Chapter 2. He Wants Crazy? He Will See Crazy

Alexander’s jaw ticked in annoyance as the wedding band began playing while his bride walked up to the altar. The veil obscured her features, but even with that, her head was bowed, and her fist tightly clenched as she took slow, tentative steps toward him.

Alexander wished he was wearing the veil due to the brewing anger within him. He had kept the anger at bay for the past few hours, pasting an expressionless look on his face, but underneath it, his patience was slowly wearing thin.

Sounds of amazement and wonderment filled the quiet church, and from Alexander’s peripheral vision, he could see a proud look on his father’s face and a giddy expression on his mother’s. Just what he needed. He had officially signed off his happiness for theirs.

Isabella walked towards the altar with her eyes firmly fixed on the moving tied floor, her vision growing blurry with every step, but she took them regardless. The one thing she could actively thank her wedding stylist for was the long veil, which did a great job of hiding her tears.

Isabella was breaking down on the inside, and there was no one to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart. It was ironic, though, that her wedding was equivalent to getting married to some random guy on a subway station. The face and personality of her husband were a blank after his name, Alexander Sinclair, and in the next hour, her last name would also be Sinclair—Isabella Sinclair.

Isabella had never laid eyes on her husband, even in photos, but the thought of lifting her head to see his face would only make the situation more real, so she opted to keep her head down.

Throughout the night, Isabella had stayed up crying silently at the crazy turn of events and the jumbled-up mess that was her life. Her eyes had been red-rimmed and swollen the next morning.

Her mother only screamed orders at the makeup artist to cover up the large bags underneath her eyes, uncaring of her plight. So here she was, on the most dreaded day of her life, also known as her wedding day.

Finally reaching the altar, she bunched up her gown, noticing her father had been beside her the entire time. He offered his hand to help her up the two elevated steps leading to the altar, but Isabella completely ignored it.

The groom swiveled to his left in her direction as they stood facing each other. Taking positions, the old, bent priest weakly cleared his throat before beginning the marriage rites.

When Alexander was asked to recite the wedding vows, Isabella heard his voice for the first time. It sounded pleasant to the ear, like melted honey or dark chocolate; whatever it was, it brought a pool of warmth to her belly. His voice was deep but soft, with a hint of an accent in it, and Isabella had to prevent herself from looking up at the source of the voice.

“I, Alexander Sinclair, take you, Isabella Monroe, promise to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold for better, for worse, in wealth and in lack, in sickness and in pain till death do us part.”

Isabella recited hers immediately after, but she spoke so quickly in a low voice, desperate to get it all over and done with.

“Do you, Alexander Sinclair, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” he answered quickly.

“Do you, Isabella Monroe, take this man, Alexander Sinclair, to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest rasped out.

The entire church was silent as they exchanged vows, and all eyes were on Isabella as they waited for her answer with hitched breaths. She raised her head towards the congregation, and through the veil, her eyes rested on her parents, whose wide smiles had dimmed as they communicated threats to her through their eyes.

“Answer the question, you nitwit.”

“Stupid child.”

“You’re as good as dead if you disgrace us.”

“I do,” Isabella shakily replied, a lone tear trailing down her cheeks as she officially sealed her fate.

“If anyone opposes this union, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Isabella was screaming internally, ‘I oppose. I don’t want to get married to a complete stranger,’ but no one seemed to hear her.

Cheers and clips filled the church as the officiating priest declared them married. She was thankful that the priest never asked Alexander to kiss her or to remove her veil. Both would have been a serious disaster, which may have ended in kneeing her husband in the groin or revealing a tear-streaked face complete with black mascara running down her face. It may scar poor Alexander for life.

Isabella left Alexander to respond to the felicitations while she stood stoic by his side, occasionally pinching herself to wake from the bad dream.

Fortunately, Alexander decided to skip gracing the reception with his presence, so they left the church for her new home.

***

Isabella woke up to unfamiliar surroundings. She scanned the room void of anything personal, wondering where she was. The events of the day before came flashing through her head, and she wished to forget.

After arriving at Alexander’s house, the veil was still down, and Isabella planned on removing it after she was shown her room. Alexander verbally directed her to her room as quickly as possible before shutting himself in. It took twenty minutes to finally locate the hallway and another five to spot the room. Certified Jerk, Isabella had muttered under her breath, getting some relief from the insult.

She pulled up the veil after shutting the door, and heavens, was she glad she did. Looking like a character straight out of a horror movie, her face was deathly pale, and the mascara had created a thick circle of black around her eyes.

Isabella washed off the makeup, and with her wedding dress still on, she had slept off to a nightmare-plagued sleep.

Straightening herself on the bed, she tried to peel off the dress, but due to various buttons and intricate ropes, it was an almost impossible thing to do. Against her better judgment, she did the next best thing. Asked Alexander for help.

Catching her reflection in a standing mirror, she noticed that her hair looked like a bird’s nest, her eyes were swollen, and her eyes shone with murderous intent in them, probably from the fight she had put up with the gown.

Isabella found that she didn’t really care about looking her best before Alex, so she muttered a low ‘fuck it’ before proceeding to the sitting room, hoping to find him there.

Alex sat on the sofa with a laptop sitting on the coffee table and various documents strewn around him. Isabella noticed his silky black hair, which made her dismiss the urge to run a hand through it just to confirm if it was as soft as it looked.

Noticing a presence in the room, Alex raised his head up, and Isabella felt her heart skip a beat at his beauty. He had a face that Isabella was convinced was handcrafted by Zeus himself. The stormy grey eyes that graced his face held an abundance of secrets and unspoken thoughts, his unnaturally long eyelashes looked perfectly curled, his lips were plump but set in a straight line, and that was when Isabella realized that she had been gawking.

Alex gave her an impatient look as she stood there with bed hair, a day-old wedding dress, and sleepy eyes.

“What?” he asked with that deep voice, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I can’t get off this dress. I need help,” Isabella gritted out, feeling upset by his rudeness.

“No,” Alex simply stated. “I’m busy.”

And the handsomeness point just decreased. Isabella was disappointed that such beauty had been wasted on the rude thing.

“It would take you less than a minute,” ‘you dweeb,’ she was tempted to add.

“I don’t have less than a minute to spare. So scoot,” he made a shooing motion.

“I’m not some dog that you can just shoo off,” Isabella fisted her hands tightly.

“Kay,” was the only response he gave, which seemed to rile her up even more.

“I don’t believe this. I simply asked for…” Isabella paused, realizing just how ridiculous she may appear with a floor-length wedding dress, looking very unbride-like while screaming at a man who looked as chill as ice.

“You know what?” she breathed out. “You can keep your help to yourself. I am perfectly capable of getting out of this fluffy death trap,” Isabella smirked, but Alex remained uncaring, burying his head in the files.

“He wants to see crazy? He will see crazy,” she said to herself while locating the kitchen.

An evil smile made its way to her lips as she walked up to the pristine kitchen, which looked completely untouched. Isabella’s eyes rested on the knife holder, and she immediately reached for it, selecting a portable knife with a sharp edge.

“Just perfect.”