Ugly Bride

Irene Jones POV

“Bring her to the altar!”

The heavy veil pressed against my face, suffocating, the silk clinging with each shallow breath. Outside the door, footsteps thudded closer, voices hardening into commands. Still, I didn’t move.

Creek—

Three hours earlier…

“Dad, I can’t marry him! Please!”

Misha’s voice, high and frantic, pierced through the walls, unraveling what little calm lingered in the house. I stood by the door, rigid, each word cutting into me like a blade.

But pity never came. Why should it, when she had never spared me an ounce of her own?

“We can’t afford to upset the Myers family, Misha,” my stepfather, Leo, replied with maddening composure, as if discussing the weather. “This marriage matters to all of us. Try to understand.”

“Then let Irene marry him!”

My stomach twisted at my own mother's words . Of course. I was the one to be thrown forward, the broken piece no one cared to keep. Replaceable. Disposable.

Miley never let me call her “Mother.” She made me use her name. She poured her energy into playing the doting parent to a daughter who wasn’t even hers, while to me, her own blood, she remained a stranger.

“Yes, Dad,” Misha sneered. “Let Irene marry him. They’re perfect—an ugly girl for a crippled fool.”

The words burned, but silence was safer. Same old story—the unwanted daughter, the shadow in every room.

“See, Irene? Misha’s willing to give you a great opportunity.” Leo’s voice dripped with false reason, smooth as oil.

Willing? My fists curled at my sides. Since when has what I wanted mattered? My existence has always been a convenience at best, a burden at worst.

The silence that followed pressed heavy as a storm cloud. Then the sharp click of Miley’s heels crossed the floor until she stopped at the door. “You agree, don’t you?”

My throat locked. Words decayed on my tongue before I forced out a single whisper. “No…”

Misha’s slap cracked across my cheek, the sting flooding hot beneath my skin.

Leo didn’t even flinch. “It’s settled.”

Now…

“Irene, what’s wrong?”

Miley’s voice snapped me back as she entered the room, the hem of her gown whispering over the marble floor.

I kept my gaze fixed on my lap. “Is this really necessary, Miley?”

Her smile slid into place like a mask she had 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 winding tighter with every word. “Do we really have to do this, Mom?” The word escaped before I could stop it.

Her eyes hardened. “Don’t call me that.”

I swallowed, forcing a nod. “You’re right, Miley. Let’s go.”

When I rose, the gown clung to my legs, snagging against the carpet as if even the fabric meant to hold me back.

She scoffed, her lips curling. “You can’t even walk in that dress. How are you going to handle a husband?”

I pressed forward—slow, unsteady steps, but steps nonetheless. I wouldn’t give her the pleasure of watching me falter.

Her nails dug into my arm, sharp enough to leave welts as she yanked me back a step. “Don’t ruin this, Irene. You already look a mess. Don’t make it worse.”

The words sliced deeper than the slap. But I lifted my head, refusing to bend. If they wanted a spectacle, they would have it—but not the kind they expected.

The veil dimmed my sight as I staggered toward the towering doors. Beyond them waited the life they had bound me to—shackles disguised in white satin and pearls.

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

Her voice rang in my head, sharpened over years to bludgeon me into silence, now wielded to force me into this marriage.

Tears pricked, but I blinked them back. Crying has never saved me. It never would.

The heavy oak doors swung open. A sea of strangers waited beyond, whispers curling like smoke through the air. My gown dragged behind me like chains.

At the altar, I froze. Something was wrong.

No groom.

Panic swelled sharply in my chest, squeezing my lungs until the air thinned.

Had he run? Had he discovered the switch? Or was I so unwanted that even this arrangement had crumbled? No—Leo would never have allowed the truth to surface before vows were spoken.

The hall stretched on, eyes locked to me as whispers drifted through the pews. Some faces held pity, others amusement, smirks tugging at their lips.

“Poor girl.”

“Did he really leave her?”

My chest cinched tighter, breath catching as the walls seemed to close in. My grip crushed the bouquet, stems biting into my palms. Even though I was never meant to be the bride, humiliation clung to me all the same.

“Miss Jones?”