Runaway Bride

POV: ERICA

Hundreds of guests waited to see me walk down the aisle in lace and lies. The limousine waited outside, ready to ride me into a future I never wanted.

Instead, I gripped my dress and bolted through the back door of the bridal suite.

I was sprinting through the crowded streets of Sierra, heels in my hand, heart dragging behind me like a bruised, broken thing.

It hurts. But I didn't shed a tear.

I didn’t cry when my stepmother zipped up my wedding dress this morning with a victorious grin.

She had wanted nothing but to marry me off. My marriage would remove the only threat to her son inheriting my father's wealth.

I didn’t cry when my father looked me in the eye and said, “I know you don't love him. But you must marry him.”

Having Hays as a son-in-law will elevate his status, increase his influence, promote him, and boost his market value. My father would rather sacrifice my happiness than see that not happen.

I didn’t even cry when my supposed husband-to-be, rich, arrogant, Leonard Hays, texted me minutes ago saying: “I won’t be available today. Let’s go through with the wedding next week.”

As if I were property. As if I had no say.

I didn't tear down when Nathan said: “He’ll find us, Erica. And he’ll have us killed. I can’t risk it.”

He refused to run with me when I told him Leonard had made a mockery of me; he has postponed our so-called wedding like it was a mere date. Nathan refused to cease that heaven-sent opportunity to finally have me to himself.

I've always known he feared Leonard; most people do, but did he really believe Leonard could kill us?

Nathan's words gutted me. He didn't sound like the man I fell in love with. I tried to understand, tried to accept that he was no match for Leonard. But his complete surrender made me question whether he ever truly loved me.

Nathan, the only man I ever loved. My best friend. Gone. Just like that.

And so was I.

I didn’t know where I was going; I just knew I had to get out. Out of the town. Out of the prison of expectations.

Now here I was, hours later, in a strange city, standing outside a noisy park, barefoot and dazed, wondering what the hell came next.

That’s when I saw her.

Perhaps I was hallucinating. The heartbreak, the exhaustion — they had to be playing tricks on me. Because the woman across the street, laughing with her friend, looked exactly like me.

Same face. Same height. Same everything.

I blinked. Looked again. And she was gone.

Maybe I was losing my mind after all.

*********

Later that night, I sat at the bar counter of a dimly lit nightclub, pretending I belonged in a world that didn’t ask questions. My makeup had faded. My curls had collapsed.

“Give me something strong,” I told the bartender. “Something that’ll move me like them.” I gestured at the crowd, dancing like nothing could touch them.

With a curious glance at my outfit, he slid a short glass toward me. I downed it in one gulp.

I exhaled hard, sliding the glass back with a scrunched face. That made him smile.

“More, please,” I added.

The second drink was stronger. I coughed slightly.

“You’ll be dancing soon,” he said and moved on.

A few minutes passed. No dancing feet yet. Maybe the alcohol was bluffing.

Just then, a man nudged me.

“No, no… not this again,” he said, annoyingly but friendly. “What the hell are you doing in a wedding dress?”

I blinked. I didn’t recognise his face. Had he seen me before? Hell, that wouldn't be good for my escape.

“Do we...”

“Come on, Eric,” he cuts in. “I told you, no transformations tonight.”

“It’s Erica,” I said, confused and slightly alarmed.

He hissed, shaking his head. "Changed your name, too?"

I leaned in, impatient. “Do we know each other?”

“And here comes the drama,” he sighed, eyeing me like I was exhausting. “Stay far away from me tonight, Eric. I don't want anyone thinking I brought my bride to the club.”

He stormed into the crowd before I could say another word.

Drunk creep.

Still not in the mood to dance, I raised a finger. The bartender, without asking, poured me another drink and brought it over.

This time, I couldn’t finish it in one go. The burn was deep, strong, and bitter.

I turned back to the dance floor, watching bodies sway and spin, waiting for alcohol to take hold.

Then someone slid into the seat beside me.

“New dress…” he said, voice smooth.

I glanced over, thankfully, not the drunk creep.

“You must have a lot going on,” he added, inserting himself casually into my space.

I studied him. He didn’t look drunk. But something about his tone — too familiar, too casual — made me uneasy.

“We could go for another round,” he said, flashing a cheesy grin. His tone made it clear he wasn't talking about drinks.

"Another round?” I asked, needing to be sure.

“Yeah. I’m always down for screamers like you.”

“I beg your pardon?” I narrowed my eyes.

“Right. As you were begging just minutes ago,” he said, grabbing my âss and leaning in. “I can make you beg even more."

I slapped him hard.

He stumbled back, shocked.

“What the fvck?!” he barked, too stunned to say anything else. After a long glare, he stormed out.

Disgusted, I left the counter and plunged onto the dance floor. The music throbbed in my chest, syncing with my fury. I let myself go, twirling and swaying, trying to shake it all off.

And then the ground began to rumble beneath me. The ceiling lights spun wildly. I followed, dizzy and loose, like my head might detach from my neck. The alcohol was finally kicking in.

Drunkenly, I crashed into someone's back.

“Sorry," I mumbled, laughing as I turned to face the person—only to freeze.

Staring at me… was me.

Me. Again.

“Eric!” The drunk creep reappeared, charging toward me. “Did you follow me again?” he snapped. Then, he turned and saw the person I was staring at.

His eyes went wide. Wider than mine.

“What…” he started, then rubbed his eyes violently, like trying to wipe away the alcohol. “Okay. I’m wasted. I’m done drinking!”

He laughed nervously and staggered away

.

My vision spun. I stumbled, landing on the reflection of me.

I closed my eyes and let the alcohol take over completely.