(Evelyn Hart's POV)
The headlines arrived faster than the truth.
By the next morning, my name was everywhere. My face—softly lit and airbrushed—plastered across wedding blogs, luxury lifestyle magazines, and even national press. A smiling portrait from the engagement party I never asked for. A quote I never gave. A life I never lived.
"Zyden Cross ties the knot in a grand double wedding — Bride revealed as childhood family friend Evelyn Hart."
"Hart family clarifies identity mix-up: 'It was always Evelyn. The name was misprinted.'"
"Elegant, humble, and poised — Meet Evelyn, the quiet heiress who won Korea's most private billionaire."
It would've been laughable if it hadn't been so suffocating.
Because behind every line they printed, there was only one truth:
They weren't saving me.
They were saving themselves.
---
The meeting happened around noon.
I was summoned, not invited — a short text from my mother:
> "Conference room. Be ready in 10. Wear something simple and respectful."
Simple. Respectful. Controlled.
I stood at the far end of the room while the others filled the polished oak table — my parents, Zyden's parents, two PR managers, and the family lawyer. Selena wasn't there. Of course not. She didn't have to be.
They were too busy spinning the story to fix their image.
My mother looked up from her phone, her lipstick too perfect, her voice clipped. "We've managed to smooth out the public angle. The media was about to spiral. You're trending on three wedding sites."
I blinked. "I never agreed to any of this."
My father didn't even glance at me. "You will."
The PR woman beside him smiled tightly. "It's for your protection, Evelyn. You're being celebrated. You've become a public symbol of grace — stepping into your role with poise. A classic beauty. Humble origins. Soft mannerisms. It's the fairytale people want."
Fairytale.
I wanted to scream.
"Why lie?" I asked, my voice low. "Why say I was the intended bride? You know that's not true."
Zyden hadn't said a word yet.
He sat on the opposite side of the table, his arms crossed, eyes fixed on a document he hadn't turned for ten minutes.
Finally, he spoke. "Because the truth would embarrass everyone involved."
The room went still.
I looked at him.
He didn't meet my gaze.
"People are already speculating," he continued. "Switching brides at the altar? It would make us look like fools. Her"—he gestured toward me without emotion—"like a homewrecker. And me? Like a man who married the wrong woman."
"But you did," I whispered.
He blinked slowly. "And now I have to live with it. So do you."
---
The decision was final.
By evening, I was in a car with tinted windows and two suitcases — being driven to Zyden's estate.
A house I'd never visited.
A man I didn't truly know.
A marriage I never agreed to.
The driver didn't speak. The radio was off. The silence filled with every thought I'd tried to bury since the wedding. I stared out the window as the city passed in blurred smears of gold and steel.
Somewhere out there, people believed I was lucky.
Chosen.
Admired.
They didn't see the missing chair.
The cold stares.
The husband who wouldn't even sit beside me.
---
Zyden didn't speak a word the entire ride.
Not one glance.
When we arrived, he opened the car door first, stepped out, and walked inside without waiting.
I followed.
His house — no, our house now — was everything you'd expect from someone like him. Stark, clean, expensive. Cold floors. High ceilings. Rooms too perfect to live in.
A maid took my bags and showed me to the guest room.
Not a shared suite.
Not a honeymoon.
Just… a room.
"Sir asked to have this one prepared for you," she said gently.
I nodded. I didn't ask why.
I already knew.
---
The room was lavender-gray. Neat. Beautiful. Soulless.
Like I didn't exist here.
I sat on the edge of the bed, stiff in the silk dress my mother picked that morning. My phone buzzed once.
A message from an unknown number:
> "You looked beautiful, Ev. Just like a real bride should. :) –S"
I turned off the phone.
Threw it across the bed.
And laid down, fully dressed, the ceiling above me blank and far.
---
Late that night, I couldn't sleep.
The moonlight spilled through the window, pale and cruel. I wrapped a shawl around myself and stepped out into the hallway.
The house was quiet.
Almost too quiet.
Like it was punishing me for breathing here.
I found myself near his study. The door was slightly open. Light spilled out.
I shouldn't have gone in.
But I did.
He sat at the desk, shirt sleeves rolled again, a glass of something dark in his hand. Papers laid out. His phone buzzed once, and he swiped it away.
He didn't notice me until I spoke.
"You hate me, don't you?"
He didn't flinch.
He just sipped the drink, then finally looked up. "Do you expect me not to?"
I stepped in slowly, barefoot on cold tile. "I didn't plan this. You know that."
"You could've said no."
"I thought I was marrying you."
He gave a bitter laugh, low and dry. "How convenient."
I clenched my hands. "Why would I lie, Zyden? I gain nothing from this."
He stood.
Crossed the room.
Stopped inches from me.
"You gained my last name."
Tears stung, but I didn't let them fall. "I never wanted it this way."
He leaned in, voice colder than winter. "Well, this is the way it is. Congratulations, Mrs. Cross. You've got your crown. Now wear it quietly."
And he walked past me, leaving the study in shadows.
---
I returned to my room, shutting the door softly behind me.
My reflection stared back from the mirror.
The headlines would call me elegant.
They'd say I was strong.
But all I saw…
Was a girl framed in silence.
Forced into a lie.
Living in a castle where no one looked her in the eyes.
I was the bride they chose for the cameras.
The burden they buried behind gold and glass.
And in the land of image and power — I was the quiet scandal they dressed up in pearls.
---