Chapter 1
The priest's voice rang through the cathedral, deep and resonant, like a decree. Sacred. Binding. Final.
"Do you, Ruby Kensington, take Christian Royal to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Her pulse faltered. A staccato beat in her chest. Her heart pounded painfully.
"I... I do," she whispered. The words tasted bitter on her tongue.
It felt like signing her life away.
A subtle shift in the air surrounded her. It was imperceptible, yet undeniable. The moment those two words escaped her lips, a stillness took root deep within her. Something fragile inside folded in on itself, retreating like a child hiding under a bed. That soft, hopeful part of her—the one that believed in something real—was gone.
Love. Laughter. A life of meaning. A touch that mattered. A kiss that left her breathless. Someone who saw her—not the Kensington heiress, not the pawn, but her.
But this wasn't a wedding.
This was a transaction, clothed in lace and moonlight.
Ruby had always known this day would come. Girls born with billion-dollar names didn't get fairy tales. They got contracts. Deals sealed with promises whispered over cigars and scotch in dark boardrooms.
Her sister, Amber, had been the first sacrifice. Married off for power, just as their father planned. But Amber had fought back. She'd found someone who wasn't part of the deal. She'd fallen for David, a love that was warm, real. Ruby had watched the way David had looked at Amber—with adoration and warmth. A look Ruby could only dream of receiving from her soon-to-be husband.
She had clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, love would grow between them too.
Instead, she was twenty-three, handed over like property. To him.
Christian Royal.
Ruby still remembered the first time she'd seen him. It had been at the Royals' charity gala, just over a year ago. The ballroom had been a sea of silver, champagne, and silk. Every smile was sharp. Every handshake, a transaction.
She'd walked in, radiant in a navy gown crafted by a Parisian designer, her hair an artful arrangement of calculated beauty. She moved with the poise of someone who belonged, but inside, her stomach twisted with nerves.
And then, she'd seen him.
Christian stood across the room like a storm—a man carved from stone. Tall, devastating, unreadable. His charcoal suit clung to his body like a second skin. His hair tousled, defying perfection. And his eyes—icy, calculating—had locked with hers for the briefest of moments.
That moment had stolen her breath.
Then, he'd spoken. Cold. Dismissive.
"Ah. The youngest Kensington. Right."
Like she was nothing more than a number on a ledger.
The flicker of hope inside her had died on the spot.
And now, here they were. Standing at the altar. Bound by silk, bloodlines, and duty.
The cathedral felt like it was closing in on her. The walls of gold and ivory pressed against her lungs. Everything shimmered: the white roses, the light spilling from crystal chandeliers, the flawless aisle rolled out beneath her heels.
But none of it felt real.
The dress she wore felt like armor—diamonds and dreams stitched into something that didn't belong to her. She felt like a mannequin, locked behind glass, a display for others to admire.
The priest turned to Christian.
"Do you, Christian Royal, take Ruby Kensington to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
No hesitation. No pause.
"I do."
It was a statement. A deal sealed with one cold, final word.
Ruby lifted her gaze. Their eyes met.
She searched. Desperately.
For warmth. For regret. For something—anything.
But there was nothing.
"You may now kiss the bride."
Her breath caught. Panic rose like a tide. She wasn't ready for this. Not for him. Not for this.
Christian stepped forward, smooth and deliberate, like a man trained for this exact moment. His hand touched her waist—firm, polite, impersonal. His lips brushed hers—cold, mechanical. A fleeting touch, like a chore, devoid of connection.
He pulled away just as quickly.
The applause rang out. Thunderous. Hollow. Like a show.
Ruby didn't blink. Couldn't.
She had to smile.
Smile, Ruby. Pretend it doesn't feel like dying.
Her eyes scanned the front row.
Her mother sat stiffly, her pearl clutch gripped too tightly. Her eyes betrayed a sadness Ruby had come to know too well. A sadness that tasted like apology. Eleanor Kensington had long ago learned to swallow her words. Just like her daughters.
Maxwell sat beside her, clapping with smug satisfaction. His face gleamed, eyes crinkling with the pride of a man who had just sealed another monumental deal.
And beside him, Dante Royal grinned—a king surveying his new kingdom. His wife, blank-eyed and perfect, stood by his side. And Christian's stepbrother, Damian, smirked like the whole ceremony was a joke, the punchline only he understood.
This wasn't a family. It was a power play in designer heels.
Christian turned to her again. His gaze was cold, his face unreadable. She placed her hand in his, instinctively. Not affection. Just duty. His palm was cool, his grip firm, unyielding.
They walked down the aisle together, shoulder to shoulder—strangers wearing rings.
Petals fluttered from the ceiling.
Flashes from cameras sparked in the air. The crowd's applause was like a wave, crashing around them.
To them, we're a fantasy. Beauty. Bloodlines.
To Ruby, this was a funeral in white.
She smiled, but it trembled at the corners, her spine locked in place. Beneath it all, deep in her chest, something threatened to break free—something raw, something real.
But she was a Kensington.
And a Kensington never breaks.
Cassie was the first to reach her. She wrapped her arms tightly around Ruby's waist.
"You've got this," Cassie whispered fiercely into her ear. "You're stronger than anyone in this room, R. Don't forget it."
Ruby wanted to collapse into her, just for a moment. Just to breathe.
But then Amber appeared. Her eyes were full of understanding.
"I know it's not the same," Amber said softly, "but sometimes love grows later."
Ruby didn't have the heart to respond. Not yet. Not when the cold, unyielding truth gnawed at her from the inside out.
Nothing grows in frost.
And then Christian was beside her again. His presence, a shadow. Her husband.
He didn't say a word.
He just offered his hand.
She took it.
Because there was nothing else to do.
They turned, once again, to leave. Husband and wife. Sealed and done.
Petals kept falling.
People kept clapping.
But Ruby?
She was drifting.
Her smile wavered at the corners, but it stayed. Because that's what was expected of a Kensington.
Smile. Endure. Never break.
Her spine was locked in place. Her fingers ached from pretending.
And beneath it all, deeper than diamonds, deeper than white lies and veiled futures, one truth clung to her like silk turned suffocating—
She was deeply, bitterly unhappy.
But she was a Kensington.
And a Kensington never breaks.