Chapter 1
YARA EMBRY’S POV
The girl in the mirror is a stranger.
She is dressed in silk and lace, a bride in every sense of the word, yet she looks nothing like the woman she was yesterday. Her shoulders are stiff, her chin lifted as if to feign dignity—but I see through it. I see the fractures beneath her skin, the cracks webbing through the fragile foundation of who she used to be. The veil drapes over my head like a crown of thorns, heavier than fabric should be, pressing down like a cruel reminder of the life I no longer own.
A single day. That’s all it took for everything to change.
Yesterday, I had been Yara Embry, a woman on the edge of a future she had convinced herself might be tolerable—maybe even decent. I told myself that love didn’t need to be immediate. That security, companionship, and a shared vision could be enough. That one day, I might even look at my fiancé and feel something real. It wasn’t a fairytale, but it was stability. A quiet victory over the chaos I’d clawed my way out of.
But then… he left.
No note. No explanation. Not even the decency to tell me himself. Just vanished, like vapor, leaving behind an empty altar and a room full of judgmental stares that pierced through my skin like acid rain. And before the shame had even settled, before I could catch my breath or find my voice, another name was spoken. Another man stepped forward.
Kian Carrington.
My fingers curl around the edge of the vanity, knuckles turning white. The name echoes like a curse in my mind. He had always been there—unavoidable. A shadow at the periphery of my world. A boy turned man, once my childhood enemy. Always cold, always untouchable. He never looked at me, not once, not truly. And now… he is my husband.
Husband.
The word is almost laughable.
I glance down at the ring wrapped around my finger like a shackle. I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he married me for my family’s name, or the fact that I stood there and let it happen. Paralyzed by disgrace. Numb from the sting of betrayal. I let him place this ring on me, seal my fate with a kiss that meant nothing.
My breath catches in my throat. I force myself to look up, into my own reflection.
How did I get here?
How did the girl who fought tooth and nail to survive, who screamed at the world not to define her, become this? A woman trapped in a marriage she didn’t choose, bound to a man who doesn’t understand her, who never tried to.
I should hate him.
And I do. Don’t I?
For his arrogance. For the indifference in his eyes. For the way he looked at me tonight—not with love, not even pity—but something else. Something unreadable. Something that burrowed beneath my skin and shook the ground beneath my feet.
I’ve spent years despising Kian Carrington. For his silence. For his distance. For how he ignored my existence as if I was invisible. And yet… buried beneath the bitterness, there’s something else. An emotion I can’t name. A ghost of something dangerous, something I refuse to face.
I breathe out, uneven and trembling, eyes locked with the mirror as if daring the reflection to answer my silent scream.
But she is gone.
The girl I was.
The girl I knew.
Replaced by a woman who wears a name that doesn’t feel like her own.
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KIAN CARRINGTON’S POV
The hallway is too quiet.
I stand outside her door, back straight, hand resting against the dark mahogany surface. I had knocked—once. Firm. Purposeful. A sound designed to elicit a response. But silence greeted me. Thick, suffocating silence.
I stay there for a moment, my fingertips brushing the polished wood. I strain to hear the faintest rustle—fabric shifting, footsteps, even a breath. Nothing.
She’s not coming.
A breath escapes me—sharp, irritated, not at her, but at the realization that she would rather sit in silence than share a room with me.
Yara Carrington.
No. Yara Embry.
Still so attached to the name that never truly left her.
She has always been stubborn. But this isn’t defiance. It’s something else. Something colder. A quiet rebellion, an invisible wall between us that she has no intention of letting me break. And the worst part? It unsettles me.
I glance at my watch. An hour past dinner.
The table had been set immaculately—down to the exact curve of the folded napkins. A meal prepared to perfection. Crystal glasses gleamed beneath the chandelier. But the chair across from me remained empty. Her absence echoed through the room like thunder.
I told myself I wouldn’t care.
That she was making a statement. That her absence didn’t matter.
But it did.
I noticed the way the light didn’t reflect the same. The clink of cutlery against porcelain felt hollow. The silence was not peaceful—it was loud. Mocking.
With a tense jaw, I turn sharply and walk. My footsteps are slow, deliberate, heels tapping softly against the marble floor as I approach the guest room—the one she chose. Not ours.
My hand wraps around the doorknob. I hesitate, just for a breath, before turning it. The door creaks slightly as it opens.
And I freeze.
She’s not on the bed.
She’s curled up on the floor, just beside it.
Her frame is small, crumpled, knees tucked to her chest, the edge of a thin blanket wrapped around her like Armor. Her cheek rests on her arm, and in the dim golden glow of the lamp, I see it—her tear-streaked face. Her lashes damp. Her lips slightly parted, as if caught mid-sigh. My chest tightens.
She cried herself to sleep.
For a moment, I can’t move. Just stare. The air feels heavier now, laced with something I can’t name.
She looks nothing like the firebrand from school—the girl who challenged me with her words, who moved through the halls like she owned the world, even when the world tried to break her. That girl was wild. Bright. Alive.
But this?
This girl on the floor is a flickering candle in the dark.
And I hate it.
I crouch, slowly, careful not to wake her. My hand hovers over her cheek. I don’t touch her at first. Just breathe her in—lavender and sorrow. Then my fingers graze her skin. She shifts slightly, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
I wonder if she’s dreaming of him.
The man who walked away.
Jealousy curdles in my chest, dark and uninvited.
I should wake her. Tell her to sleep in the bed. Remind her this is her home now, too. But my body moves before reason can intervene.
With slow, cautious movements, I slide my arms under her, lifting her with practiced ease. She’s lighter than I expected—far too light. As if the grief has hollowed her out.
She stirs against me, her head falling gently against my shoulder, but doesn’t wake. I carry her to the bed, place her down with a care I didn’t know I had. I pull the blanket over her, tucking it gently beneath her arms.
And then I pause.
Just for a second.
Watching her breathe. Watching the pain slip from her features, even if only for a moment.
The question rises before I can stop it?
Will I ever see that girl again?
The one with fire in her heart and defiance in her smile?
I don’t know.
But I want to.
"And if you think silence is the safest place to hide, wait until it starts screaming back".-snow
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