Chapter 7 Selena's POV

The hotel suite was beautiful. That was the first thing I noticed when the door clicked shut behind me. Creamy white walls kissed with golden accents. A king-sized bed with plush linen and carefully scattered rose petals. Champagne chilled in a silver bucket, glasses glinting in the soft lighting. Every surface gleamed like it had been touched by perfection itself.

It looked like something out of a fairytale, too bad it felt like a prison.

I stood there, frozen near the door, still clutching the edge of my dress like it could somehow anchor me. The silence was loud and deafening. Damien said nothing as he crossed the room and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it carelessly on the arm of a chair. His movements were deliberate, and controlled, like everything else about him.

He didn't even look at me.

I didn't know what to expect. No-scratch that. I did know.

I knew not to expect affection or comfort. But some part of me still stupidly hoped that something-anything-human might surface in him tonight. We are married now. Husband and wife, at least in name. But he didn't see me as a wife, I was a merger, a transaction, an asset.

"You can sit," he said finally, gesturing to the armchair across from him like I was some stranger in a waiting room. "We need to talk."

I obeyed wordlessly, the silence stretching like a blade between us. My dress rustled as I sat down, the beads on the sleeves catching the soft light. I felt ridiculous in it, like a child playing dress-up in a story she had no control over.

Damien leaned back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other. He was so calm. So cold like this was just another boardroom discussion.

"Let me make this clear, Selena," he began, his voice smooth but detached. "This marriage is not what girls like you dream about. It's not about love or companionship. It's about family, business and legacy."

Girls like me. The words stung.

He continued, "Your role in this is simple. Be a Delacroix, represent the family name with dignity. Smile when expected, speak only when necessary and don't embarrass me."

My heart sank with every word.

"You'll attend the events I need you to attend. Wear what's chosen for you and be polite. We'll share appearances when required, but beyond that-" his eyes met mine briefly, "-I have no intention of pretending anything with you behind closed doors. Don't expect affection or warmth."

I blinked slowly, not trusting my voice. My throat was dry, like I'd swallowed sand.

"You'll remain faithful, of course," he added, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. "And I'll expect your loyalty in public. Behind closed doors, I won't ask for anything from you, as long as you do what's required."

"What's required?" I whispered. The words barely escaped my lips.

Damien's gaze hardened. "You'll give me heirs eventually."

That statement felt like a slap.

He rose from the couch and poured himself a glass of champagne, but he didn't offer me one. I sat still, like a statue, heart pounding inside my ribs like it wanted to escape.

I was suffocating.

This was it. This was my life now.

"Do you understand?" he asked coolly.

I looked up at him, forcing myself to nod. What else could I say?

Everything inside me screamed. My skin felt too tight for my body. My heart was too broken for my chest, I couldn't breathe.

We've just sealed a future neither of us wanted with vows we didn't mean.

He walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him without a second glance.

The moment he was gone, I curled into myself, burying my face in my hands. The sob tore out before I could stop it-raw and aching. It echoed in the quiet of the room. My shoulders shook as everything I had bottled up came pouring out in waves.

I don't want this, I don't want any of it.

I thought I knew pain before-when they first told me I'd be married off to a man I didn't know. When my father told me I was nothing but a pawn in this game of power and pride. When I was locked away like a criminal after coming home, all because I dared to run. But none of it compared to the weight in my chest right now.

This was real. It's happening and there's no going back.

The tears didn't stop for a long time. They came silently now, streaking down my face like ghosts. I looked around the suite-this beautiful, sterile place-and felt so small inside it.

Eventually, the bathroom door opened. I wiped my face quickly, pretending I hadn't been crying.

Damien walked out, now in a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants. The polished groom was replaced with the indifferent man beneath. He glanced at me briefly.

"I'll sleep on the couch," he said, already grabbing a pillow from the bed.

I didn't answer.

He turned off the lights without asking, leaving only a dim lamp near the far wall. Then he settled into the couch and pulled the blanket over himself like he couldn't care less that it was our wedding night.

I laid there, feeling like I was floating outside my own body.

I changed out of my gown silently in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. My face looked pale, my eyes swollen from crying. I looked like a ghost bride.

Back in the room, I climbed into the bed slowly, the silence pressing down like a second skin. The sheets were cold, the air heavy.

I turned my back to the couch. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to remember this night. But I would always remember because this was the night I lost what little hope I had left.

This was the night I stopped being Selena Valenci and became the thing they've shaped me into.

Damien's wife, a Delacroix in name but a pawn sealed in gold.

I whispered a silent goodbye to love and freedom.