Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Bride Looked at Me First: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 6

I never meant to fall for my sister’s fiancée.But the first time I saw Celine Hartman, she was standing under the soft glow of fairy lights in our mother’s living room, her wedding binder clutched to her chest like a shield. She was impeccable, hair pinned back, heels sharp, blouse crisp. Everything about her screamed control, poise, perfection. And maybe that’s why my chest clenched the second our eyes met.Her gaze didn’t skim over me as it should have. It didn’t settle on my sister, the golden one, the flawless one. No, Celine looked at me. Really looked. Like she could see straight through the tattoos, the hoodie, the way I’d spent the last two years hiding in coffee shops and late-night walks, trying not to exist.I froze.My sister, Aaliyah, was chatting happily, oblivious to the quiet storm between us. I should have smiled, nodded, played my role, the disappointing little sister who didn’t deserve attention, who faded into the background. But Celine’s eyes… they refused to let

The next morning, I woke with a strange ache in my chest. Not the usual post-travel exhaustion. Not hunger or caffeine withdrawal. Something else. Something that had begun the second Celine’s gaze landed on me.I told myself it was a crush. A fleeting, stupid, absolutely forbidden crush that I had to squash before it grew into something catastrophic. But as I stretched and ran a hand through my messy hair, I realized I had no idea how to do that.Celine was everywhere. In the kitchen making tea, in the living room checking floral arrangements, even lingering by the staircase as if she had nothing better to do than watch me move through my morning. Every glance, every brush of her sleeve past mine, made my pulse stutter. I hated it. Loved it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it.“You’re awake early,” she said, appearing beside me in the kitchen. Her presence hit me like a warm tide, curling around me, pulling me close without touching. She leaned casually against the counter, one hand crad

The morning after the garden, the apartment felt smaller, tighter, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath. I couldn’t stop thinking about her—the way her presence had pressed against mine, the almost-touch, the almost-kiss. Every detail replayed in my mind, sharp and vivid, setting my pulse racing.I tried to focus on mundane tasks—folding laundry, stacking cups, straightening the living room—but it was useless. Every time the wind brushed my arm or a shadow flickered past the window, I imagined it was her.Then my phone buzzed.A new message. From an unknown number.It’s me. Don’t pretend you didn’t want to stay in the garden last night.I froze, heart hammering. My fingers shook as I typed a reply.You shouldn’t have followed me.I couldn’t stay away. Could you?The response hit my chest like a physical weight, and I couldn’t breathe properly for a moment. Desire. Danger. Forbidden promise. Each word spun through my mind like wildfire. I imagined her leaning agains