The Invisible Bride

[ SAMANTHA'S POV ]

 The sound of the heavy deadbolt clicking into place felt like a physical slap to my face.

 I didn't move. I couldn't. I stayed curled in that miserable ball, my forehead pressed against my knees, listening to the absolute silence of the locked room. The air felt completely thin, like a vacuum was sucking all the oxygen right out of my lungs.

 Inside my chest, my mind was screaming, a loud, chaotic noise of pure panic and despair. They did it. They really did it. My father and mother had completely traded my life to save their dying company, and Linda was probably celebrating in her clean, safe bed right now. They didn't just give me away, they threw me to a man who looked at me like I was a virus in his perfect house.

 I slowly lifted my head and looked down at my hands. They were shaking so badly my fingers looked blurred. I uncurled my stiff legs, the fabric of the heavy wedding dress swishing loudly against the quiet room.

 The cold morning air hit my bare skin where David had ripped the duvet away. A violent shiver ran straight down my spine. I stood up on weak, trembling legs, my knees nearly buckling beneath me. I didn't want to look at the bed. I didn't want to look at the space where he had just pinned me down, his hot, liquor-scented breath making me feel so small and helpless.

 Instead, I dragged my feet toward the bathroom.

 The bathroom was massive, lined with clean white marble and gold fixtures. It looked like a palace, but to me, it just felt like a larger cage. I walked up to the grand mirror above the sink and forced myself to look up.

 A gasp caught in my throat.

 The girl looking back at me was a stranger. The heavy bridal makeup was ruined, smudged with dark mascara lines that ran down my cheeks like black tears. But when I turned my head slightly, my breath completely hitched. There it was. The dark purple bruise along my jawline, swelling slightly now. It looked ugly and brutal against my pale skin.

 I reached out, my fingers trembling as I lightly touched the edge of the mark. A sharp flash of pain shot straight up into my ear, making me wince. “You will smile and you will sign the papers, Samantha, or I swear you won’t leave this basement alive,” my father’s voice echoed in my head, loud and terrifying, making my heart thump hard against my ribs.

 He had kept his word. He had broken me, dressed me in white, and handed me over to a monster.

 I turned on the gold tap, the sound of rushing water filling the quiet room. I didn't care that the water was freezing. I scooped it up in my cupped hands and threw it against my face, scrubbing fiercely. I hated the makeup. I hated the smell of the expensive powder my mother had picked out. I scrubbed until my skin turned bright red, until the black mascara was completely gone, leaving my face completely bare.

 But no matter how hard I washed, the dark bruise remained. It wasn't going anywhere.

 I walked back into the bedroom, my bare feet thudding softly on the hardwood floor. I couldn't stay in this dress anymore. The stiff collar felt like a tight hand around my throat, suffocating me. I reached behind my back, my fingers fumbling with the long row of tiny pearl buttons. My hands were shaking so much I couldn't get a grip on them.

 Panic started to rise in my chest again, hot and heavy. A tear slipped down my cheek. I pulled at the fabric, crying out in frustration as a few buttons snapped off, bouncing across the floor with tiny clicking sounds. Finally, I managed to loosen the back. I let the heavy, dirty wedding dress slide off my shoulders, letting it fall into a pathetic white puddle around my feet.

 I stood there in just my thin lace slip, shivering from the cold air rushing through the vents. I needed clothes. Normal clothes.

 I walked over to the massive walk-in wardrobe and pulled the heavy doors open.

 My heart sank. The entire left side of the wardrobe was filled with rows of sharp, dark designer suits, crisp white shirts, and expensive leather shoes. Everything was perfectly aligned, smelling faintly of David's clean, woody cologne. The right side of the wardrobe, however, was completely empty. There were just bare hangers waiting for a bride who was never coming.

 He hadn't put a single piece of my clothing in here. My father's men hadn't brought a single suitcase for me. I had absolutely nothing.

 My stomach twisted into a tight, anxious knot. “To this house, and to me, you do not exist. You are a ghost, Samantha.” His words echoed in my ears, cold and final. He meant it. He wasn't going to provide for me. He was going to let me rot in this room until I starved or disappeared completely.

 Desperate, I reached out and grabbed one of David’s plain black t-shirts from a shelf. It was huge and heavy in my hands. I quickly pulled it over my head. The soft fabric hung all the way down to my thighs, burying my small frame in his scent. It felt wrong to wear it like I was committing a crime but it was the only way to stay warm.

 I walked over to the large window and looked out through the glass.

 The estate was beautiful. There were perfectly manicured green lawns, long stone pathways, and massive iron gates in the distance. I could see two guards patrolling the perimeter, their hands resting near their belts. The wall surrounding the property was high, topped with sharp iron spikes.

 I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. I had spent my entire life trying to escape my father’s locked house, dreaming of the day I would finally be free. And now, I was married to a billionaire, living in a mansion, and I was more locked in than I had ever been.

 Suddenly, the loud, sharp sound of a car engine revving broke the silence outside.

 I looked down at the driveway. A sleek, matte-black sports car was idling in front of the main steps. A second later, the grand front doors of the mansion opened. David walked out.

 He had changed into a sharp grey suit, his dark hair neatly combed back, completely hiding any sign of the angry, hungover man who had just pinned me to a bed. He looked powerful. He looked like the king of the world, completely untouchable. He didn't look up at my window. He didn't look back at the house at all. He just slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and drove off, the car roaring down the driveway before disappearing through the massive iron gates.

 He was gone. He was going back to his perfect, wealthy life, leaving me behind in his bedroom like a piece of garbage he forgot to throw away.

 I heard the sound of the car driveway, the silence of the room crashing back down on me, heavier than before. My stomach suddenly let out a loud, hollow growl, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning before the courthouse.

 I walked over to the heavy wooden door and placed my palm flat against it. I didn't even try to turn the handle. I knew it was locked. I knew no one was going to open it.

 I was completely alone, completely invisible, and the real nightmare was just beginning.