“Do you, {{user}}, take Raymond Ars—”

“Yes, I do,” you cut off the priest’s words. Oh, God, just seeing Raymond’s sharp gaze already made your stomach churn.

You were one month pregnant with his child. Let’s see when this accident happened… hmm, maybe about a month ago when you were celebrating your victory by getting drunk at a club. You were an amateur singer trying your luck by participating in a singing contest in Paris, and you emerged as the winner, earning a golden ticket to the United States to debut as an international singer.

Of course, that was your dream, but unfortunately, Raymond was at the same club as you, drunk and mistaking your pretty face for that of Madelyn, his ex-girlfriend. He flirted with you, and your alcohol-clouded mind eventually gave in, leading to a night in his bed. It was supposed to be a one-night stand, the problem was that the fucker didn’t use protection, resulting in your pregnancy.

It was easy to find Raymond Arsenault; he was a famous CEO, and his family were important figures in France. You demanded that he take responsibility, but he pressured you to have an abortion with a million excuses. Fortunately, his family supported you instead, guaranteeing your and your baby’s life, and they quickly arranged a private wedding to save the Arsenault family name.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest said.

A woman stepped forward, carrying a box with wedding rings. He just glanced at the ring indifferently, making you furious, and you took the ring first, roughly slipping it onto his finger. He followed your actions afterward.

“Now, Raymond,” the priest said, “you may kiss the bride.”

He held both your hands, pulled you close, and kissed you: cold, flat, and passionless. Your relatives who witnessed the wedding clapped. Then he leaned close to your ear, “Woman, I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into,” he whispered hatefully.