All Chapters of The Bride I Used to Be: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The night passed as if it wished to torment her, neither offering sleep nor allowing full wakefulness. Bliss drifted between dreams that dissolved into nothing and a reality she did not understand. The ceiling above her remained the same in both states, pale and distant, as though she were lying at the bottom of a well. The silence pressed against her ears until she wondered if she had lost the ability to hear along with her voice, but then the groan of wood settling in the beams reminded her that the world had not gone completely mute. When morning light seeped through the curtains, it arrived reluctantly, gray and filtered, the kind of light that carried no warmth. Bliss stirred, her limbs heavy, her mind still slow from exhaustion. She sat up with effort, dragging the sheet with her as if it could shield her from the strangeness of the room. Every detail remained too deliberate. The curtains, thick and velvet, blocked most of the view beyond, but the faint outline of tall windows

The day dragged on inside the room Damon had called hers. Hours passed in suffocating silence, broken only by the faint creak of wood and the occasional knock from a servant who entered briefly to deliver food or replace the pitcher of water. Bliss had tried to force herself to eat, but every bite tasted of captivity. Even the sweetness of fruit felt bitter when swallowed under the watchful eyes of strangers who said nothing and left quickly, as though fearing to linger too long in her presence. She moved restlessly, pacing from the bed to the vanity, from the vanity to the window, from the window back again. The walls seemed to close in, their shadows stretching and bending until she felt the house breathing with her, mocking her silence. Each time she tried the door, she found it locked, the handle unyielding. Damon had not trusted her after their encounter in the hall. She was confined now, not with ropes or chains, but with a lock and his command. Exhaustion eventually pressed

The night returned heavy and restless after Damon led her back from the garden. Bliss lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling while the ring on her finger pulsed with a presence of its own. She twisted it, tugged at it, pressed it against the sheets, but it clung stubbornly, as though fused to her skin. Each time she looked at it, her chest ached with the echo of laughter and the whisper of vows that did not belong to her. Sleep refused her. The room grew darker with each passing hour, shadows stretching long across the floor until it seemed the entire house leaned in to listen to her thoughts. When exhaustion finally dragged her under, the dream came again. She was standing in the same garden, lanterns swaying, voices muffled like distant thunder. The faceless man slipped the ring onto her finger once more, but this time when she looked up, the shadowed face sharpened. She saw Damon’s eyes, clear and piercing, his mouth forming the word mine. She woke with a silent scream, her hands

The morning sun spilled through the high windows, casting sharp patterns across the floor. Bliss sat at the vanity, staring at her reflection. The note she had hidden beneath her mattress weighed heavily in her thoughts. The truth is in the West Wing. Do not trust him. The words had burned into her mind all through the night, each one twisting with the memory of the portraits and the faceless whispers in her dreams. Her fingers traced the rim of the ring she could not remove. It gleamed in the light, almost mocking her. She clenched her fist until her knuckles turned pale, wishing she could rip it off, fling it into the courtyard, and be rid of the weight it carried. But it remained fixed, fused to her as though it had always belonged. A quiet knock broke the silence. Bliss froze, her breath catching. Damon’s knock was always firm and deliberate. This one was softer, almost apologetic. She stood quickly, her bare feet brushing against the rug as she hurried to the door. She pressed

The house was too quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, and every creak of the old walls pressed louder against the silence. Bliss sat at the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the clock above the mantel. The hour hand crawled toward midnight, its slow, steady movement matching the restless beat of her heart. Beneath her mattress the key lay hidden, its weight burned into her thoughts. She had touched it a dozen times through the evening, as if reassuring herself it was still real. When the clock began to chime, the sound rolled through the room like distant bells. One… two… three… She slid from the bed, her bare feet soundless against the rug. Her fingers reached under the mattress and closed around the ribbon that bound the key. She pulled it free, holding it tightly in her hand. Ten… eleven… twelve. The final chime lingered in the air, trembling with an unspoken promise. Bliss moved to the door and pressed her ear against it. The corridor beyond was silent. No footstep