Chapter One: Wrong Groom

Alliyah Agustin

The morning of my wedding smelled like lavender and rain.

Soft sunlight spilled through the silk curtains, brushing over the white bouquet on the vanity, and for a moment, I thought life couldn’t possibly get more perfect than this. The air was light, fragrant with jasmine and the promise of beginnings.

I had spent months planning this day — every color, every note of the music, every tiny thread of the gown that now clung to my trembling body. Chester and I were finally going to start our forever. My heart was so full it almost hurt.

“Miss Alliyah,” Pauline’s voice cut softly through the quiet. “The cars are here.”

I turned, smiling faintly at her reflection. “Is he already at the church?”

“I am sure they are already in the church, ma’am, waiting for you, his most beautiful bride.” Pauline smiled sweetly as if she were reassuring me.

Good, I thought. He promised not to be late. Chester always joked that if I ever walked down the aisle without him waiting there, he’d chase me barefoot just to prove he could make it on time.

My gown fit like it was made of air — hand-beaded silk that shimmered with every breath I took. 

My mother’s veil cascaded down to the floor, delicate and ethereal. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back — radiant, nervous, in love.

By the time we arrived at the church, the air was thick with perfume and anticipation. The guests turned, their eyes bright with excitement.

Cameras flashed, violin music swelled, and my heart thudded beneath my ribs like it was warning me of something I couldn’t yet name.

The coordinator gave me a reassuring smile. “Ready, Miss Alliyah?”

I nodded, clutching my bouquet so tightly the stems bit into my palms. The grand doors opened.

And for a moment, the crowd’s collective gasp felt like awe — until I realized it wasn’t.

They weren’t looking at me.

They were looking past me.

I followed their gaze, and my breath caught in my throat.

Standing at the altar wasn’t Chester.

The man waiting for me was a stranger — tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black instead of the ivory suit I had chosen. 

His hands were tucked into his pockets, his posture casual, but there was something terrifyingly deliberate about him. His expression was unreadable, almost bored, like he’d done this a hundred times before.

He didn’t belong in a church. He looked like he owned it.

My steps faltered. The murmurs began to ripple through the crowd like aftershocks.

“Where’s Chester?” someone whispered.

“Who is that man?” another gasped.

I turned to Pauline, but her face had gone pale. She looked as lost as I felt. And then, I caught sight of Kassandrah. My best friend, the one I chose as my maid of honor.

She has this confused look on her face, but later smiled. Just faintly, enough to make me confused.

“W-what is this?” I whispered when I reached the front, my voice barely holding together.

The stranger tilted his head slightly, dark eyes pinning me in place. “You’re late.”

My stomach dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Let’s not waste everyone’s time,” he said smoothly. His voice was deep — not the kind that asked for obedience, but the kind that already owned it. “The priest is waiting.”

The priest looked terrified. His hands shook so violently that the Bible slipped and nearly fell. His gaze darted toward the crowd, then back to the man standing beside me — and he froze, as if even glancing too long was dangerous.

“This must be a mistake,” I said, turning to the guests, desperate for a familiar face, desperate to see Chester somewhere — anywhere. “Where is—”

“Your groom?” he interrupted, stepping closer. His cologne hit me first — sharp, masculine, and far too intoxicating for a place filled with lilies and lace. “He’s not coming.”

My vision blurred. “What?”

He leaned in, his breath grazing my ear, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. “He sold you, sweetheart. You’re mine now.”

For a moment, the world went still. No music. No whispers. No air in my lungs. Only the echo of his words — and the cold, merciless certainty that he wasn’t joking.

“W-What do you mean he sold me? I don’t understand.” My voice cracked as I looked at him, then frantically over my shoulder at the people behind me — waiting for someone, anyone, to tell me this was some sick joke.

“If this is part of the bloopers for the same-day edit video, this isn’t funny anymore,” I stammered out, my nervous laugh echoing through the church like something broken.

“You don’t have to understand,” he said simply, his tone sharp and final. “You’re marrying me now.”

“N-No!” My bouquet slipped from my trembling hands, petals scattering over the marble floor. “You’re a stranger! Someone, please—”

I turned to my parents, my throat closing around their names. “Mom? Dad? Please help me stop this.”

They didn’t move. My father’s knuckles were white where they gripped the pew, his jaw locked tight. My mother’s lips were pressed together so hard they’d gone bloodless. She wouldn’t even look at me.

“I don’t understand—please help me get Chester!” I began, until I heard her whisper, her voice shaking like glass.

“J-Just go with it, honey… please. Your life is more important.” Her words hit me harder than any scream.

“W-What? Mom—I can’t just—” I stopped when I saw the terror in her eyes.

Fear.

Raw, trembling fear.

That’s when it hit me. No one was running to help me. Not my family. Not the guests. Not even Kassandrah.

They all knew who this man was — and they were somehow terrified.

The priest stood frozen, his hands shaking so violently the Bible nearly slipped. The planners avoided my gaze, their faces pale. Even the guards near the doors stood rigid, as if they’d rather die than intervene.

“I’m getting late for another appointment,” he said, his tone cold enough to silence the air. “Can we finish this before I lose my patience?”

The officiant stuttered through the vows, hands shaking so hard the pages of his book fluttered like trapped birds. 

I tried to protest, to run, to scream — but the weight of the silence was suffocating. The crowd’s stillness told me what I didn’t want to believe: no one was going to help me.

When the priest asked, “Do you take this man,” my voice caught in my throat. My chest ached from holding in the sob that wanted to break free.

But then I felt his gaze — cold, sharp, a silent warning that made my knees weak.

“I-I… do,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, tears burning at the edges of my eyes.

The ring slid onto my finger like a shackle.

A man handed it to him like it was just another deal being sealed. The air was so heavy it was hard to breathe. And when the priest finally said, “You may kiss the bride,” neither of us moved.

He didn’t need to.

He simply looked at me — long, slow, deliberate — memorizing the horror in my eyes.

Then, in a voice smooth enough to make my blood freeze, he whispered, “Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Astley.”

Before I could even breathe, his hand slipped to my waist — firm, possessive, unyielding. The world blurred around us, the whispers fading into a deafening silence as his lips met mine. 

It wasn’t gentle, nor tender. It wasn’t love.

A kiss that burned like ice, sealing the chains I never agreed to wear.

My heart thudded painfully against my ribs, and for a fleeting second, I forgot how to breathe. The taste of his cologne, the weight of his touch — everything about him screamed control. When he finally pulled away, my lips trembled, my mind screaming what my voice couldn’t.

Hours later, I found myself inside a limousine. My gown, once a dream, now clung to me like a ghost. The bouquet in my lap was crushed, petals bruised and broken — like me.

He sat across from me, silent for most of the ride, speaking only in low, businesslike tones on his phone. Every word, every movement, reeked of control.

When he hung up, his eyes flicked toward me, unreadable. “You’ll learn to stop looking so terrified,” he said quietly. “No one’s going to hurt you unless you give them a reason.”

I swallowed hard, my hands trembling. “Why are you doing this? Does Chester know about this? He’ll come for you for me!”

He turned his head slightly, the corner of his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“I doubt that,” he said, voice smooth as silk and deadly as a blade. “Your fiancé owed me something he couldn’t pay. And you, apparently, were the most valuable thing he had, so he sold me to you.” 

“Isn’t it sweet?” he added with a hint of mockery in his tone.

My breath hitched. “W-What?!”

But he only smiled — slow, merciless — while the rain outside began to fall harder, drowning the sound of my breaking heart.