*By Noblella *

I hated weddings.

The forced smiles, the endless photographs, and the meaningless congratulations from people who cared more about my bank balance than my happiness. Everything about the occasion irritated me.

And today, I was the groom.

I stood before the mirror in my dressing room, adjusting the cufflinks on my black tuxedo while my phone buzzed for the third time in less than a minute.

“Sir, your mother is asking if you're ready,” my assistant, Michael, said from the doorway.

“Tell her I'll be down in five minutes.”

“You've said thrice in the last couple of minutes boss"

I turned to look at him.

“Do you want to keep your job, Michael?”

He immediately lowered his eyes. “Of course, sir.”

“Then stop reminding me that I'm getting married "

He disappeared without another word.

I returned my attention to the mirror.

Kelvin Alexander Blackwood. Thirty-two years old. Chief executive officer of Blackwood Global Group. Owner of properties across three countries, with more money than I could spend in several lifetimes.

And apparently, not capable of making one simple decision about his own life.

My mother had been talking about Roselle Bennett for almost a year. Her family was wealthy, respectable and influential. According to her, Roselle was intelligent, beautiful and the perfect woman to stand beside me.

I didn't care if she was perfect.

I didn't want a wife.

I wanted my freedom, my business and the peace that came with having nobody close enough to interfere with my life.

But my mother had made it clear that refusing the marriage would damage the relationship between our families and complicate a business agreement I had spent months negotiating.

So here I was.

Getting married for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with love.

A knock interrupted my thoughts.

“Come in.”

My mother entered, looking as though she were attending the wedding of the century rather than forcing her only son into a life he had never wanted.

She studied me for a moment before smiling.

“You look handsome, darling.”

“I'm sure the photographs will confirm that.”

Her smile faded.

“Kelvin, please. Not today.”

“Then don't start.”

She walked closer and straightened my tie, a habit she had maintained since I was a boy.

“Roselle is a lovely girl. She will make you happy.”

I caught her hand gently and moved it away from my tie.

“Mother, we have discussed this.”

“You agreed to marry her.”

“I agreed to the marriage. I never agreed to fall in love.”

She looked at me with disappointment.

“Love doesn't always come first, Kelvin. Sometimes it comes after two people decide to build a life together.”

“Then I hope she finds someone who believes that.”

My mother stared at me as though she wanted to say something else, but the music from the hall began to play.

“It is time,” she said quietly.

I offered her my arm.

“Let's get this over with.”

***

Roselle was beautiful.

I could admit that much without feeling anything else.

She stood beside me at the altar in a white gown, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. When the priest asked us to exchange our vows, she looked at me with a warmth I found difficult to understand.

It was the look of someone who believed she was beginning a love story.

I wondered how long it would take her to realise that she wasn't.

When it was my turn to speak, I repeated the words I had been given. I placed the ring on her finger, and the guests applauded.

She smiled at me.

I gave her the smallest smile I could manage.

By evening, we were husband and wife.

By midnight, I had already returned to my office to answer emails.

And by the time I arrived at the penthouse we were supposed to share, Roselle was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a silk robe.

She stood as soon as I entered.

“Kelvin, you're back.”

I loosened my tie.

“Clearly.”

She hesitated before speaking again.

“I thought perhaps we could have dinner together. I asked the staff to prepare something.”

“I've eaten.”

“Oh.”

Her smile faltered.

I walked towards the wardrobe and removed my watch.

“There's something we need to understand about this marriage.”

She became very still.

I turned to face her.

“My work comes first. I don't want questions about where I go, who I meet or when I return. I don't want arguments, unnecessary expectations or emotional drama.”

She stared at me, her fingers tightening around the edge of her robe.

“And what about us?” she asked softly.

“There is no us, Roselle. Not in the way you're imagining.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, but I refused to fill it.

She lowered her gaze.

“Do you dislike me that much?”

For a moment, something about the question unsettled me.

Then I reminded myself why I was here.

“This marriage was your parents' idea and my mother's idea. Neither of us needs to pretend it was a love story.”

Her eyes glistened, but she nodded.

“Okay.”

I picked up my laptop.

“I have work to finish. Don't wait up for me.”

I walked out of the bedroom without looking back.

I didn't see the tears that finally slipped down her cheeks.

I didn't hear the quiet sob she tried to swallow.

And I certainly didn't know that, one day, I would remember that moment and wish I could return to it—not to change the words I had spoken, but to stop myself from ever becoming the man who said them.

Because the woman I left crying that night would eventually become the only woman whose tears I would do anything to stop.

And by the time I understood that, she would have every reason not to let me.