The grand doors of the wedding hall swung open, and Isabella stepped inside, her heart pounding beneath layers of silk and lace.

The murmur of the guests dimmed into a faint hum. Rows of familiar faces blurred together-relatives, friends of her late father, distant cousins she barely recognized. Everyone turned toward her, their eyes bright with admiration and curiosity.

The melody of the wedding march filled the air, but the music couldn't drown out the rush of blood in her ears.

Then she froze.

At the far end of the aisle stood a tall man-broad-shouldered, sharp-featured, and utterly impossible to mistake.

Her chest tightened.

Maximilian Martez.

What on earth was he doing here?

Her mind spun. Martez... Maximilian Martez? That cold, arrogant CEO from the partner company?

He must be the eldest son of the Martez family. How had she never realized it before?

But then-where was Miguel?

A wave of unease rippled through her. Something wasn't right.

"Ahem... let's welcome the bride!" the preacher's voice echoed, pulling her back into the moment.

The guests clapped politely, unaware of the confusion flashing across her eyes. Isabella forced herself to breathe, to walk forward, even though her steps felt heavier with each beat of the music.

When she reached the altar, Maximilian's gaze locked on her. His eyes were cold and unreadable, like twin pieces of polished obsidian.

"Why are you here?" Isabella whispered, her lips barely moving. "You're not Miguel, are you?"

"Miguel is my brother," Maximilian replied smoothly, as if discussing business. "He couldn't make it. I'll be marrying you instead."

Her heart stuttered.

"What?" she hissed under her breath. "Is this some kind of joke?"

He didn't blink. "No joke. Consider it a... family adjustment."

Her stomach twisted. A family adjustment? What was she, some product being exchanged between brothers?

He leaned closer, his voice dropping low enough that only she could hear.

"Honestly," he murmured, "whoever the groom was, it wouldn't have mattered to you, would it? So why not make this simple and finish the day?"

For a heartbeat, she was too stunned to reply. Then disbelief gave way to fury.

She wanted to tell him off-to shout that she wasn't some accessory for the Martez family's convenience-but before she could, she saw her mother's radiant smile from the front row.

It was the first genuine smile her mother had worn in years.

Isabella's throat tightened.

"Miss Hernando," Maximilian whispered again, his words sharp as glass. "I'm only doing this because my mother asked. Don't expect to enter this family easily. One year from now, this farce ends."

Her pulse spiked. "One year?"

He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Too long for you? Six months, then?"

Isabella clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms.

"Mr. Martez," she hissed, voice trembling with fury, "if it weren't for our mothers pushing for this, I would never agree to marry you."

His chuckle was low and mocking. "Didn't you agree to this marriage just to prove yourself worthy of our family? And now that I've taken Miguel's place, you don't seem to mind."

Her eyes flashed. "Enough, Mr. Martez," she said through gritted teeth. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve your contempt-but I'm not as lowly as you think."

"Really?" he murmured, his gaze lingering on her face. "All women say that. Until they need something."

The words hit her like a slap.

Her breath caught. She wanted to fight back-to throw his arrogance in his face-but her mother's voice from the audience echoed faintly in her ears, "Be calm, my dear. Don't make a scene."

So Isabella smiled instead. A small, practiced smile. Cold and unyielding.

"Then you'll learn soon enough," she whispered. "I'm not one of those women."

The ceremony continued.

The preacher's voice filled the room, solemn and distant, as if from another world. Rings were exchanged, vows spoken through gritted teeth. Applause broke out as they sealed their vows with a mechanical grace neither believed in.

Isabella stood there, expression unreadable. Not a flicker of joy touched her eyes.

After the ceremony, as the crowd dispersed into laughter and chatter, Isabella caught her mother's soft voice calling out.

"Isabella."

She turned, quickly wiping away the faint sheen of tears threatening to form.

"Yes, Mom."

Mrs. Hernando reached for her daughter's hands, holding them tightly. Her eyes shimmered with pride and something else-relief.

"My dear child," she began, her voice trembling, "you're now Maximilian's wife. My only advice is this: no matter what happens, stay by your husband's side. Be patient, be kind. A good marriage takes time."

Isabella blinked, confused. Maximilian's wife?

"Mom," Isabella said softly, her voice trembling, "did you know about this? About him?"

Her mother hesitated-just for a moment-but that flicker of guilt didn't escape Isabella's eyes.

Mrs. Hernando sighed quietly and squeezed her daughter's hands.

"My dear... after the ceremony began, Mrs. Martez told me everything," she said gently. "Miguel... ran away, Bella. He left a message saying he couldn't go through with the wedding."

Isabella froze, her breath catching. "He... what?"

"She was devastated," her mother continued, her voice quivering. "But she begged me not to let everything fall apart. And then-then Maximilian stepped forward. He offered to take responsibility. He didn't want to disgrace either family."

The words tumbled out of her, a desperate blend of explanation and comfort.

"Bella, I know it's sudden, but maybe it's a blessing in disguise. Maximilian is more mature, more stable. He's responsible, successful... he's the kind of man who'll protect you. Any mother would be grateful for a son-in-law like him."

Isabella stared at her mother, disbelief clouding her eyes.

"So, because Miguel ran away, you just-let his brother marry me?"

Mrs. Hernando's expression wavered. "It wasn't like that, Bella. Think about it-would you rather have faced humiliation in front of everyone? Mrs. Martez was trembling with shame. And when Maximilian volunteered... I thought-maybe it was fate's way of giving you a better future."

"Fate?" Isabella echoed faintly, her chest tightening. "Mom, I don't even know him. I mean, I didn't know Miguel that well either, but at least we shared childhood memories. But this Maximilian..."

"I know," Mrs. Hernando whispered, brushing a tear from her daughter's cheek. "But he's not like other men. He could've walked away too-but he didn't. That shows something, doesn't it? Responsibility. Honor. Maybe he's not easy to read, but I believe there's kindness underneath."

Isabella bit her lip hard, trying to keep her emotions from spilling over. Her mother's sincerity hurt more than anger ever could.

Mrs. Hernando's tone softened again, trembling with hope.

"Bella, please... don't see this as misfortune. Sometimes, what feels wrong at first is what saves us in the end. Maximilian will take care of you-I can feel it."

Isabella lowered her gaze, her vision blurring. "Take care of me..." she murmured, her voice hollow.

Her mother pulled her into an embrace, holding her close as if to shield her from a truth too heavy to bear.

"Promise me, Isabella," she whispered. "Be patient. Be kind. No matter what happens, stay strong."

Warm tears slipped down Isabella's cheeks as she clung to her mother. The hum of laughter and clinking glasses faded into the distance.

In that moment, her world felt smaller-heavier-like a dream she hadn't chosen but could no longer escape.

Across the room, Maximilian Martez watched her silently, his expression unreadable.

And when Isabella finally lifted her gaze, their eyes met-clashing like two enemies who had never even spoken.

God... how am I supposed to live with a man this narcissistic?

***

After the wedding ceremony at the hotel, Isabella finally returned home with her husband, Maximilian Martez.

According to her earlier agreement with Aunt Martez, they would be staying at Isabella's house for a while after the wedding. It was partly for practical reasons-her mother's health wasn't great-and Aunt Martez had promised that Max wouldn't mind the arrangement. Still, Isabella couldn't help feeling nervous about it.

The house was quiet when they arrived. Most of the family members had already gone to bed after the long day. The faint scent of flowers from the ceremony still lingered on Isabella's hair and skin.

She slipped away to the small bathroom at the back of the house to wash off the layers of makeup and the sticky feeling of sweat from the celebration. She didn't use the one in her bedroom-Max was in there at the moment.

Once she was done, Isabella changed into her favorite pajamas and wrapped a white towel around her damp hair.

It wasn't exactly normal to shower and wash her hair in the middle of the night, but what could she do? The thought of going to bed feeling sticky made her uncomfortable.

She walked toward her bedroom and turned the doorknob. The door looked closed but wasn't locked. The moment she stepped inside, Isabella froze-Max had just come out of the bathroom, shirtless.

Her eyes widened at the sight of his broad shoulders and the firm lines of muscle across his chest and abdomen. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. Then, flustered, she quickly turned around, refusing to look at him again.

Max frowned at the woman who had barged in without knocking.

"Next time, knock before you come in," he said sharply. "You really don't have any manners."

He kept grumbling under his breath as he grabbed a clean shirt from the closet and slipped it on. Isabella ignored him and walked over to her vanity table in the corner of the room.

Sitting on the small stool, she began drying her hair with the towel before running a comb through her long, silky strands. Every now and then, her eyes flicked to the mirror, catching a glimpse of her husband lying down on the bed behind her.

Even after her hair was dry, Isabella didn't move from her seat. She just sat there, staring blankly at her reflection until she yawned, her eyes watery with exhaustion.

'God, I'm so tired... and sleepy... but-' she murmured to herself, glancing at the mirror where she could see Max already asleep.

'How am I supposed to share a bed with him? Or should I-'

Startled by her own thoughts, Isabella quickly stood, hung her damp towel on a hanger, and walked toward the door. But the moment she opened it, someone was already standing there.

"Aunt-"

"Mom, not Aunt," Anna corrected gently with a smile, touching Isabella's chin affectionately. "You're my daughter-in-law now."

"R-right... Mom." The new title still felt strange on Isabella's tongue.

"Where's Max, sweetheart? And where are you going?" Anna asked, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"He's already asleep, Mom. I was just going to check on my mother-to see if she's taken her medicine yet," Isabella lied quickly.

"Don't worry about her. I already helped her take it. Now, go on and sleep," Anna said, lightly pushing Isabella back into the room.

Anna pulled the blanket up to Isabella's chest, tucking her in like a child. Isabella could only blink, unsure how to react.

"Sleep well, dear. Your husband's already asleep. Good night." Anna kissed her forehead before quietly leaving the room.

Isabella sighed softly and glanced nervously at Max's sleeping figure. The thought of sharing a bed with a man-her husband-made her so tense she couldn't relax.

She kept shifting positions, trying to find a comfortable spot, but every small movement made the mattress ripple. It didn't take long before Max stirred.

"Can you stop moving?" he snapped, his voice low but sharp. "You're making it impossible to sleep."

Isabella froze, her heart pounding.

"S-sorry. I'm just not used to... sharing a bed with someone," she whispered timidly.

"That's your problem, not mine," Max muttered. "Go to sleep. And if you can't stop moving, then sleep on the floor instead of disturbing me."

He turned his back to her and shut his eyes again.

"He talks like this room belongs to him," Isabella grumbled under her breath, glaring at his back.

"What did you just say?" Max's voice cut through the darkness.

"N-nothing," Isabella squeaked.

"Good. If I hear you again, I'll make sure you sleep on the floor," he warned without turning around.

Swallowing hard, Isabella pulled the blanket over her head and forced her eyes shut. She even held her breath at times, afraid he'd hear her. It was ridiculous-but somehow, it worked.

The next morning, both newlyweds were still fast asleep. After yesterday's long hotel ceremony, they were completely drained.

When sunlight spilled through the window, Isabella blinked awake and covered her eyes from the glare. Turning her head, she saw Max still asleep beside her and quietly got out of bed.

Downstairs, the house was quiet-her mother and mother-in-law must still be resting. As usual, Isabella began preparing breakfast, adding extra portions now that there were more people in the family.

"Isabella, you're already up, sweetheart," a warm voice said behind her.

Startled, Isabella turned to see her mother, Adeline, and Anna standing there with kind smiles.

"Good morning, Moms," Isabella greeted softly.

"My daughter-in-law is such a hardworking girl," Anna said proudly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Isabella smiled shyly in return.

"Where's your husband?" Adeline asked.

"He's still asleep, Mom," Isabella said, plating the freshly cooked dishes.

"Go wake him up, dear. I'll finish up here," Adeline said, taking the spatula from her daughter's hand.

"But, Mom-"

"Go on, sweetheart," Adeline said firmly, her tone gentle but unyielding.

"...All right, Mom."

Isabella untied her apron and walked upstairs.

Her heart pounded faster as she entered the room. Max was still fast asleep, his face calm and distant. She hesitated, clasping her hands nervously before inching closer to the bed.

"Mr. Maximilian Martez... please wake up. It's already late," she said softly.

When there was no response, she frowned. "Why won't he wake up?" she muttered under her breath.

"Mr. Maximilian! Sir, please wake up-your mother's waiting for you downstairs!" she raised her voice slightly, frustration creeping in.

"Ugh, so noisy!" Max's deep voice rumbled, startling her. "I can wake up on my own without you yelling in my ear."

Isabella puffed her cheeks in annoyance. "If you could, you'd already be up by now," she grumbled softly, pouting as she turned away.

Isabella walked over to the wardrobe and opened it. Inside, Max's clothes were neatly arranged-carefully organized by Mama Anna before their wedding ceremony.

She picked out a neatly folded navy-blue shirt and grabbed a pair of matching pants for her husband. In her left hand, she was already holding a clean towel.

Just as she was about to set them on the bed, Max got up and walked toward her. Without a word, he snatched the towel from her hand-roughly enough to make her flinch.

Isabella could only stare at him, shaking her head helplessly. She placed the folded shirt and pants on the bed, then turned toward the door, planning to head back downstairs to the kitchen.

"Wait."

Max's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"What is it now, sir?" Isabella asked flatly, not bothering to turn around.

"I really don't like being called that," Max said, his tone firm. "Call me Max."

Isabella didn't answer. She simply continued walking out of the room, leaving her husband standing there with a faint scowl forming on his face.