C2 Luckiest Bride

Meera ~

"I wish you died the day you were born."

Keeping a straight face, I let my heart shatter into pieces as my father spouted venomous words into my ear.

Ain’t I the luckiest bride in this world? Who gets to hear such words from her own father and is marrying a man who does not love her?

A wedding is supposed to be the greatest ritual in anyone’s life, such a blissful moment—but for me, it is nothing but a sham.

I am marrying my sister’s fiancé, the man I love with my whole heart, but he does not love me back.

I am donned in a beautiful, custom-made white lace gown, adorned with real diamonds on the bodice, forming delicate floral embroidery.

It is one of those rare, beautiful dresses made by the greatest designer for the most beautiful bride—and that was my sister. My beautiful sister. Whom she—

I blinked back the tears that formed in the corners of my eyes as my sister’s smiling face flashed across my vision.

I took a deep breath as the church gates opened, revealing a red carpet stretching down the aisle, waiting for me and my father to walk down.

Guests stood in respect—some, who did not know the truth, beamed with happiness; and those who knew half the truth stared in delight, probably waiting for some drama.

***

Among them, a pair of gray orbs followed the bride’s walk. The most beautiful woman in this world. The woman he loved. The woman who owned his whole being.

His jaw clenched, and with every step she took, something inside him broke.

She was supposed to be his—and she is his.

This marriage means nothing to him, because by the end of it, he will make her his, no matter what.

***

Each step felt as if I was walking on burning coal. I should be happy. Isn’t this what I always wanted? Wasn’t it my dream to marry Abram? Then why do I feel numb?

I should be joyful. After all, what I have always desired is finally happening. I’m going to have my forever with the love of my life.

The man who has my whole heart, body, and soul. But I feel nothing—just numb.

Because how can I feel anything after what I’ve done? It was supposed to be my sister here, not me. But I snatched him from her.

I was still in a daze when my hand touched something soft, bringing me back to the real world.

I looked down to see my hand placed in the hand of the man I love, and an electric charge shot through my veins.

The priest began reciting the matrimonial vows, asking us to repeat after him.

I closed my eyes and saw flowers blooming as I recited the vows with all my heart.

The flowers bloomed beautifully as I promised, firmly and fully, in front of the Lord—to be with him in sickness and in health. Till eternity, my heart belongs to him and only him.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

A lone tear slid down my cheek. I felt calm—no more chaos in my mind.

For a moment, I felt like the luckiest bride in the world, marrying the love of her life.

“You may kiss the bride and seal the holy matrimony in front of the Lord.”

My breath hitched as I looked up for the first time—and my eyes met his beautiful blue ones, void of any emotion.

How can someone look so beautiful, so inhumanly gorgeous? My heart leapt, and I thanked God. I feel grateful—I am grateful.

A sad smile formed on my lips as I tiptoed and wrapped my arms around his neck. He went stiff. I brought my lips close to his ear and whispered—

“Even your hatred is mine now, Abram.”

And kissed the corner of his lips.

He grabbed my waist, squeezing the flesh harshly. I clutched his shoulder for support, but he swiftly jerked my hands away.

He leaned closer, bringing his lips to my ear, close enough to make me shudder.

Chills ran down my spine as his hot, ragged breath burned against my neck. His grip on my waist tightened painfully, causing a shaky whimper to escape me.

“Then I will make sure you burn in my hatred.”

Another lone tear escaped, falling on my lip.

How sad can a wedding be, when one hates the other so much—so much that he wouldn’t think twice before hurting me?

The same girl he once saved when she was stuck in a cold, dark room and coddled gently.

The cheers of congratulations brought us back, and he pushed me away—not harshly enough to make it obvious how much he hates me.

The media captured the photographs. And why not? After all, I am the daughter of the biggest institutionalist in England, now married to the heir of the wealthiest fortune.

We received congratulations and blessings—not from our families, because this is not what they wanted—but from the people who were genuinely happy for us. People who didn’t know the truth.

In a flash, I saw my husband leave me alone at the altar with his buddies. One of them—Derek—looked back at me with nothing but pity.

And I fanned my face, trying to hide my embarrassment. I deserve every bit of pity and hatred now—for life and forever.

***

I longingly watched my mother dancing with my father—lovingly, perfectly. Captivating everyone’s eyes.

Because that’s how they’ve always been—iconic and the most elegant couple in the country.

People envy them. They want to be them. They want to be us—our family.

They want to be like James St. Henry James and Paris Lauren James, the A-list Hollywood star. The beautiful actress.

I wanted Mama to be with me—to hug me—but I knew she wouldn’t. She barely looks at me now.

My mother hates me too. Well, who doesn’t?

I sipped my drink and uncomfortably shifted on the chair. The dress—made for my sister, who has a model’s figure—was starting to pinch at my fuller, curvier frame.

Yes, I’m not obese, but I’m plump and full, which certainly doesn’t fit into today’s beauty standards.

My eyes wandered around the crowded dance floor and landed on my mother-in-law, Jessica Oberoi, speaking to my husband in a serious tone.

He suddenly looked at me with burning, hot anger in his eyes—it nearly knocked the breath out of me.

What were they talking about? I stood up, watching him walk toward me in long strides. In seconds, he was towering over me with his 6'7" frame.

He grabbed my hand and placed another on my waist. Without a word, he led me out of the hotel where dinner had been arranged.

He smiled fakely, pretending we were off to consummate the marriage—earning chuckles from the guests.

I looked back at my parents, hoping for even the slightest flicker of emotion in my mother’s eyes. But there was none.

And within minutes, I was thrown into the backseat of the car, and my husband ordered the chauffeur to take us to his home.

My heart pounded wildly in my chest, threatening to rip out. His home. That means this is real—I truly married the man I love.

It’s not a dream. And I am going to his home—that will now be my home.