as witnesses.

I kissed him.

No, I leaned towards him. I closed the distance. I kissed him.

But I didn't.

I didn't. I swear I didn't. My hands tremble with the weight of the bouquet, and my head? it's hazy again. That fog. That same crushing fog. That moment when my body reacted but I wasn't there anymore. As if I were a puppet and someone else had pulled the strings.

But why now? Why then? Why... Did I kiss? First.?

The Groom's fingers are coiled around mine. Tight. Ownerlike. Blazing.

He leads me down the aisle like I belong to him. The crowd stands up. They smile. They applaud. Cameras pop like tiny bombs. Someone is crying somewhere. It isn't me. I can't even breathe. Can't even think. My skin is too tight. My chest is too hollow.

I try to catch the eye of someone. Anyone. A face that I may recognize. A glimmer of anything sane.

No one looks back. They're too caught up in the show.

Smile.

That pull again. Subtle. Sneaking. Soft as poison in tea.

I attempt to pucker my mouth, but it smiles anyway. A delicate, doll-like smile that is not mine. I hate it. I hate it. But the applause only grows stronger. Louder than my beating heart, louder than the scream welling up the back of my throat.

The groom doesn't look at me.

Not really. Not since the kiss. There is something impervious in the line of his jaw, the shape of his lips like a sealed envelope. His eyes are straight ahead, stiff, full of thunderheads. I think he hates me. And for a moment, I want to hate him too.

But I cannot give myself over to hatred.

I don't even know if I belong to myself anymore.

We make our way towards the end of the aisle. The double doors open, and we glimpse additional cameras, additional reporters, an ocean of luxury cars and velvet ropes.

He raises my hand.

He waves.

And I stand there like a prize he won in a rigged game.

Like a lamb in lace.

Inside, I scream so hard, I fear the glass that encloses us will shatter.

---

The car was too quiet.

I heard the leather creak every time I shifted. The soft thrum of the engine. The breath I wasn't even sure I wanted to draw.

He was beside me. The groom. My husband, it seemed.

He'd never even looked at me. Once. At the ceremony. While driving home. Even when I leaned forward-God, why had I done it? Why had I kissed him like I needed it?

Something had felt wrong. As if someone'd snuck inside of me and twisted the strings around my heart without me knowing. Without me hearing.

And now... now I am back. And I was filthy.

I gazed at him. Once. His face was carved out of something very ancient. His jaw is hard enough to slice through silence. But no spark of feeling. No curiosity. No hatred. Just. nothing.

I wrapped my arms around myself and slumped back in the seat, cold suddenly. I didn't even know his name. I'd married a man without a name.

No.

Not a man.

A stranger.

The car came to a stop. I exited the car as if it was not mine. As if my feet were not mine. Satin heels cutting into my toes, but I barely felt it. My head was throbbing as if it had just been opened up. There was a hum there, pressing on my temples for days, perhaps hours. Time no longer mattered. But now? Now it was gone.

And then. I was me again.

And I had no notion what the devil just occurred.

The bridegroom he walked past me silently. Without a glance. As if I were freight. Bags he couldn't help but drag home.

I didn't even know his name.

I had kissed him.

I had married him.

I don't even know his name.

My feet crash into the spotless floor of the mansion and something in me breaks.

This isn't real.

This isn't happening.

I stood transfixed in the high foyer, blinking under a chandelier that sparkled like it was laughing at me. There were other men in suits, guards, staff with stiff collars and stiffer eyes. Eyes followed us, but no words were exchanged.

Of course they weren't.

The groom stood in front of me, his back to me. Just. standing. Like a statue of judgment and ice.

I felt it.

That pull.

The memory of the leash-how it directed me about like a puppet in a wedding gown.

Lost.

I was out-of-narrative.

And I lost it.

"I'm not tired!" I shouted.

Heads turned.

"I'm not tired!" I shouted again, louder, more disheveled, as if the words themselves were struggling to escape my throat.

"I am not alright!" I laughed then. Nasty. Too loud. Too biting. The laugh of someone who had just remembered they were in a cage.

I turned around, waving my arms like I was trying to shoo away demons. "I don't even know who you people are!" I yelled at no one and everyone.

The groom did not move.

He just watched.

And that made it all the worse.

You!" I bellowed, stabbing the finger at him. "You! You did this, did you think?! You did think I wanted to kiss you?! Huh? You thought I wanted to have on this - this costume and walk down some demonic aisle as if I was some eager bride?! I don't even know you!"

Quiet.

My words echoed like the house itself was trying to suffocate me.

"Say something!" I screamed again, crying, mascara streaking down my face. "Say anything! Just. just say something!"

He didn't.

He just stood there.

Unbothered.

Untouched.

Neither did the guards. Trained not to flinch, not to intervene. But I could sense their judgment. Their pity. Their coldness.

That tore me open.

I started scratching at the dress. Tearing silk and tulle and attempting to remove it like it was on fire. "Take it back! Take this awful thing back! I'm not your bride! I'm not your anything! I'm not."

I stumbled.

Thumped down onto my knees.

My palms touched the ground. Cold. Wet. And for a split second I did not know if I should be sick or laugh.

I pulled my head back up and glanced at him once more.

Still standing there.

Still staring.

Like a circus.

As if I was the entertainment.

And maybe I was.

I was still on my knees when I felt the shift in air. You know? Like when a door swings open in your blind spot. A presence. Quiet. Cautious.

Someone was standing next to me.

I did not lift my eyes. Could not. My throat was raw and my eyes were burning and I hated everything. The dress. The people. Him.

Especially him.

Then..

A whisper.

Right in my ear.

"You need to rest, Lady Volmore."

It wasn't cruel. No. That would've been easier.

It was kind.

Too kind.

And it's what made it unbearable.

I stepped back as if slapped, eyes flashing to the woman-mid-forties maybe, hair in a bun so tight it must hurt, lips painted the color of dead roses.

"What did you just call me?" I snarled. My voice sounded broken. Feral.?