# Chapter 2: The Wedding Day
When Ayla descended the grand staircase, she caught sight of her makeup artist and stylist already waiting for her in the lavishly decorated foyer. The delicate scent of lilacs filled the air, mingling with the excitement and tension that swirled around her like a storm. The sprawling chandelier above cast a glittering glow over the entire room, and her heart raced at the thought of what lay ahead.
As she reached the bottom step, she felt an unsettling mix of anticipation and dread. Her mother, Vashti, stood with arms crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Time to go, Ayla," she said curtly, her tone devoid of warmth. "The Darkstones await."
The weight of her mother's indifference hung heavily on Ayla's chest. This marriage was not to celebrate love but a strategic business calculus, an equation that her parents had calculated long before she even knew what it meant to care for someone.
As Ayla turned towards her stylist, she couldn't help but soak in the details of the moment. The room was filled with soft fabrics and elegant decor that felt foreign to her in this context—a world of beauty enveloping her as her heart felt like it had been hollowed out.
The makeup artist, a lively woman with curling auburn hair and sparkling green eyes, approached her with a warm smile. "Let's get started, shall we?" she said, her voice bubbling with encouragement. The stylist, a tall man with precise, practiced hands, nodded in agreement, already unrolling an array of brushes and palettes on a nearby table.
### Makeup Process
Ayla settled into a plush chair, the soft fabric calming her nerves as the makeup artist began her work. "First, we'll start with a primer," the woman explained, gently applying the silky cream to Ayla's face. The cool sensation felt soothing against her slightly flushed cheeks. "This will make sure your makeup lasts through the long day ahead."
Next came the foundation, a flawless blend that transformed Ayla's complexion. As the artist worked carefully, Ayla often caught her own reflection in the large wall mirror, noticing how the light caught the line of her jaw and the curve of her lips. It seemed absurd, but she felt beautiful yet painfully aware of the underlying sadness that marked this day.
After the foundation settled, the makeup artist moved to the eyes. "We're going for a classic look," she said, her hands deftly applying a soft, shimmering taupe eyeshadow that enhanced the natural hue of Ayla's eyes. "Something timeless, just like this moment."
Ayla watched intently as the artist swept a slightly darker shade into the crease, adding depth and dimension. Then came the eyeliner—precise strokes that defined her dark lashes and made her blue eyes pop against the ivory of her dress. "Now for a touch of mascara," the artist said, layering it carefully until her lashes looked long and voluminous.
Finally, the artist focused on Ayla's lips. She chose a delicate rose shade that was reminiscent of blooming petals in spring, applying it with a gentle hand. "There you go! Perfect," she exclaimed, stepping back to admire her work.
While Ayla was pleased with her look, she felt a pang in her heart. "Thank you," she whispered, but the gratitude felt hollow; it did little to soothe the ache of her situation.
### The Wedding Dress
Next, the stylist stepped in, holding up the wedding dress—a stunning creation that seemed to whisper promises of dreams unfulfilled. It was an ethereal masterpiece crafted from layers of cascading silk and delicate lace. The bodice, adorned with intricate beading, hugged her frame snugly, cinching her waist and enhancing her silhouette.
As he carefully helped her into the dress, Ayla felt the fabric sweep around her like a soft cloud. The train trailed behind her, an extravagant cascade of white that seemed to float effortlessly. The deep V-neckline added an elegant touch, and she could feel the weight of expectation settle upon her shoulders. The sleeves, lace with a hint of floral embroidery, made her feel like a character from a fairy tale—yet one trapped in a sorrowful plot.
"Just a few adjustments," the stylist said, his voice serene. He moved to cinch the corset back, ensuring that the details fit perfectly. As he fastened the tiny buttons, Ayla felt a thrill of excitement mixed with apprehension; her reflection in the mirror was enchanting, but beneath it, her reality loomed like a dark cloud.
With the dress now comfortably fitted, the stylist stepped back, admiring his work. "You look breathtaking, Ayla," he said genuinely, and for a fleeting moment, she believed him. The mirror reflected not just the dress, but a woman poised on the edge of change—if only it were for a different reason.
### The Ceremony
Once she was ready, they all moved toward the grand ballroom, where the ceremony would unfold. The echoes of distant guests filled the air, laughter mingling with murmurs that bounced off the opulent walls.
As she entered, her gaze found Kaidren seated at the front, chillingly handsome in his tailored suit. He possessed the kind of striking features that would make anyone stop and stare—strong jawline, deep-set dark eyes, and hair impeccably styled. Yet today, as she stood before him, he didn't spare her a glance; his attention was fixed elsewhere, scanning the room with a disinterested frown.
It struck Ayla like a blow, the realization that her stunning appearance and the effort put into the ceremony meant nothing to him. Pain squeezed at her heart as she approached, the silence between them louder than any words could convey.
The officiant began the ceremony, his voice reverberating through the grand space. "We are gathered here today…" The words spun around her like a web, trapping her in a reality she could not escape.
As they exchanged their vows, Ayla's voice trembled. Each word felt like a weight dragging her down further into despair. Kaidren's responses were curt, his eyes scrutinizing the guests rather than meeting hers. There was no warmth, no tenderness in his gaze; only the stark reality of their situation—a loveless union dressed up in finery.
When it came time to exchange rings, the cold metal pressed against her skin, bringing with it a rush of melancholy. This was not a symbol of love; it was a burden, a contract saying she had been offloaded from her family's debt to another.
### The Reception
The reception that followed was a lavish facet of extravagance—tables adorned with crystal centerpieces that sparkled under the overhead crystals. The overwhelming display of lavishness did little to warm her heart. Around her, laughter and the clinking of glasses drowned out the thoughts that spiraled inside her mind.
Kaidren barely acknowledged her as they floated through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries while maintaining a distance that felt like a chasm. Each dance was merely that—a dance, devoid of emotion or intimacy. When he whirled her near the dance floor, she longed for his touch to become something more, but he held her at a distance, as if she were an inconvenient accessory.
"Smile, Ayla," he whispered, his voice flat and devoid of warmth. "We have an audience."
Alya did as instructed, but the smile felt like a mask, a façade she wore to conceal the inner turmoil. As they glided across the floor, her heart ached with questions. What had she done to deserve this? Why did it feel as if her very existence was seen as an inconvenience?
As the evening wore on, Ayla felt herself fade into the background—an observer in a life that was supposed to be hers, but now felt utterly foreign. She caught glimpses of laughter and joy in other couples, intoxicating highlights of pure love she had yearned to experience but could never grasp. In this crowd, she was just a pawn in a game her family had orchestrated, manipulated by circumstances beyond her control.
The night stretched on, a series of moments that sliced through her with the coldness of reality: her wedding was less about love and more a chain that bound her to a man who saw her as a mere stepping stone. By the time the final song played, Ayla found herself whispering silent prayers, the aching desire for something deeper drowning her in sorrow.
It was a luxurious affair wrapped in shimmering silks and sparkling jewels, yet she felt like an outsider looking in on a life she wished were her own. The weight of expectations lay heavy upon her, and as her wedding day came to a close, Ayla couldn't shake the feeling that she was lost; trapped in a world that could never be hers.
As the final notes danced through the air, she stole a glance at Kaidren, wondering if that, too, would fade into memory—a fleeting wish for something more, something that would never be.