5

NARA

I stood in front of the long mirror, the reflection staring back at me looked nothing like the girl who had dreamed of love and freedom. The white wedding dress hugged my body in all the wrong ways, too tight in places, flowing in others, like it was mocking me. I ran my fingers over the fabric, over the lace, over the delicate embroidery, and felt nothing but the weight of my life crashing down on me.

How had it changed so fast? One moment I was planning my future with Mike, hoping for a life we could build together. Hoping to see a real tomorrow where we were free from my father’s grasp and Camille’s manipulations. I had imagined creating a life away from all this greed. And then, in one blow, I had lost him.

Mike. My heart ached at the memory. I was to be with him but this monster I was to marry made sure to put a wedge between us.

Tears welled up, uninvited, hot and relentless. They rolled down my cheeks, burning against my skin.

“Miss Nara,” a soft voice came from behind me. I startled.

The makeup artist was holding a brush delicately. “Stop crying, I know a girl’s wedding day is one of the most excited days of her life but you are ruining your makeup.”

I wanted to laugh bitterly. Ruining my makeup? If only she knew these tears weren’t for beauty. They weren’t for joy. They were for loss, and a life I didn’t want.

“I… I can’t,” I whispered.

“Oh, they’re tears of joy,” she said brightly, swiping gently at my cheek. “The morning of your wedding! Don’t you feel… happy?”

I blinked at her. Happy. The word made me shiver.

She smiled and continued, her voice softening. “When I got married, I couldn’t stop crying either. But they were happy tears. I was marrying my love, and life has been blissful ever since. Four years now, and we’re expecting our first child.”

I forced a small smile. “You really love him?”

“Oh yes,” she said warmly. “I do so much.”

I nodded slowly, the faintest curve of a smile forming. “Congratulations,” I whispered, meaning it, even if it didn’t belong to me.

“Here, let me fix that a little,” she said, moving closer with a brush.

I held up my hand. “It’s enough,” I said quietly.

Before she could argue, the door opened, and my stepmother walked in, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Danielle followed, smirking like she had been waiting for this moment. The makeup artist quietly slipped out, sensing the tension, and left the room.

“Well, well,” Danielle said, leaning against the doorframe. “Even all this makeup can’t hide the ugliness of your life. But that’s okay. At least you’ll be useful to the family soon.”

Her words were meant to sting, and they did. I felt the old familiar rage, but it didn’t help. It didn’t change anything.

Camille laughed softly, almost sweetly. “Danielle, don’t tease her. Nara, you should be happy. You are marrying a man like Jared. It’s God’s will that you are with him, and not your good-for-nothing boyfriend.”

My lips parted but I couldn’t voice out my words.

She smiled, cold and precise. “Did you really think you could succeed in that useless relationship? Your every move has been watched, Nara. Everything leading up to today. We’ve made sure you wouldn’t do anything foolish.”

I stared at her, a lump rising in my throat. So indeed they were in support of that monster beating up Mike.

“How cruel can you both be?” I asked, bile rising in my chest.

Her hand yanked at my hair sharply, pain shooting through my scalp. “Very cruel. Don’t even think about doing anything stupid today. And hide your useless ex from your in-laws. Don’t ruin this for the family. Otherwise, I’ll make you regret it with my own hands.”

I drew in a shaky breath, my nails digging into my palms. “Even my own husband has a past. Why can’t I have one too? Just because he’s entering my life doesn’t erase who I am.”

Camille’s eyes blazed. “It does! You are now his wife. Your entire identity is tied to being his wife. You better understand that and act accordingly, especially in that house.”

I nodded silently. My throat felt tight, and my chest ached. I wanted to cry, to scream, to run. But I held myself. I clenched my fists and turned back to the mirror. Yet, despite my efforts, tears slipped anyway, rolling down my cheeks.

I swallowed hard.

The day moved forward. My father arrived to lead me to the church, his hand firm but gentle on my elbow. The ride was quiet. My mind raced, cycling through every betrayal, every humiliation, every heartbreak.

By the time we arrived, the church loomed tall and elegant, bathed in soft golden morning light. The doors opened into a space that gleamed with white flowers, sparkling crystal decorations, and rows of richly dressed guests. Cameras lined the aisles, capturing everything, every move I made. Rich men and women chatted politely, all unaware of the storm inside me.

As we stepped inside, my father leaned close. “Smile, Nara. Don’t look dull,” he whispered.

I forced a smile. It felt like cement, heavy and false.

We began to walk down the aisle. The flowers and lights blurred around me. Every step was like dragging myself through cement. Every smile I offered was empty. My hands shook slightly as I held my bouquet. My heart pounded, each beat a drum of rebellion that I could not act on.

Finally, the altar drew near. My legs felt like they might give out. My father leaned close one last time. “Almost there. You’re doing fine.”

And then I saw him.

Jared Wilson. My soon-to-be husband. For the first time in my life, I saw him clearly. His face was calm, unreadable. There was no warmth, no excitement, no light in his eyes. It felt… ritualistic, like a tradition being performed rather than a union being celebrated.

The pastor began, his voice echoing gently through the hall. “We are gathered here today to join these two in holy matrimony. To witness their commitment to each other…”

The words slurred in my ears that I could only hear the erratic beat of my own heart and before I knew it, Jared spoke up, his voice steady and firm. “I do.”

My throat tightened. All around me, faces turned to watch. The moment hung heavy in the air. It was my turn as the pastor repeated the same question to me.

I looked around, hoping for a miracle, a last-minute miracle. Hoping for Mike to appear, tears in his eyes, begging me not to go through this. Hoping this nightmare could be undone.

No one came.

The pastor’s voice pulled me back. “Nara, do you take Jared Wilson to be your lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, in wealth and in penury, till death do you both part?”

I blinked back the sting of tears. I forced my lips into a mild smile. “I do,” I whispered.

A collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the crowd. The pastor nodded solemnly. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Jared leaned in. Our lips met. It was quick, polite, a formal kiss. Nothing more. My stomach churned, but I held myself upright. My heart still a battlefield, but my body played the part.

The pastor stepped back, raising his hands. “I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson.”

Applause filled the hall. Cameras flashed. Guests smiled and nodded. Everyone celebrated.

And I stood there, frozen in my dress, the weight of my new life heavy on my shoulders, knowing that the life I once dreamed of was gone forever.

**********

The car was quiet.

Too quiet.

I sat beside him in the expensive back seat, my hands folded in my lap, my wedding dress spread around me like it didn’t belong to my body. The fabric felt heavy. Everything felt heavy. My head rested against the seat as the car moved, smooth and slow, like it was gliding through a dream I couldn’t wake up from.

The reception happened in a blur. I barely remembered it. Faces came and went. Smiles. Laughter. People congratulated us, shook our hands, pressed gifts into our palms like this marriage was something to celebrate. Cameras flashed. Voices called our names. Someone hugged me and said I was lucky. Another said I looked beautiful.

I didn’t feel anything.

It was like I wasn’t really there. Like my body showed up, smiled when told to smile, nodded when told to nod, while my mind stayed somewhere else, far away, curled up and quiet.

Now it was just us.

My husband and I.

The thought still felt strange in my head. Today was our wedding day. And also the first day we had ever met. I had never imagined my love life would look like this. No dating. No learning each other slowly. No laughter. No warmth. Just vows spoken to a stranger in front of hundreds of people.

I turned slightly, hoping he would speak. Say something. Anything..

He didn’t.

He sat beside me, scrolling on his phone, his face blank, his eyes fixed on the screen like I wasn’t even there. Like I was just another object placed beside him.

I swallowed hard and looked out the window.

The gates opened into a massive estate. My breath caught in my throat. Houses stretched far into the distance, big and beautiful, lined neatly like something out of a movie. This wasn’t just his home. Other people lived here too. Relatives. Family. This was a world I was being dropped into without a map.

The car drove past several houses before slowing down in front of one that stood apart. Bigger. Quieter. This one was ours.

The car stopped.

He stepped out immediately without looking back.

I waited for him to turn. To offer his hand. To help me with my dress.

He didn’t.

The chauffeur opened my door instead. “Careful, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

I clutched my dress, lifting it so it wouldn’t drag, and stepped out. My legs felt weak as I tried to keep up with him. He was already walking ahead, long strides, not slowing down for me once.

I followed him into the house.

Inside, everything was neat. Clean. Cold. It didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a place frozen in time. He walked straight ahead, not saying a word, and pushed open a door.

“This is our room,” he said flatly.

I stepped in and froze.

Her pictures were everywhere.

His late wife.

On the walls. On shelves. On tables.

She smiled back at me from every angle. I She was beautiful indeed… yet It felt like I had walked into a shrine. This wasn’t a bedroom...

My chest tightened.

This was where we were supposed to sleep. Together.

He walked past me and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him like I wasn’t even standing there.

I stood still for a long moment, my heart pounding. Slowly, I walked further into the room. My eyes landed on a smaller picture on a shelf. I reached out, my fingers shaking, and picked it up carefully.

“How am I supposed to live here?” I whispered to myself.

The bathroom door flew open.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled.

I jumped, the frame almost slipping from my hands.

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “I just wanted to look at the lady and…”

He stormed toward me and snatched the picture from my hands.

“That isn’t just any lady, that is my wife,” he snapped. “Address her with respect.”

I swallowed. “But she’s dead. I’m your wife now.”

The slap came so fast I didn’t see it coming.

My head snapped to the side. My cheek burned.

He leaned close, his voice low and furious. “Never in your life call yourself that. My wife is the woman in these pictures. If I ever see your hands touching her things again, I’ll break them myself.”

He shoved me aside and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

I slid down to the floor, my body shaking.

That was it.

I broke.

Tears poured out of me, loud and messy.