Wish you were mine

42. Just one Night

PENELOPE

The sharp click-click-click of cameras surrounded us like a swarm of bees, each flash a reminder that this wasn't just a wedding-it was a spectacle.

"Mr. Anderson! Over here! How does it feel marrying into the Davis empire?"

"Mrs. Anderson, are you happy?"

That last question pierced me the hardest.

Sean kept his arm firmly wrapped around my waist, his face the perfect mask of calm confidence. He answered with a small nod and a tight smile.

"It's a wonderful day. We're grateful for your blessings."

He played his part with practiced ease.
Like always.

Me? I just smiled. That same rehearsed smile I wore on magazine covers and billboards. But inside, I was wilting. Drowning in a storm of nerves, memories, and something I couldn't name.

His hand was warm against the small of my back as we walked, guiding me toward the grand ballroom.

It felt oddly intimate.

Oddly familiar.

But everything about today was laced with contradictions.

His touch was steady, mine trembled slightly. I wasn't used to him like this-not anymore.

I looked down for a moment, and my eyes fell on the ring.

The same ring.

Our ring.

The delicate crown-shaped design I once poured my heart into, thinking I was crafting a fairytale future. Now it sat on my finger like a ghost of everything I lost-and everything I was forced to reclaim.

Suddenly, it felt heavier than gold.

Like it bore the weight of all our unfinished stories.

The towering doors of the ballroom opened, revealing a breathtaking scene that nearly stole the air from my lungs.
It was like stepping into a dream.

Or maybe a world that no longer felt like mine.

Golden chandeliers cascaded from the soaring ceiling like waterfalls of light.
The marble floors gleamed under our steps, polished to a mirror shine, reflecting every flicker of candlelight and every trace of emotion on my face.
Ivory drapes danced gently in the breeze, framing the tall arched windows that offered a glimpse of the lake glistening in the late sunlight.

Every table was adorned with arrangements of white peonies-my favorite-and roses dusted in gold, set in crystal vases that sparkled like stars.
Soft violin music floated through the air, wrapping the room in warmth and elegance.

It was perfect.

It was too perfect.

Almost like it was mocking me.

The guests rose from their seats and clapped as we entered, but all I could feel was the pressure of his arm and the hollow ache where Sophie should've stood.

I smiled, waved slightly, kept my head high.

Because that's what Penelope Davis does.

But beneath the silk, beneath the diamonds, beneath the curated perfection-I was still searching for breath.

Still reminding myself this was just for a year.

Just twelve months.

And then I could be free.

Or so I hoped.

As soon as the music shifted into something softer, the first to approach us were Sean's parents. His mother, graceful and regal as ever in her midnight blue gown, pulled me into a gentle embrace.