Brother-In-Law's Replaced Bride

Irene Jones POV

"Bring her to the altar!"

The heavy veil pressed against my face, suffocating.

Outside the door, footsteps thudded. Voices sharpened into commands.

I didn’t move. Barely breathed. Beneath the layers of silk and lace, no one saw the way my hands trembled—or the way my heart screamed.

The door creaked open.

---

Three hours earlier…

"Dad, I can't marry him! Please!"

Misha’s voice—high, frantic—sliced through the walls, unraveling.

I stood by the door, stiff as a board, each word a fresh blade against my skin.

Then again, how could I feel bad for her when she never once did for me? When I was the one who always got treated worse?

"We can’t afford to upset the Myers family, Misha," my stepfather, Leo, said—calm, deliberate, like he was discussing the weather. "This marriage matters to all of us. Try to understand.”

"Then let Irene marry him!" Miley—my mother—snapped, her voice like a whip: sharp, cruel, final.

My stomach lurched. Of course. Throw me in like a broken pawn. Disposable. Replaceable.

My own mother, siding with Misha as always—desperate to be the perfect mother to a daughter who wasn’t even hers. Yet to me, her real daughter, she was only ever a stranger.

"Yes, Dad," Misha sneered, her voice dripping through the drywall, thick with venom. "Let Irene marry him. They’re perfect—an ugly girl for a crippled fool."

The words stung, but I stayed silent. Same old story. The ugly duckling no one wanted.

"See, Irene? Misha’s willing to give you a great opportunity," Leo said, his voice smooth as oil.

Willing? My fists curled at my sides. Since when did what I wanted ever matter? It never had. My existence was a convenience at best, a burden at worst.

Silence thickened the air, suffocating.

Miley’s heels clicked across the floor. "You agree, don’t you?"

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. My throat seized, words rotting on my tongue. Finally, I choked out, "No..."

Misha’s slap cracked across my cheek, sharp and stinging.

Leo didn’t even blink, ignoring the slap as if it hadn’t happened. "It’s settled.”

They swept out without another glance, leaving me slumped against the wall. My cheek burned. My heart burned more.

They’d always treated me like nothing.

Today, they made it official.

---

Now…

"Irene, what’s wrong?"

Miley’s sharp voice snapped me back to the present as she strode into the room, the hem of her dress whispering against the marble floor.

I kept my gaze glued to my lap. "Is this really necessary, Miley?"

Her eyes narrowed. The fake smile slid into place like a mask she’d worn a thousand times. "You think we can back out now? You’re our only chance, Irene. Our future depends on you."

My fingers twitched against the silk pooling in my lap. My stomach twisted tighter and tighter.

"Do we really have to do this, Mom?"

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Her eyes flashed, dangerous. "Don’t call me that."

I nodded quickly, swallowing the lump clawing at my throat. "You're right, Miley. Let’s go."

I pushed to my feet. The gown clawed at my legs, snagging against the carpet as if it, too, wanted to hold me back.

Miley scoffed, lips curling. "You can’t even walk in that dress. How are you going to handle a husband?"

I kept moving. Slow, shaky steps—but steps all the same. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of watching me crumble.

Her nails dug into my arm, sharp and punishing, yanking me back a step.

"Don’t ruin this, Irene. You already look like a mess. Don’t make it worse."

The words hit harder than the slap. Harder than anything else ever could.

But I kept my head high.

If they wanted a show, they’d get one—but it wouldn’t be the tragedy they were hoping for.

The veil blurred my vision as I staggered toward the towering doors. Beyond them waited the world—the life they forced on me. Shackles dressed up in white satin and pearls.

You’re ugly. You’re lucky anyone wants you.

Miley’s voice echoed in my head, the chant she had sharpened for years and now unleashed to shove me into this marriage.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes. I blinked them back furiously. Crying wouldn’t change anything. It never had.

The heavy oak doors swung open.

The hall stretched before me—a sea of strangers in glittering dresses and pressed suits. Whispers slithered through the air like smoke, thick with judgment.

I stepped forward, the gown dragging behind me like chains I could never break. Every step was a battle. Every breath a rebellion.

At the altar, I froze.

Something was wrong.

No groom.

Panic clawed up my chest, sharp and wild. The air thickened, pressing in from all sides. Had he run? Had he found out about the whole replacement scheme? Was I so unwanted that even this deal had fallen apart?

But could he have found out? Leo would have made sure the truth stayed buried until after the ceremony.

The hall stretched endlessly ahead, a suffocating tunnel of eyes. Heads tilted. Whispers bloomed like weeds across the pews, slithering under my skin. Some faces twisted in poorly hidden pity. Others sneered openly, smirking behind jeweled fans.

"Poor girl."

"Did he really leave her?"

I tried to breathe, but the walls closed in, squeezing the air from my lungs. My fingers tightened around the bouquet until the stems bit into my palms.

Even though I wasn’t supposed to be the bride, I was the one getting humiliated.

"Miss Jones?”