Chapter 5 The Vow.

Isla awoke to the biting light that filtered in behind the thin curtains, pale but stern. The bedroom was alien-too big, too still, and far too cold for the heat she desperately needed. She stretched out flat on the cold white bed, staring up at the ceiling as if it bore some secret that could be discovered nowhere else. It was today.

Wedding day.

Her own heart was a harsh one, beating fiercely yet strangely hollow, as if each beat gave sound to an unfamiliar void. She had envisioned weddings, tender word and soft caress, joy unmingled with pain or obligation. Those are wisps of dust now, scattered and trampled under the weight of her reality.

Isla was altered first, radiant and humming with the kind of energy Isla did not have anymore. Makeup artist and fitter went to and fro with the ease of a well-greased machine, reworking Isla's face into something almost unrecognizable-a satin-and-satin bride, not one that wept-and-scraped. Nina tried to coax a smile out of her, try to bring Isla out of her coma-like existence, but all Isla could manage by way of response was a nod, her dry mouth unwilling speech.

"Hello, it's okay to be scared," Nina whispered, securing the veil in place. "But you are stronger than you realize. You've already survived hell and back."

Isla forced a wobbly smile, her lips trembling at the edges. "Gifted with strength is not always ideal," she panted. "Sometimes it only means that you ache longer."

Outside, the city hummed with its usual indifference. Photographers and reporters lined the sidewalks outside the hotel, waiting to catch a glimpse of the wedding of the year-Alexander Milton, the billionaire recluse, and Isla Grant, an enigmatic woman who seemed to pop out of thin air and had captured the headlines overnight.

Isla's thoughts wandered back to her father, thin and weary and splayed across the hospital bed. She had vowed she would save him-no matter what. But now, on the threshold of this day, she wasn't so certain the cost was one she'd be willing to pay. She was about to enter a cage disguised as a fairytale.

The party function hall was adorned with crystal chandeliers and white roses. The people who had dressed up to attend stood waiting, whispers and murmurs echoing the hall like an electric current. Alexander's father and family and coworkers at work sat down grim-faced with accusatory eyes. His father settled into the back chair as rigid as a piece of ice, glaring unabashedly at Isla as if demanding she disappear.

The second Alexander entered, the room fell silent. Tidal wave-6'3" towering frame, razor-sharp suit precise cut, dark hair slicked back, storm-gray eyes piercing through everything. But today, there was something different in those eyes-a flicker of weakness passing through the usual coldness. He glared at the door where Isla would be entering, his jaw clenched tightly.

And then the music started-a soft, otherworldly atmosphere that swept Isla up with it. She glided slowly, slowly, as though she was being carried along by her own legs. All the guests' gazes were on her as she floated down the aisle, a pale, ghostly shape, her chestnut locks shining in gentle waves.

Alexander's gaze clashed with hers, and for a moment the hardness in his expression softened into something else. He blinked ruthlessly, as if to blot the second before it had time to settle. He was a man who was used to standing behind walls of steel-but Isla, with her stubborn self-confidence, was already insidiously making a breach.

The vows were spoken, and Isla's voice trembled. The words that issued from her lips were the words she had practiced, the vows made and not love. Alexander went on but then faltered, going off script. His voice dropped to a whisper, a vow for Isla alone.

"I vow to guard what is mine. even when I do not always know how to love it."

The Priest proceeded.

"Do you Alexander Milton take Isla Grant to be your lawfully wedded wife?''

"I do", Alex replied without hesitation.

"Do you Isla Grant take Alexander Milton to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do", Isla paused before speaking.

The words were threatening, vague, but Isla felt the weight of them settle on the front of her chest. She looked at him and saw the flash of apology that rode across his face. She had no idea what to do with it.

The reception was a blur of purloined smiles and tinkling ice to chase after. Camila Vaughn stood there, cold eyes following Isla with venom camouflaged behind courteous smiles, unease floating in the air, unspoken battles-Camila's subtle sarcasms, remote presence in the corner.

Isla pushed through the throng, ghost in the midst of celebrants, doubt on her shoulders. Nina followed behind her, steadying presence among mayhem.

As the music slowed, and pairs left the floor, Alexander made a move. Isla delayed, then slipped her trembling hand into his. They made their way slowly around the dance floor, an unwilling pair bound together by duty and visibility rather than desire. Alexander's gaze was a maelstrom of emotions-anger, revenge, longing.

At the end of the dance, Alexander leaned over Isla and whispered into her ear, "This is just the beginning"

Isla was silent. The seriousness of the day hung between them like an umbrella. Then the two understood at that point that this wedding was not simple. It was the night's fire, but whether it would illuminate or reduce everything to embers, time itself would be the answer.

Isla drifts away from the party after the reception, the weight of the day pressing in her chest. She takes refuge in the quiet of the hotel hallway and pulls out her phone. A text message on the screen-no number, no name:

"You don't belong in his world. This marriage will destroy you."

Her fingers lock up, heart racing. She gazes at the screen, her brain in chaos. Camila's venom, if it is to be blamed for the threat? Or else, some one hidden behind? The message puts her shivering, caught between fear and bravery.