**”Take off your dress…”**

These were the words the groom spoke to her on their wedding night. In this forced marriage.

The agreement had been brutally simple. Ricardo’s father had presented it before he died.

Ricardo carried it out with chilling coldness. It would save the family business from bankruptcy.

He would cover all of Mateo’s medical expenses. The price: Elena would become his wife.

An exchange. A transaction.

She was the payment. Her father, a good man defeated by life, explained it to her with a vacant stare.

“It’s the only way, Elena. Ricardo Montero can solve everything.”

“He’s a good man. But Elena had seen Ricardo at the only meeting they had.”

He found no kindness in her dark gaze. Only cold calculation.

He examined her like someone evaluating a piece of art. Distant. Insulting.

She gave her icy consent. “Fine. We’ll get married in a month.”

Not another word. Not a single gesture of warmth.

Impersonal acceptance only. Like someone closing a necessary deal.

Elena’s mother pulled her from her thoughts. “It’s time, darling.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She looked at herself in the mirror one last time.

The perfect girlfriend. The perfect lie.

Upon leaving the room, she encountered her father. The suit was a bit too big.

The expression of someone leading their daughter to the slaughter. Her eyes silently begged for forgiveness.

Elena granted it. Because she knew he was doing it out of love.

He offered her his arm. “You’re the bravest woman I know,” he murmured.

That phrase almost destroyed her. But it didn’t.

He straightened his back. He lifted his chin.

She walked toward the church. Toward her destiny. Toward Ricardo Montero. The wedding march played.

The enormous doors opened. Hundreds of faces turned. High society. Friends and associates of Ricardo.

She barely knew anyone. They felt like wolves watching a lamb. At the end of the corridor, under an arch of white flowers, he waited. Ricardo was imposing.

Tall. Broad shoulders that filled out the tuxedo.

Perfectly styled black hair. Strong jaw.

But it was his eyes that intimidated her. So dark brown they looked black.

Devoid of emotion. He watched her approach.

Like someone gazing at a distant landscape. Disinterested. Without warmth.

His father offered him his hand. The connection was electric.

Ricardo’s hand was large. Warm.

But his grip was firm. Possessive.

Like someone taking something that belongs to them. He didn’t even look at her.

Her attention was fixed on the priest. The ceremony was a blur.

Words about love, honor, fidelity. They sounded like cruel mockery.

Elena whispered her “yes, I do” almost inaudibly. Ricardo spoke clearly and firmly.

Like closing a multi-million dollar deal. When the priest said, “You may kiss the bride,”

Panic paralyzed her. Ricardo turned towards her.

Their eyes met. He sensed irritation.

He leaned in. His lips brushed against hers.

He kissed chastely. Briefly. Coldly. Just for the cameras.

The applause erupted. To Elena, it sounded distant.

She felt trapped in ice. It was done.

It was Mrs. Montero. The reception was held in the most luxurious ballroom of the most expensive hotel.

Pure opulence. Crystal chandeliers.

Live orchestra. Mountains of food I couldn’t touch.

Ricardo moved among the guests with ease. This was his world.

Elena followed him like a smiling shadow. A perfect doll on his arm.

She presented it with a distant formula:  

—I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Elena.

She smiled. She nodded. She said just the right words.

She felt like a decorative accessory. Her mind and soul remained in the church.

She ran into Ricardo’s mother, Isabel Montero.

Elegant. Severe gaze. He looked her up and down.

—I hope you understand the situation—he said curtly—.  

The surname Montero demands standards.

Don’t let us down. Elena just nodded.

She felt even smaller. The only kindness came from Lucia.

Ricardo’s younger sister. Young. Cheerful.

“Welcome to the family,” he said, hugging her. “Don’t listen to my brother.”

He’s a grouch, but he has a heart.  

Elena had serious doubts about that.

The first dance arrived. The orchestra played a slow waltz.

Ricardo led her to the dance floor. His hand on her back exerted a controlling pressure.

The other one held hers without tenderness.  

They moved in tense silence.

To the world, they were the perfect couple. Between them, the air was thick with tension.

Elena dared to look at him.  

Are you satisfied?

Your family has bought their security.  

—Is that what you wanted to know?

Ricardo’s eyes darkened. He leaned closer.

His breath brushed against her ear.  

—Don’t pretend this is a tragedy only for you.

I didn’t choose it either. Smile for the cameras.

It’s the least they could do after what this circus cost. Her voice was like gentle poison.

Just for her. He hugged her tighter.

I’m doing my part. Don’t expect me to fake happiness.

A cold half-smile. I don’t expect anything from you.

Obedience only. Remember your place.

The song ended. She let it out as if it burned her.

She turned to speak with businessmen. Elena felt humiliated.

Furious. The night dragged on endlessly.

Finally, Javier, Ricardo’s right-hand man, approached.  

—Ricardo, it’s time. The car is waiting.

Ricardo nodded. He approached Elena.

—We’re leaving. He didn’t offer her his hand.

He just turned around. He waited for me to follow him.

They said goodbye to their parents. Her mother hugged her tightly.

—My love… Her father just kissed her forehead.

Guilt in their eyes. They got into the black car.

The journey to the mansion was silent. Elena gazed at the city lights.

She felt more alone than ever. The mansion was in the hills.

It dominated the city. Modern architecture.

Glass. Steel. White concrete. Perfect gardens.

Awesome.  

Cold. Impersonal.

Like their owner. An employee greeted them.

—Welcome, Mr. Montero.  

—Welcome, ma’am.

Ricardo ignored her.  

—You can leave now, Marta.

They crossed an immense lobby. Double-height ceiling.

Floating staircase. Footsteps echoed on marble.

Everything elegant. Minimalist. Lacking warmth.

No photos. No personal belongings. Museum, not home.

Ricardo took her upstairs. Without saying a word.

They entered the master suite. Enormous.

Central king-size bed. Private balcony.

City views. Designer furniture.

The air was thick with tension. This was the dreaded moment.

Wedding night. Elena remained motionless.

Not knowing what to expect, Ricardo took off his jacket.

He threw it onto the chair. He loosened his tie.

Whiskey was poured. He drank it in one gulp.

Another one was served. He turned to her.

She looked her up and down. Her gaze lingered on the dress.

An expression of pure disdain. Elena felt her heart race.

Sweaty hands intertwined.  

“Take off that dress,” she said.

Low voice. Harsh. An order, not a request.

Elena froze. A chilling fear gripped her.

She couldn’t move. She could barely breathe.

 

He saw panic in her eyes. A cruel smile.

—Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to touch you.

He walked toward her. Slowly. Predatory.

The scent of whiskey and cologne enveloped her. Overwhelming.

He stopped right in front of me. So close I could feel the warmth of his body.

—This marriage—he continued whispering dangerously—.  

It’s a contract. A farce for the world.

“To me, you don’t exist as a wife.” He raised his hand.

He grazed the lace on her shoulder with his fingertip. Elena shuddered.

It wasn’t desire. It was contempt.

—This fabric. This white. Lies. We both know it.

Don’t pretend to be an innocent, dreamy girlfriend.  
You’re a woman who sold out.

I am a man forced to buy you. The words were a slap in the face.

Tears burned her eyes. She refused to give him satisfaction.

He lifted his chin.  

—If you despise me so much, why did you accept?

Because my father forced me on his deathbed to fulfill a stupid promise he made to yours.

Because total control of my company depended on this sacrifice. He spat out the word.

But I did my part. You are Mrs. Montero before the law and society.

Here —he pointed to the room— you mean nothing.  

He pointed to the opposite door.

—That’s your room. Big. Luxurious.

Private bathroom. Dressing room. This is mine.

Don’t cross that door unless the house is on fire.  

In public, a devoted couple.

Behind these walls, strangers. Understood?

Elena, speechless, nodded. Relief at not being forced was mixed with deep humiliation.

She felt like an object. An expensive piece of furniture, bought but not wanted.

—Good —he said, turning his back on her—.  

Go away. I don’t want to see you.

Elena turned around. With as much dignity as she could muster.

She walked towards the indicated door. Her dress whispered against the marble.

As she closed her bedroom door, she collapsed. She leaned against the cold wood.

Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. She was physically safe.

But her heart and pride were in greater danger. Her marriage was a lie.

His life, a prison. The first morning was strange and desolate.

She woke up in a huge bed. Alone.

The unfamiliar room smelled of fresh paint. Sunlight filtered through automatic curtains.

It revealed an exquisite space. Impersonal.

No personal touch. No photo. No book.

Like a luxury hotel suite. Temporary stay.

She showered in a marble bathroom. As big as the living room of her old house.

She dressed in clothes that had been brought in. Hanged up and folded by someone invisible.

The feeling of being an intruder was overwhelming. She went downstairs.

Almost total silence. Broken by a whirring refrigerator.

She found a modern kitchen. An older woman was making coffee.

Gray hair in a bun. Kind smile.

—Good morning, Mrs. Montero. I’m Carmen, the maid.

—Would you like breakfast?  

—The gentleman has already gone to the office.

Elena felt relief.  

—Just coffee, please, Carmen.

—And call me Elena.  

Carmen served a steaming cup.

He pointed to a sunny table with a garden view.  

—The man left this for him.

There was an envelope on the table. Elena opened it, trembling.

I was expecting a cold note. I found a platinum credit card.

And note in sharp handwriting: For your expenses.

A car with a driver is available. My assistant will call for social events.

Don’t embarrass me. Not even a good morning.

Not a single kind word. Just transactional instructions.

Elena clenched her jaw. Don’t embarrass me.

Like a child under surveillance, she spent her days wandering the mansion.

He felt like a ghost. Swimming pool. Gym.

Library full of unpublished books. Home cinema.

All money could buy. And he felt poorer than ever.

The loneliness was unbearable. I needed air.

—Carmen, can you call a driver to take me to the family flower shop?  

—Of course, Elena.

I’ll let Marcos know. The trip back to the neighborhood was like another world.

He left fenced hills.  

Security cameras.

He returned to bustling streets.  

Vibrant.

A black car stopped in front of the garden of memories. Elena felt her first relief of the day.

Small shop.  

Green facade.

Flowerpots overflowing with colorful blooms. A true home.

Upon entering, the scent of roses, lilies, and damp earth enveloped her.  

“Elena!” exclaimed Father, coming out from behind the room.

Eyes lit up. But a shadow of worry lingered.

—What are you doing here, daughter?  

-Is everything all right?

—Everything’s perfect, Dad. I just wanted to say hello.

He checked on you. He hugged him tightly.

Clinging on more desperately. The doorbell rang.

Daniel came in. Childhood friend.

Now a talented landscape artist. He collaborated with a workshop.

Tall. Easy smile. Kind honey-colored eyes.

He always had a soft spot for Elena. Everyone knew it.

They never spoke.  

—Elena, wow!

I wasn’t expecting to see you.  

I found out the news.

“Congratulations,” he said. A smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Sadness in her voice.  

—Thank you, Daniel.

She felt like an imposter. —You look great.

Married life suits you. Lie.

She had dark circles under her eyes. She felt terrible.

He thanked the customer for the compliment. The father attended to the client.

He left them alone.  

“And how are you really?” Daniel asked quietly.

Genuine concern. Contrast with Ricardo’s coldness.

Elena felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to collapse.

Tell everything. Humiliation.

Loneliness. Fear.

But he couldn’t. He had made a deal.

—I’m fine, really. Big change.

That’s all. Daniel nodded.

I didn’t believe it.  

—Well, if you need to talk.

Or have coffee and reminisce about old times. You know where to find me.

He extended his hand. He squeezed gently.

Warm to the touch. Comforting.

Elena smiled. Her first genuine smile in days.

Daniel laughed at a silly joke about a plant. A moment of normalcy in the chaos.

I didn’t know that a black car with tinted windows was driving slowly down the street.  

Inside, Ricardo Montero was going to a meeting.

He saw a company car parked in front of the flower shop.  

He impulsively asked to stop.

Then he saw her. Through the window.

Elena laughed openly.  

With a man who looked at her adoringly.

He held her hand. Ricardo didn’t feel the usual jealousy.

I didn’t love her.  

He felt possessive anger.

It was Mrs. Montero.  

His wife.

There she was, flirting with a nobody. Picture a smile she never gave him.

It was etched in his mind. An affront.

Breach of agreement.  

He had ordered her not to embarrass him.

This was exactly it.  

“Start the engine,” the driver said abruptly.

The car slid.  

Cold rage boiled over Ricardo.

That night I would pay.  

It would remind him who he belonged to.