Shattered Vows

A vow to hell

The day of the wedding arrived, and the mansion was transformed into a spectacle of opulence. Lavish flowers and extravagant decorations filled the grand halls, but to me, they were nothing more than reminders of my despair. The beauty of the setting felt like a mockery of my misery.

As I was prepared for the ceremony, I was surrounded by maids, makeup artists, and hairstylists. Their efforts to make me look like a perfect bride felt like an additional layer of cruelty. The white gown that was supposed to symbolize joy and new beginnings felt like a prison, each detail of its design tightening the shackle around my future.

While the maids worked on my makeup and hair, tears streamed down my face. One of the maids, a woman with kind eyes and a gentle touch, noticed my distress. Her voice, though soft and sympathetic, was a stark contrast to the harsh reality I was facing. "Don't cry, dear. The makeup will get ruined."

Desperation gripped me. I reached out and grasped her hand, my heart pounding with fear. "Please, help me. I can't do this. If I marry him, it will destroy me. You have to help me escape."

The maid's eyes flickered with sorrow, but she pulled her hand away and tried to maintain a neutral expression. "I'm so sorry, but I can't. It's not something I can change."

I clung to her hand, my voice breaking with anguish. "Please, there must be something you can do. I can't live like this. It's unbearable. Please, just help me."

The maid's face remained sympathetic, but her resolve was clear. "It's for your own good," she said, her tone firm despite the sadness in her eyes.

Her words were like a punch to the gut. My pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears as I realized the full extent of my situation. The luxury and beauty around me felt like a cruel joke, each exquisite detail only heightening my sense of entrapment.

With a heavy heart, I let them finish the final touches. The reflection in the mirror showed a bride who was supposed to be joyful, but all I saw was a prisoner in a beautiful cage. The grandeur of the mansion, the elegance of the gown, and the lavish decorations were meaningless to me; they were all tainted by the dread I felt.

As I walked down the aisle, the beauty of the ceremony felt like a stark contrast to the inner turmoil I was experiencing. Each step toward Marco, who stood at the altar with a cold, impassive gaze, felt like a step further into my own despair. The vows we exchanged were formal and ritualistic, lacking any warmth or genuine emotion.

The grand hall was filled with guests, many of whom I didn't recognize but assumed were somehow connected to Marco. Their well-dressed, polished appearances and the way they moved with practiced ease added to the sense of formality that surrounded me. Despite the opulence and elegance of the surroundings, every new face that approached me felt like an additional layer of my torment.

As I stood beside Marco, people came up to congratulate us. Each guest seemed to have their own brand of charm—handsome and impeccably dressed, their smiles and polite words were like a veneer over their underlying curiosity. I found myself analyzing every detail, my mind working overtime to distract itself from the dread and despair.

"Congratulations, Isabella," one of the guests said, his eyes lingering on me in a way that made my skin crawl. "I'm sure you'll find your new life here very rewarding."

I forced a smile, trying to mask my discomfort. "Thank you."

Another man, taller and more imposing, approached and extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Lorenzo."

I shook his hand briefly, my grip firm despite my shaking fingers. "Nice to meet you, Lorenzo."

The conversations were a blur, filled with polite niceties and forced pleasantries. Marco seemed to be preoccupied, speaking in hushed tones with a group of men who looked suspiciously handsome, their well-tailored suits and intense gazes making them stand out among the other guests. They huddled together, casting occasional glances toward me, their expressions unreadable.

At one point, Marco pulled them aside, engaging in a serious conversation that I couldn't overhear. I was left standing alone, surrounded by faces that were indifferent to my suffering. The grandiose setting of the reception felt like a cruel joke against my profound misery.

As I tried to retreat into myself, one of the men from Marco's group approached me. He was in his early twenties, with striking features and an air of casual confidence. His dark green hazel eyes and dark brown hair contrasted sharply with his well-tailored suit. He had a faint smirk on his lips, but there was something more perceptive in his gaze.

"Hello," he said, his tone polite but probing. "I'm Alex. May I ask your name?"

I was caught off guard, the question breaking through my haze of despair. I glanced over at Marco, who was still engaged in conversation, and then back at Alex. "I'm Isabella," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Alex studied me with an intense gaze. "Isabella, that's a beautiful name. If you don't mind me asking, why did you agree to marry Marco? He's... well, much older than you. Was it for the money?"

His question cut through me like a knife. I wanted to lash out, to tell him exactly how I felt, but Marco's warning echoed in my mind. I had to maintain the facade. My breathing quickened, and I felt a rising panic as I struggled to keep my composure. "No, it wasn't about the money. I... I love Marco."

Alex's dark green hazel eyes seemed to see through my forced smile and trembling hands. He must have sensed something was wrong. His brow furrowed slightly as he observed my growing distress. "Love, you say? It must be quite the sacrifice. You seem so young and vibrant. What do you see in him?"

I could feel my voice shaking, and I struggled to keep my breathing steady. "He's... he's a good man. I'm sure we'll be very happy together."

Alex's gaze remained piercing, but he gave a small nod. "Well, I hope that's the case. It's quite a commitment, as you know."

As Alex walked away, Marco returned, his expression dark and stormy. His eyes met Alex's briefly, and they exchanged a look that made my stomach churn—a look that seemed to convey a mixture of irritation and unspoken understanding.

Marco's gaze then turned to me, and he stormed over with barely contained anger. "What were you two talking about?" His voice was low but fierce, and I could tell he was trying to control his temper in front of the other guests.

I tried to explain, my voice trembling. "He just asked me my name and congratulated us. That's all."

Marco's face turned red with fury. "Next time, don't speak to anyone unless I say so. Do you understand?"

I nodded, my heart pounding. The intensity of his anger frightened me. His reaction to the conversation with Alex made me feel like there was something I wasn't aware of—something about those men and their meeting with Marco that made him so furious.

As Marco's rage simmered, I couldn't help but wonder what had been said between him and the men he had spoken to. What did Alex know that could provoke such a reaction from Marco? The questions gnawed at me, adding to my sense of helplessness and fear.