Rain poured heavily against the tinted windows of the black limousine, blurring the world outside. Nayla clutched her trembling hands on her lap, her white dress soaked around the hem. She wasn't supposed to wear this dress today—because this wasn't supposed to be a real wedding.
Yet here she was.
Sitting alone, heart pounding, being driven to a marriage ceremony with a man she had never met.
The driver said nothing. Just like the man who had delivered the contract to her doorstep three days ago—cold, efficient, and terrifyingly precise.
Her father's voice still echoed in her mind.
> "Just sign it, Nayla... It's the only way. If you don't, they'll take everything. Even our house."
So she signed.
She agreed to marry Kenan Ardhana, the youngest billionaire in Jakarta—an infamously cold CEO with a reputation for being merciless in both business and relationships. The rumors said he had never loved anyone, not even his late fiancée.
> Why me? Of all women in the world... why me?
The car stopped.
A man in a black suit opened the door. "Miss Nayla. He's waiting."
She stepped out. Her heels clicked against the marble floor of a private hall inside a luxurious hotel. Empty. No guests. No family. Just one man standing near a table—with a contract and a pen.
Kenan.
He was even more intimidating in person. Tall, sculpted, and emotionless. His eyes met hers, sharp and unreadable.
> "You're late," he said, flatly.
Nayla swallowed. "I—I'm sorry."
He didn't respond. He simply pointed at the document.
> "Sign it. No drama. This is a business deal, not a love story."
Her chest tightened. The air around him felt colder than the rain outside. She stepped closer, her hand shaking as she picked up the pen.
As she wrote her name beside his, she couldn't help but ask, "Why did you choose me?"
Kenan's jaw tensed. For a second, something flickered in his eyes. But then he said,
> "Because you're replaceable."
Nayla's breath caught. The ink hadn't even dried, yet her heart was already cracking.
And so it began—their marriage built on ice, silence, and secrets.
Nayla's hand slowly released the pen, but her fingers still trembled. She could barely breathe. It felt like she had just signed her soul away.
Kenan didn't even look at her again. He picked up the papers, handed them to a man in a gray suit standing in the corner—a lawyer or a notary, she guessed.
> "It's done," Kenan said simply. "Now, let's go."
Go where? she wanted to ask.
But she knew better than to question him.
He turned and walked out of the ceremonial hall, his footsteps echoing across the marble floor. Nayla followed, keeping her distance like a servant following her master. The luxury around her—gold-plated frames, crystal chandeliers—felt surreal. She didn't belong here.
They stepped into a private elevator. Just the two of them. The silence between them was so heavy it made her chest ache.
She stole a glance at his face.
Sharp jawline. Ice-blue eyes. Perfectly controlled.
This man—her husband—was nothing like she had imagined a partner would be. There was no kindness. No curiosity. No warmth.
> What have I done?
The elevator dinged softly as it reached the penthouse.
When the doors opened, Nayla gasped.
The room was enormous—floor-to-ceiling glass windows looked out over the glittering lights of Jakarta's skyline. Everything was modern and cold, like a five-star hotel with no soul.
Kenan walked in like he owned the world. He probably did.
"You'll stay in the guest room down the hall," he said without turning around.
Nayla blinked. "Wait... aren't we... supposed to sleep in the same room?"
He stopped. Slowly turned. His voice dropped, cold as ever.
> "You'll sleep there. I'll sleep here. We may be married on paper, but don't confuse this with a real relationship."
"But—" Her voice cracked. "Why did you even marry me, then?"
His jaw tightened. For a moment, she thought she saw pain flicker in his eyes. But it disappeared as quickly as it came.
> "Because you were convenient. And because the one I truly wanted is already dead."
Nayla froze.
Kenan's face hardened. He turned away and disappeared into the master bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
The sound of the click echoed like a gunshot in her heart.
Nayla stood in the center of the empty penthouse, her wedding dress clinging to her skin, her tears finally falling in silence.
She was married.
But completely… alone.