Yuna walked slowly down the aisle, each step echoing softly in the grand hall, as if the sound of her footsteps were trying to fill the heavy silence around her. The church was pristine, the stained glass windows casting soft, colorful reflections on the marble floors. The air was filled with the scent of fresh roses, their delicate petals arranged perfectly on every pew, lining the path she was destined to take. She wore a white wedding dress, simple yet elegant, its silk fabric hugging her curves in a way that made her feel both beautiful and out of place. Her dark hair was neatly pinned up, soft curls framing her face, the crystal brown of her eyes wide with uncertainty.
The bouquet of white roses in her hands was a symbol of purity, but in her heart, all she felt was a storm of emotions. Nervousness. Apprehension. A flutter of doubt that wouldn't go away. She wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready to marry a man she barely knew, a man who was a stranger in her life, bound only by an agreement between their families.
And yet, here she was, walking towards him.
Lucas.
She could see him standing at the altar, tall and commanding, his posture straight as an arrow, his dark suit sharp and crisp, as though it were a uniform meant for war rather than a wedding. His black hair, neatly combed, contrasted with the soft glow of the church, but it was his eyes—those cold, emotionless eyes—that caught her attention. His gaze was fixed ahead, unmoving, detached. He wasn't looking at her. In fact, it almost seemed like he wasn't even aware she was there. There was no spark of joy, no sign of hesitation or excitement, not a flicker of emotion at all.
It was as though this was not his wedding—no, this wasn't their wedding—it was someone else's, a contract to fulfill, a mere transaction.
Yuna couldn't help but feel the weight of that thought in her chest. She was nothing more than a pawn in this game, a bride given away for the benefit of their families' business.
When she finally reached him, standing in front of him, they stood silently, hands trembling as they clasped each other's. His grip was firm, yet distant, like he was holding a stranger's hand, like they weren't even tied by a contract but by sheer obligation. He towered over her, his cold demeanor making her feel small and insignificant in his presence.
The priest's voice echoed in the stillness. "Do you, Lucas, take Yuna to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and cherish her, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
The question felt mechanical, as though it had been asked a thousand times before, without any real meaning. Lucas didn't blink, didn't flinch. His voice was calm, distant, when he answered, "I do."
Then, the priest turned to Yuna, his gaze soft, filled with sympathy. "And do you, Yuna, take Lucas to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and cherish him, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
Her breath caught in her throat. Was she ready to answer? Was she ready to give herself to a man she barely knew? The vows felt empty, like words she was supposed to say, not words she felt. But what choice did she have? She could only give in, as he had.
"I do," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, her fingers clenching his hand tighter.
The priest smiled softly, nodding. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
The words felt like an eternity, like a dream she couldn't wake up from. She looked up at him, her heart pounding. Lucas's dark eyes met hers, but there was no warmth there, no emotion to soften the coldness that seemed to radiate from him.
She held her breath, waiting. He leaned down slowly, and for a moment, she thought maybe, just maybe, this would be the moment he would kiss her. Their lips would meet, and something—anything—would happen between them. Her heart beat faster as he drew closer, anticipation rising.
But then, to her shock, the kiss landed on her forehead. A soft, quick brush of his lips, nothing more. Her eyes widened in surprise, a mix of disappointment and confusion flooding her chest. Why? Why hadn't he kissed her on the lips? It was her wedding day. She had expected more than this.
Her mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind. Is this really happening? She looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of emotion, but there was nothing. He was completely unaffected. He stood tall again, straightening his suit as if nothing had happened, as if it was all part of some carefully orchestrated performance.
No one seemed to care. His family. Her family. They all stood around, unmoved by the lack of passion, the lack of connection. It was an arranged marriage after all. No one expected anything more.
But Yuna couldn't help it. Her heart sank. He should have kissed me on the lips.
The thought lingered in her mind, bitter and unspoken. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stood there, still holding his hand. She wanted to say something, to demand that he show some kind of emotion, but all she could do was stand there, trapped in the moment. His indifference was suffocating.
Was this what her future would be like? A life of duty, of emptiness? She didn't know how to feel, but one thing was certain—this wasn't how she had imagined her wedding day to be.