DESTINED SOULMATES

PROLOGUE

Ariana's POV

"Walk faster, you're wasting everyone's time." My stepmother's hiss was sharp against my ear as her nails dug deeper into the crook of my elbow. The prick of her nails shot pain up my arm and I fought against the tears stinging at the corners of my eyes.

My face twisted for a moment—a wince I hoped no one saw—as I blinked away the urge to cry.

My heart thudded louder with each reluctant step I took towards the altar. Ahead, Zayn stood waiting with an unreadable expression etched on his face. His gaze was steady, locked on me, but I couldn't bear to look back at him for more than a second.

This wasn't how I imagined my wedding would be—not surrounded by strangers, not with my stepmother's words cutting through me like a blade, and definitely not at a time like this.

A heavy ache clawed at my chest as I approached Zayn. Every step toward him felt like a step toward the edge of a cliff, where all my dreams had been tossed away by my stepmother.

I had no choice, no voice in any of this.

The day she told me about the marriage was the day my world came crashing down.

I remembered it vividly—the way she called me downstairs to the living room, her expression a mixture of annoyance and barely contained disgust. I hadn’t even taken a seat before she hit me with her ‘good news’.

“You’re going to marry Zayn Blackwood in a week,” she announced, her tone devoid of any emotion as if she were assigning me a task.

My heart stopped beating for a moment as it sank to my stomach, disbelief and dread twisting in my insides. There was silence for a while before I finally spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. “N-No…I-I can’t do that. I won’t…”

I hadn’t even finished my sentence before her palm struck my cheek with a force that made my head recoil to the side. I slowly brought my hand up, my trembling fingers gently grazing my cheek. As my fingertips made contact with my skin, I felt a warm liquid on my cheek and my eyes fluttered closed. I brushed them away surprised to find out that I was crying; the tears had fallen without me even realising it.

She didn’t even look perturbed in the slightest way, didn’t care that I was trembling as my hand lingered on my burning cheek. Her voice was colder than ice. “Do I have to remind you what you did to this family every time? Because of you, we’re in ruins. You didn’t spare your mother or father and now we’re swimming in a sea of debt because of you. This marriage proposal is our only chance at not being eaten alive by the debt we’re in and you’re being selfish?”

I remembered the way her gaze, filled with so much hatred, stared me down. “You’re nothing but bad luck, Ariana. It’s time you did something useful for once,” she said as she stood up. “The preparations have started and I don't think you can change that. Tomorrow your measurements will be taken for your wedding gown.”

Her words had cut through me like a knife, and I was too broken and guilty to argue or utter another word. I just nodded sheepishly.

“If you hadn’t killed your father, we wouldn’t be in this position. So, you have no other choice than to get married to him. You should consider yourself lucky that they offered a marriage proposal to someone like…you.” Disdain and mockery dripped from her voice like venom, the words themselves were secondary to the scorn they carried.

Her words echoed painfully in my mind like a persistent whisper, reopening a fresh wound I thought I had covered up. Her grip, still pressing bruises on my arm, snapped me back to the present as she forced me forward.

Finally, I reached him, and my stepmother's grip released as if I were a burden she was glad to get rid of.

I forced myself to stand taller, pretending that my heart wasn't trying to pound its way through my chest or that my pulse wasn't fluttering wildly under his piercing gaze.

The vows passed by like a blur, a line of words spoken from a script that held no meaning to either of us. My voice quaked as I repeated promises I wasn't sure I'd keep, each word feeling as empty as the one before it. And then it was his turn.

Zayn's tone was so calm, devoid of any warmth, and it felt like he was speaking to an audience rather than to me.

When the priest finally announced us husband and wife, I felt a slight shiver crawl up my spine. Then came the line I dreaded hearing: "You may now kiss the bride."

I swallowed hard as Zayn took a step toward me, his expression stoic as he leaned in. My pulse quickened as his lips brushed against mine—a brief, cold kiss that was long enough to make a show of it for the small number of guests who clapped and cheered after our lips broke apart.

There was no tenderness, no spark, no warmth. Just the lingering taste of bitterness and the weight of an unwanted bond sealed with a kiss.

As the applause faded, Zayn offered me his arm, his expression still unreadable.

His touch sent an unfamiliar chill through me as I forced myself to take it, knowing we'd have to walk through the guests together. He barely spared me a second glance as we walked back down the aisle together, his hand a polite weight on mine—nothing more.

I let my gaze roam over the small crowd—most were strangers while a few were barely familiar. My eyes landed on Zayn's father for a moment as he shook hands with a few people before I caught sight of my stepmom.

Her lips curled in a smug, victorious smile as she approached us and walked in step beside me. "Remember, Ariana," she murmured, her lips barely moving. "You belong to them now. And if you even think of doing anything stupid that'll get me in trouble, you'll regret it," she placed her hand on my shoulder and tightly squeezed it for a moment before she went over to Zayn to congratulate him.

My breath hitched and I clenched my free hand to keep it from shaking, forcing a thin smile as I stood by Zayn's side.

I wanted to rip off the wedding gown, to let out a scream, or even run. But the eyes of the guests pressed down on me like a cage.

The reception was also a blur.

I barely noticed Zayn beside me – telling me it was time to go home – as I was too caught up in the haze of introductions, congratulations, and forced smiles.

My stepmom's tight hug caught me off guard – it was a first from someone who had always kept me at arm's length. Her eyes welled up with tears as she whispered a goodbye, but I knew better than to believe they were genuine.

As Zayn led me towards the sleek car waiting to take me to my new home, my mind couldn't help but replay the awkward farewell.

How could someone so effortlessly switch between fake tears and genuine indifference behind closed doors? I asked inwardly as I settled into the passenger seat beside Zayn who was going to drive.

Pushing the thought aside, I decided to focus on the life waiting ahead of me. This marriage was a hindrance in my path.

My dreams of returning to school to pursue a degree in gynaecology someday had been crushed by this union. I barely knew who Zayn was and I was extremely shocked when I found out they wanted my hand in marriage.

All my stepmother told me was that they'd agreed to clear the debt we were in if I got married to Zayn. I released a small sigh of relief as realisation hit me—I was finally free from my stepmother.

The drive to his mansion was silent and I occasionally glanced at him through the corner of my eye. He was not happy.

Zayn's grip on the steering wheel was so tight that his knuckles had turned white. His slicked-back hair was now dishevelled, and his bow tie was nowhere to be found. He was clearly uncomfortable.

I couldn't help but wonder why he married me.

As we pulled up to the gates of the mansion, my breath caught in my throat at the sight before me. High walls framed by iron gates surrounded a sprawling estate, each inch carefully kept.

The structure itself was stunningly beautiful with a mix of modern beauty and old-world style. Wide cobblestone steps led up to the front door, flanked by tall trees and beautiful shrubs.

There was a huge garden that covered a third of the estate grounds, filled with lush greenery that looked meticulously trimmed.

I could smell the luxury in the air as we got out of the car. There was no way this was the same air the rest of us breathed in outside these walls. It felt so pure and refined.

For a moment, I almost felt like a guest, an intruder in a world I was never meant to belong to. Zayn, on the other hand, seemed so at ease, as if he barely noticed the magnificence around him.

Without a word, he gestured for me to follow. My footsteps echoed against the floor as we walked into the house, where crystal chandeliers cast soft, glittering light across the room. A couple of staff lingered around the house, their curious stares following my every move.

Finally, Zayn paused at the base of the grand staircase. He glanced at me over his shoulder and simply said, "You're free to pick any room you'd like to stay in," his hand gestured to the winding staircase that led to the different wings of the house.

I hesitated, my eyes scanning the house, feeling insignificant by the mansion's size and Zayn's indifference.

"Any room?" I asked, unsure if he was being serious.

"Any room," he repeated with a nod and with that, he walked up the staircase and disappeared round the corner, leaving me alone in the room that grew colder with each passing second.

I stood there for a moment, the echo of his footsteps fading into the eerie silence, punctuated only by the barely audible whispers of the staff who quickly busied themselves.

Hesitantly, I moved forward and took a step up the staircase—seeing as I couldn't stand there forever.

But then, a sound...

It was faint at first, almost drowned by my own unsteady heartbeat.

The distant click of a lock turning.

I turned, my eyes darting to the large front doors. One of the staff, a middle-aged man with a creepy expression, was sliding a thick metal bar in place.

A shudder ran through my body.

The man met my gaze and, with a curt tone, said, "House rules, Mrs. Blackwood. The doors stay locked after sundown."

"Oh," I said simply, not knowing what to say at first. "For security?"

He hesitated, his lips twitching at the corner before he turned away without answering. My palms grew sweaty as I stared at the bolted doors, my mind racing with unanswered questions.