THE BRIDE HE NEVER WANTED

That night, I sat alone in the vast bedroom that wasn’t mine, wearing a white light robe they had given me after the wedding with no panties under. My hands were clenched so tightly in my lap that my nails left little crescent marks on my palms. I felt nervous.

The door opened.

He stepped in, jacket already off, shirt partially unbuttoned, the scent of whiskey and cologne clinging to him. His movements were unstable from drinking, but there was nothing weak about the way he looked at me. He closed the door behind him with a soft click and locked it.

“Lia,” he said, squinting his eyes looking at me, voice low and rough.

My stomach twisted violently at the name. He thought I was Lia, I tried talking him out of it that it was all a plan, I wasn't Lia.

But he crossed the room in a few strides and pulled me up from the edge of the bed. His hands were large and warm as they slid around my waist, tugging the robe open with impatient fingers. The cool air hit my skin as the silk slipped off my shoulders and pooled at my feet, leaving me naked before him.

He didn’t bother with tenderness.

He was about to kiss me when I dodge and his mouth found my neck, hot and demanding. Slowly, he reached for my breast and kissed it, I didn't even know I was already having a hard nipple on me already. He folded one with his hands while reaching for the other with his mouth. Sucking them like a baby. His teeth grazed my skin as he backed me toward the bed. I gasped when the backs of my knees hit the mattress and I fell back. He followed immediately, covering me with his body. His weight pressed me down into the soft sheets.

“Look at me,” he murmured against my throat.

I did. His eyes were dark, glazed with alcohol and lust. He didn’t really see me. He was seeing her instead.

He kissed me hard, tongue pushing past my lips as his hand slid between my thighs. I was already shamefully wet, my body betraying me even as my mind didn't want this. Two thick fingers stroked through my folds, circling my clit before sliding inside me without warning. I arched with a choked sound.

“So wet already,” he groaned. “Good girl, Lia.”

The name hit like a slap.

He pumped his fingers slowly at first, then faster, curling them against that spot that made my toes curl and my breath stutter. Pleasure coiled tight and unwanted in my belly. I bit my lip hard, trying not to moan, but a broken whimper escaped anyway, he was too fast.

He pulled his fingers out and I heard the sound of his belt and zipper. Then the heavy, blunt head of his cock was nudging against my entrance, hot and insistent. He was rubbing it around him to get him all silky and wet for smooth penetration.

He pushed in with one slow, relentless thrust.

I cried out, hands flying to his shoulders as he stretched me open. He was thick, long, and he didn’t give me time to adjust. He started moving immediately, deep, steady strokes that made the bed creak beneath us.

“Fuck… Lia,” he growled, burying his face in my neck as he fucked me harder. “You taste just how beautiful you look.”

Every time he said her name, something inside me cracked wider open.

He hooked one of my legs over his hip, changing the angle so he drove even deeper. The wet, obscene sound of his cock sliding in and out of me filled the room. Pleasure surged through me in waves, sharp and humiliating. My hips started moving against my will, meeting his thrusts, chasing that building heat even as tears pricked at my eyes.

“Lia… fuck, just like that,” he panted, slamming into me. His pace turned punishing, hips snapping forward relentlessly. “Take it. Take all of it.”

I didn’t know whether to cry or moan. The humiliation I feel whenever he calls out my sister's name instead of mine, or the pleasure I feel, having his dick slamming into my pussy.

Every brutal thrust sent sparks of unwanted ecstasy through my body. My walls clenched around him involuntarily, drawing a deep groan from his chest. He reached between us and rubbed my swollen clit with his thumb, fast and firm.

I was shattered.

My name is Serena Betty Vale. I wasn't always the type that could be used whenever he pleases, until the day my parents forced me into marriage with a man that thought he was going to marry my sister.

The first thing I heard that morning was laughter.

Not mine.

It came from downstairs, light, easy, the kind that filled a dining room without trying. My sister’s laughter always sounded like that. Effortless.

I stared at the ceiling for a moment, counting the cracks I already knew by heart. Then I pushed myself up and got dressed.

No one called me.

By the time I reached the dining room, they were already seated. My father sat at the head, reading something on his tablet. My mother leaned toward my sister, adjusting the sleeve of her blouse like she was fixing something precious.

“You should wear the blue one today,” my mother said. “It brings out your eyes.”

“I thought so too,” my sister replied, smiling. “The cream one makes me look dull.”

“You could never look dull,” my father added without looking up. “Not you.”

I paused at the doorway. For a second, I considered turning back. But hunger, or maybe habit pushed me forward. “Good morning,” I said.

Four pairs of eyes lifted. Only two of them softened. “Oh, you’re up,” my mother said, like she had just remembered I existed.

“I’ve been up,” I replied, pulling out a chair.

There was no place set for me. I didn’t comment. I just walked to the kitchen, grabbed a plate, and came back. The food was already going cold, but no one offered to pass anything. I reached for the bread myself.

“You’re late,” my father said suddenly.

I looked at him. “It’s seven.”

“You should be up before that,” he replied. “A girl your age shouldn’t be so lazy.”

I almost smiled. “I’ll wake up earlier tomorrow,” I said.

My sister giggled softly. “She always says that.”

I didn’t look at her. Instead, I focused on spreading butter across the bread. Slow. Even. Like it mattered.

“Anyway,” my mother said, turning back to her favorite subject. “We have guests coming this weekend.”

“What kind of guests?” my sister asked.

“Important ones,” my father said. “You’ll need to make a good impression.”

“I always do,” she said, flipping her hair lightly.

“That’s why we’re not worried,” my mother added.

A pause settled over the table. No one said my name. I took a bite of the bread. It tasted dry. “Make sure the house is presentable,” my mother said after a moment. She wasn’t looking at me, but I knew who she meant. “I will,” I said.

“Good,” she replied, already moving on. “And stay out of sight when they arrive.”

That part, she didn’t need to say.

By noon, I was cleaning the living room. The sunlight streamed through the windows, catching dust in the air. I wiped the glass slowly, watching my reflection shift with every movement. I looked… fine. Not beautiful. Not striking. Just there. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it at first, but it kept going.

When I finally checked, it was a message from my friend, Lila.

“Still alive?” she said, trying to tease me.

I let out a small breath and typed back. “Barely.”

She replied almost instantly. “Come out with me later. You need air.”

I glanced toward the hallway. My mother’s voice floated faintly from upstairs. “I can’t,” I typed. We have guests coming.

There was a pause before her next message. “You always have something to do.” She texted back.

I didn’t respond. Because she wasn’t wrong. I slipped the phone back into my pocket and returned to cleaning. The house was quiet again by evening. Too quiet. That kind of silence usually meant something was wrong. I found them in my father’s study.

All three of them.

My mother stood by the window, arms crossed. My father sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable. My sister stood beside him, her hands clasped together like she was nervous. No one smiled when I walked in. “Sit,” my father said.

I stayed where I was. “What’s going on?”

“Sit down,” he repeated, sharper this time.

I obeyed. The chair felt colder than it should. My mother was the first to speak. “There’s something important we need to discuss.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay?”

She hesitated, just for a second, before continuing. “The company is in trouble.”

I blinked. “What kind of trouble?”

“Serious trouble,” my father said. “We’re on the edge of bankruptcy.”

The word hit harder than I expected. “Bankruptcy?” I repeated.

My sister lowered her gaze, her shoulders trembling slightly. “We didn’t want to worry you…”

I almost laughed at that. “You never worry about me,” I said quietly.

No one responded. My father leaned forward. “There is a way to fix this.” I looked at him. “How?”

“A marriage.”

I frowned. “What?”