Chapter 3 Mrs. De la Vega

I stared at the white wedding dress hanging in front of me and I wanted to throw up.

It was beautiful. Too beautiful. Silk, lace, diamonds sewn into the fabric. A dress that cost more than my mother would make in her entire life.

And it wasn't mine. None of this was mine.

"Sofia, you have to breathe," Lucia whispered, zipping me up from behind. Her hands were shaking too. "You look... you look like a queen."

"I feel like a liar," I whispered back.

Last night, after I signed the contract, I had gone home and cried until I had no tears left. This morning, a team of stylists had arrived at my tiny apartment at 6 AM. They had pushed my mother's old curtains aside, set up mirrors, and turned my bedroom into a bridal suite.

My mother thought I was the luckiest girl in Madrid.

She didn't know her daughter had sold herself for her surgery.

"Are you sure about this?" Lucia asked quietly, so the stylists couldn't hear. "You can still run. We can leave Madrid tonight. I have some money saved-"

"No," I cut her off. "If I run, Mama dies. The surgery is this morning. I can't risk it."

Lucia's eyes filled with tears. "He scares me, Sofia. Alejandro De la Vega... people say he ruined his own brother for money."

"What?" My heart stopped. "What brother?"

Before she could answer, the door opened.

"Time to go, Miss Ramirez."

The driver was waiting. The same cold driver from yesterday.

I took one last look at my small apartment. The cracked wall. The old photos of my father. The tiny kitchen where my mother used to sing while she cooked.

Goodbye, old life, I thought.

I got into the black car and didn't look back.

---

The wedding was not a wedding. It was a show.

There were no friends. No family except my mother, who was watching from her hospital bed on video call. No love. Just cameras. Flashes. Reporters shouting my name.

"Mrs. De la Vega! Look here! Smile!"

I smiled. I had to smile. That was in the contract. Smile for cameras.

Alejandro stood beside me in a perfect black suit. He looked like a king. Cold. Powerful. Untouchable.

He didn't look at me like a groom looks at a bride. He looked at me like I was a deal he had just closed.

When the priest said, "Do you take this woman?", he answered without hesitation.

"I do."

His voice was firm. No emotion.

When the priest asked me, my throat went dry. My hands were shaking so hard I thought the ring would fall.

"Sofia Ramirez, do you take this man?"

I looked up at Alejandro. For one second, just one second, his cold mask slipped. I saw something in his eyes. Not love. Not hate.

Fear. Like he was just as trapped as I was.

"I do," I whispered.

He slid the ring onto my finger. It was heavy. Cold. Final.

"Now you may kiss the bride."

My breath caught. We hadn't talked about this. There was nothing about a kiss in the contract.

Alejandro leaned down slowly. His face came closer and closer. The whole world was watching. The cameras were flashing.

If I pushed him away, everyone would know it was fake.

So I closed my eyes.

His lips touched mine.

It was supposed to be fake. A show for the cameras. A quick, cold kiss.

But it wasn't.

His lips were warm. Soft. And when he touched me, my whole body reacted like electricity had run through me. My knees went weak. My heart started pounding so hard I thought it would break my ribs.

He pulled back after only two seconds, but those two seconds changed everything.

Because in those two seconds, I forgot about the contract. I forgot about the money. I forgot about the cameras.

I only remembered him.

And from the look in his eyes, he had forgotten too.

---

The mansion was silent when we arrived that night.

No party. No celebration. Just a huge, empty house and a maid who showed me to my room.

"Your room is here, Mrs. De la Vega," she said, opening a door.

My room. Not our room.

Of course. It was in the contract. Separate rooms. No touching without permission.

The room was beautiful. Bigger than my apartment. A king bed, a balcony overlooking Madrid, a closet full of clothes I had never seen before - all in my size.

Alejandro had bought me a whole new life.

I sat on the edge of the bed, still in my wedding dress, and I finally let myself cry.

I was married. I was Mrs. De la Vega. I was rich. And I had never felt so alone in my life.

A knock on the door made me jump.

"Come in," I said, wiping my tears.

It was Alejandro. He had changed out of his suit into a black shirt. He looked tired. Human. Not like a billionaire.

He stood in the doorway, not coming inside. Keeping his distance, like the contract said.

"Your mother's surgery was successful," he said quietly.

I gasped. "What? Already?"

"Yes. The doctor just called. She is awake. She is asking for you."

I covered my mouth and sobbed with relief. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you..."

"Don't thank me," he said, his voice hard again. "It was part of the deal."

He turned to leave, but then he stopped.

"There is something you should know," he said, without looking at me. "My family... they will not accept you easily. Especially my grandmother. She will test you tomorrow at breakfast. Don't let her scare you."

"Your grandmother?" I asked.

"Yes. And Sofia..."

He finally looked at me. His eyes were dark, unreadable.

"Rule number seven. Never go into the west wing of this house. Never. Do you understand?"

"The west wing? Why? What's there?"

"Nothing that concerns you," he said coldly. "Just stay away."

He closed the door and left me alone.

I sat there in my wedding dress, staring at the closed door, my heart pounding.

What was in the west wing?

Why did his voice shake when he said it?

And why, when he kissed me today, did it feel so real?

I walked to the window and looked out at Madrid sparkling below me.