Episode 1

The grand ballroom of the Blackwood estate sparkled under the chandeliers. Everything looked perfect—fancy, expensive, and full of people dressed in their best.

Myra Morante stood near the entrance, her white gown trailing behind her. She looked like a bride from a magazine, but inside, she felt heavy and nervous. Her chest tightened as her father walked over, pride and something else—maybe guilt—in his eyes.

“You look beautiful,” he said gently. “I know this isn’t what you wanted… but it’s what needs to be done.”

Myra gave a small nod, unable to speak. Her eyes drifted to Damien Blackwood, standing at the altar. He looked calm and serious, his dark hair in place, his face unreadable. When their eyes met, there was no smile. No warmth.

The ceremony started. Myra walked slowly down the aisle, each step reminding her this wasn’t a dream—it was real. At the altar, she and Damien said their vows. Their voices were steady, but it all felt distant, like they were reading from a script.

When the officiant said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” there was a pause—then Damien leaned forward and kissed her. It was brief and gentle, but it sealed what now felt like a contract, not a love story.

People clapped. But to Myra, the sound was soft and far away.

Later at the reception, they stood side by side, speaking only when necessary. Their conversation was stiff and formal.

“I hope everything is to your liking,” Damien said, his voice calm.

Myra gave a practiced smile. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”

As the night dragged on, Myra slipped away to a quiet part of the house. She stood by a tall window, staring out at the garden lit by soft lamps. Everything looked beautiful. And yet, she felt trapped—like all the gold around her was just decoration for a cage.

Damien found her there a little while later. “Is everything alright?” he asked, voice lower this time.

She glanced at him. “I just needed a moment.”

He nodded slowly. “Maybe we should try to get to know each other… make things easier.”

Myra didn’t answer right away. She wanted to believe he meant it, but she wasn’t sure. “Maybe,” she said quietly. “But I’ll need time.”

He didn’t argue. Just gave a small nod and left her alone.

That night, after all the guests had gone, Myra sat by the window again. The moon was high, and everything was quiet. The day had passed, but the weight hadn’t lifted.

How was she supposed to live like this? In a house that didn’t feel like home, with a man she didn’t know, and a future she never asked for?

She didn’t hate Damien. But she didn’t love him either. And the thought of spending the rest of her life this way made her chest ache.

Still, something in her settled. If this was her life now, she’d find her way through it.

Even if it meant finding a way out.

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