Chapter 3

A Bride In Name Only

Alvara

I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, my back pressed to the cold wood as my chest rose and fell unevenly. For a moment, I just stood there, breathing, trying to steady myself, trying to understand how my life had tilted so drastically in such a short time.

The silence of the room pressed in on me.

Not the comforting kind.

This one felt deliberate. Heavy. Like the house itself was watching, waiting.

I moved slowly back to the bed and sat at the edge, my hands folded in my lap as everything that had happened replayed itself in my mind. Adrian’s voice. His indifference. The way his eyes had looked through me instead of at me. The way the walls here didn’t echo laughter or warmth, only emptiness.

The house felt cold.

Too quiet. Too big. Too empty.

I was truly alone here.

This wasn’t what marriage was supposed to be. This wasn’t the kind of marriage my parents had shared, the kind built on patience, partnership, and shared struggles. This place wasn’t a home. It was just a structure filled with strangers and expectations. And I was nothing more than an unwanted guest inside it.

I lay back down, exhaustion washing over me in heavy waves. My head spun slightly, my vision blurring as dizziness crept in. My body felt foreign, weak, heavy, uncooperative. I pressed a hand against my stomach instinctively.

It had to be the baby.

I had never felt like this before. Not even during my mensuration, This felt deeper.

More unsettling.

I swallowed hard.

I won’t tell him again, I decided firmly.

Not now. Not ever.

I would be strong.

I would take care of myself, even if no one else would.

The sudden ring of my phone startled me. I flinched before reaching for it, frowning when I saw an unfamiliar number on the screen.

For a second, I considered letting it ring out. Then I answered.

“Hello?”

My breath caught the moment I heard her voice.

“Alvara.”

It was Mrs. Seraphina, Adrian’s mother.

“Good morning, ma,” I greeted quickly, sitting upright. My surprise must have carried through my voice.

“How are you doing?” she asked gently.

“I’m fine, ma,” I replied automatically, even though the word tasted like a lie.

There was a brief pause on the line. Then she spoke again.

“You’ll begin your antenatal visits next week. You should have registered earlier if not for… the circumstances surrounding everything.”

My heart skipped.

“Okay, ma. Thank you very much,” I said, my voice sincere. Gratitude rushed through me,unexpected and overwhelming. At least she didn’t hate me.

At least not openly.

“Your hospital card will be delivered next week,” she continued. “A driver will also be assigned to you. He’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

I covered my mouth with my hand, shock stealing my breath.

“Thank you so much, ma. I really appreciate it,” I said quickly, even genuflecting even though she couldn’t see me. It felt instinctive, respect, relief, hope tangled together.

“Anything for you and my grandchild, Alvara,” she said warmly.

Something in my chest softened. My eyes burned.

“Take care of yourself. And if you ever crave anything or need something, tell me.”

I blushed despite myself.

“I will, ma. Thank you.”

The call ended.

I stared at the phone long after the screen went dark. I had always known Mrs. Seraphina cared for me, but I never imagined she would still be kind after everything that had happened, after the rushed marriage, the whispers, the shame.

For a brief moment, hope flickered.

After freshening up, hunger finally pushed me out of the room. My steps were slow as I made my way downstairs, following the faint clatter of plates.

In the dining area, I saw a woman in her fifties arranging cutlery with practiced efficiency.

“Good morning,” I said politely. “Who are you?”

She turned quickly, startled. “Good morning, ma. I’m Mrs. Whitmore, the new housekeeper.”

“Housekeeper?” I echoed, surprised.

The word felt strange on my tongue. I never thought I’d have one. Once upon a time, I had been the one cleaning other people’s homes, cooking meals I could never afford to eat.

“Well, you’re welcome, Mrs. Whitmore,” I said gently. “What are you making?”

“Breakfast for Mr. Adrian and Miss Eliora.”

Eliora.

The name struck harder than I expected.

So that was her name,the woman he loved. The woman he wanted. The woman whose presence turned me invisible in my own marriage.

I was clearly the outsider here.

But it didn’t matter.

He was married to me.

And I was carrying his child.

That had to count for something.

“I hope you’re not serving that dirty maid my food!” a sharp voice snapped from the staircase.

Eliora descended gracefully, Adrian following behind her. She was beautiful, effortlessly so. Everything about her screamed confidence and ownership.

Adrian looked… composed. Detached. Handsome in a way that felt unfair.

God.

He was unfairly handsome.

“No, ma’am,” Mrs. Whitmore replied quickly, her voice tight.

“I wasn’t planning to eat it anyway,” I said calmly, rubbing my stomach. “I have better taste than that. And I don’t want anything, or anyone, that might harm my child.”

“Babe, did you hear that?” Eliora laughed, clinging to Adrian’s arm. “Did you hear what your baby mama just said to me?”

“His wife,” I corrected coolly, raising my middle finger before turning toward the kitchen.

I could tolerate Adrian.

But not her.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed my wrist.

Pain exploded up my arm.

Adrian yanked me back, his face inches from mine. I froze. I had never seen him like this, his jaw clenched, eyes blazing with restrained fury.

“Let today be the last time you ever do that,” he growled. “Next time, I won’t hold back. I’ll deal with you in ways you won’t believe. I keep warning you, stay out of my space. Stop pushing me, Alvara.”

“You’re hurting me,” I whispered, trying to pull away.

“It’s not enough that you pinned a bastard on me,” he snapped. “Now you want to frustrate me too? Don’t tempt me. Stop tempting me!”

He released me abruptly.

I staggered back, clutching my wrist as tears spilled freely down my cheeks. I didn’t cry easily, something was wrong. My chest ached, my breath uneven.

I wasn’t hungry anymore.

I returned to my room, ignoring Eliora’s soft giggles behind me. I locked the door and collapsed onto the bed, crying myself into exhaustion.

When I woke again, hunger clawed painfully at my stomach. The clock read 1:43 p.m.

I rushed to the kitchen and found Mrs. Whitmore finishing chicken sandwiches and chips. Not wanting to face the dining room, or go back upstairs, I ate quickly in the kitchen.

Still hungry, I grabbed biscuits and a chocolate bar and returned to my room, locking the door behind me.

Two missed calls from my mother blinked on my screen. I called back immediately.

“Where have you been, Alvara?” she asked. “I’ve been calling.”

“I was eating, Mom.”

“Do you cook by yourself?”

“No. I have a housekeeper,” I said softly. “And Adrian’s mother registered me for antenatal care. She even assigned a driver.”

“They’re just doing their duty,” she warned. “Be careful. I know that family. Everything they do is for appearances.”

“I know, Mom. I’m careful.”

“I trust you,” she said. “I never wanted this marriage for you, but I didn’t want you labeled a single mother either.”

“I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

“Just take care of yourself,” she replied gently. “That’s all I want.”

After the call, I went to throw away my snack wrappers,then stopped.

I heard Adrian’s voice downstairs.

“All household decisions go through me or Eliora,” he said coldly. “Do not listen to Alvara.”

“And the kitchen has rules,” he continued. “You are not to cook for her separately after cooking for everyone.Not even for her cravings.”

“She’s pregnant and unstable,” Eliora added lightly. “Do not engage her in conversation.”

“If she asks for anything unusual, inform me immediately,” Adrian finished. “Disobey me, and you’re fired.”

I stood frozen.

So this was how they saw me.

Fine.

They underestimated me.

And for the sake of my child, I would endure everything.

No matter what.