LOVING THE WRONG BRIDE

Isabella's POV

I spent my whole life believing that when Adrian and I finally met again, he would call me his wife.

That was the promise. That was supposed to be our story.

But the story changed into something I never saw coming.

What bothers me most about Adrian is that he never asks questions. He doesn't wait to hear the truth. And even when he does listen, he only believes whatever version reaches him first. He assumes. He never digs deeper. That's what scares me about him.

We made that promise as children, the day his parents came to take him away from his grandfather, Ryan. 

Since then, every day of my life has circled back to one question: where can I see Adrian again? Those grey eyes. That face I refused to forget.

Some nights, I'd climb into bed and hug my pillow like it could replace him. It happened more times than I'd admit to anyone.

Then came the gala night in Manhattan.

I went with my sister, Scarlett, who was in the middle of a messy breakup with her ex, Marcus Vane. He cornered her that night, calling her disrespectful, unfaithful, a cheater, loud enough for people to stare.

I stepped between them.

"My sister is not a cheater," I told him. "She didn't cheat on you." I kept talking until his shoulders dropped and the fire in his eyes cooled.

When I turned to leave, I saw Scarlett across the room, walking beside someone. Someone familiar.

I moved closer, and my whole chest went tight.

Adrian.

The boy who used to be my pretend groom, spinning me around while his grandfather tossed us coins and laughed. Older now. Sharper. 

But unmistakably him. He was laughing with Scarlett like they'd known each other for years. I didn't understand it, and I didn't like it.

I walked close enough that he'd have to see me.

"Adrian," I said, warm, certain.

Before he could even turn, Scarlett slid her arm through his and pulled him toward the corner of the room, already laughing again like I hadn't spoken at all.

She's supposed to tell him I'm here. She knows what he means to me.

I stood there and waited. When I couldn't take it anymore, I walked over, ready to remind him of the game we used to play, husband and wife, me serving him at our little pretend table. But he didn't look at me. Not once. 

They simply shifted position, angling away, and the conversation carried on like I was furniture.

I told myself I wouldn't force it. If he wasn't going to give me his attention, I wouldn't beg for it.

I sat alone at the coffee bar, taking small sips I didn't taste, watching them from a distance until they finally headed for the parking lot. I caught up and grabbed Adrian's hand.

"Hey, Adrian, it's me. Isabella. Don't you remember me?"

He hadn't even turned fully around before Scarlett shoved my hand away.

"What is the meaning of this, Scarlett?" My frown came fast, sharp.

She smiled at him like nothing had happened. "Don't mind her. That's just how she gets sometimes."

My eyes went wide. 

"Scarlett, you—" The words hang in my throat.

Adrian said nothing. Not a word. Not even a glance in my direction.

What is wrong with him? Why can't he hear me?

I didn't want to make a scene with my own sister standing there, so I left. I went home, but sleep never came. I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second.

An hour later, the front door opened. Scarlett walked past me straight to her room. I followed.

"Why did you embarrass me in front of Adrian?"

Silence. She acted like I hadn't spoken

"Scarlett. Talk to me." I almost shout.

"It doesn't mean you get to throw yourself at him just because you knew him as a kid," she said, flat, no apology in it anywhere.

That told me everything I didn't want to know.

"What's going on between you and Adrian?" I asked.

She went still.

"Are you in love with him?"

"Is there something wrong with that?" She demanded, instead of answering my question.

"You didn't answer my question," I said immediately.

"Adrian and I have been close since we were kids. We deserve each other." 

Her head snapped up. "Who told you he was ever interested in you?"

"Bella, let me make this simple for you." Her voice was calm, almost bored. "Adrian is my man."

The floor tilted under me. 

"What?" I snapped.

"Scarlett. Are you serious?"

She didn't answer again. She turned over, pulled the duvet to her chin, and that was the end of it.

I decided not to fight her for him. She was my sister. If this was what she wanted, I'd let her have it.

I pretended not to notice anything after that, not the calls, not the secret smiles, until the night of Mira's birthday party when I overheard Scarlett on the phone with Adrian, telling him how she used to serve him food when they were children, how she'd kept that promise all these years.

I stood up so fast I nearly knocked over my drink.

That wasn't her. That was me. I was the one who used to feed him. I was the one my mother beat for "stealing" food when really I'd been giving it to him. And now she was handing my memory to him like a gift she'd wrapped herself.

"Why are you lying to him, Scarlett?" I finally asked.

"Bella, this isn't your business." Her voice cut through the room.

"It becomes my business when you lie to him with my life," I said and continued.

"Do you think I'm stupid? That I don't know exactly what I'm doing?"

She kept talking to him, ignoring me completely. That was the moment I decided Adrian would hear the truth from me directly, whether she liked it or not.

I waited for her to leave the room first, then I could follow.

The moment I reached there, the music from downstairs was loud, but I still heard the argument breaking through it before I reached the top of the stairs.

"Scarlett." I kept my voice level. "Can we talk?" I said, simply to let her know that I'm around.

Her eyes cut to me, just a flicker of something raw before she buried it. "Not now, Bella."

Suddenly, there are footsteps behind her. Marcus.

His jaw was tight, his face pale, then flushed red. He'd heard everything.

"You told me you moved on because of him," he said, pointing toward Adrian's car like the name itself was a wound. 

"You told me it was over because you loved him. Was any of it real, Scarlett?"

"Marcus, don't do this here—" I started.

"No. I want to know." His voice cracked. "Was I just a placeholder while you built your fairy tale?"

I backed away. This fight wasn't mine to referee. My chest tightened with a dread I couldn't name.

I'd made it one flight down when I heard the scream.

I spun and ran back up, my heels catching on the carpet, my heart slamming against my ribs.

By the time I reached the top, Scarlett was lying flat at the bottom of the second stairwell. 

Not moving. Not talking. Just silence.