A wedding dress for the wrong bride Novels & Stories

They saw Magda step out of the car in a beautiful wedding dress and holding a bouquet of rose flowers. She looked beautiful and on her finger was a beautiful diamond wedding band. Jimmy stepped out from the other side of the car and walked over, intertwining his fingers with hers, they walked towards the house. “Santiago, I'm dreaming. This can't be real, right?” Charlotte asked,her eyes still locked with her husband's. They are married at such early hours of the day?

“I—” Rory shoved me hard. “You’re burning the food.” I blinked. “I didn’t even turn the—” “Check it!” Clarissa snapped like I was some servant in her house. Mr. Hart sighed and adjusted his glasses. “Well, I’ve delivered the message. The necessary dresses and documents will arrive this evening. The bride will be picked up tomorrow morning by Mr. Theo’s driver. Kindly make sure she’s ready and please, she has to be the one with the butterfly mark.”

I've been pregnant for six months, but my Alpha mate, William, has delayed our mating ceremony 29 times. He's waiting for his adopted sister, Rita, to find a mate so they can have a "two-couple mating ceremony." The 30th time I altered the waist of my beloved mating ceremony dress, the bridal shop assistant looked embarrassed, "Miss, this dress really can't be widened anymore. How about you choose another one?" Disappointment rose in my throat like bile. I called William, asking when the ceremony would finally happen.

She added, "If you want your wedding ceremony to proceed smoothly, I suggest you start begging me." I closed my phone and asked the makeup artist, "Is it really true that the wedding dress we originally decided on can't be worn because the measurements were altered incorrectly?" The bridal shop I had chosen was also handling my makeup and photography. I had spent a fortune and had numerous consultations with their team to ensure everything would be perfect on my wedding day. Now, the makeup artist could not even look me in the eye. That told me everything I needed to know. I recalled how Ethan had either been answering calls or working on his laptop during our wedding dress fittings, yet he

(Alondra's POV) They laced me into the dress so tightly I could barely breathe. Three women circled me like birds, tugging at ribbons, pinning lace, smoothing the long white skirt over my hips. The corset cinched my waist until my ribs pressed against each other and a small dizzy feeling settled behind my eyes. They did not let me eat. The only thing they allowed me was a small cup of warm milk, and even that was rationed in tiny sips so the dress would stay snatched.

-"Choose the best one. The wedding is not about the gown; it's about love and bond and a happy future with Alpha Braxton." Though still teary-eyed and disheartened, I let my fingers skim over the exquisite dresses, the white ones in particular. The gown may have been destroyed, but my determination to marry Braxton and become his Luna remains unscathed. With newfound resolve, I choose the most elegant white long dress from my collection. It’s from Versace - a form fitting cotton dress with a high-cut skirt on one side without any bling or design on it. It looks more suitable for a red carpet attire than a wedding gown, but it’s the best I’ve got.

“About the dress.” “The dress?” She repeated, confused. “The wedding dress.” “Oh,” she was surprised and laughed. “Oh, Owen. Forget about it. It wasn’t the right dress, anyway.” “It wasn’t?” “No. I guess it was the right dress for the wedding we were going to have,” she amended. “But it wasn’t the right dress for me. Not the dream dress, you know? Not the dream wedding. It was just… like you said. Beige. We were both sort of stuck in the beige, and it wasn’t what either of us wanted, ultimately.”

“About the dress.” “The dress?” She repeated, confused. “The wedding dress.” “Oh,” she was surprised and laughed. “Oh, Owen. Forget about it. It wasn’t the right dress, anyway.” “It wasn’t?” “No. I guess it was the right dress for the wedding we were going to have,” she amended. “But it wasn’t the right dress for me. Not the dream dress, you know? Not the dream wedding. It was just… like you said. Beige. We were both sort of stuck in the beige, and it wasn’t what either of us wanted, ultimately.”

One man said, "Where is that designer going by the name 'Yorksworth'? I want her here this instant!" Another woman added, "What the hell is this design? Is this meant for a prostitute? Look at this low-cut backless dress. What decent woman would wear this? Especially on her wedding day! "Plus, I told you a pink dress is a no-go. I asked for it to be a different color. It was not supposed to be a strapless tube top either. But look at this dress now! "Oh my god, my daughter-in-law is going to get laughed at if she wears this to her wedding tomorrow."

The wind howled against the windows, though the trees outside were still. And then—came the crying. A woman’s sobs. Barely audible. Mourning. Shattered. Ancient. I pressed my hands over my ears. But her voice—her grief—seeped through my bones. > “Don’t make the same mistake. He’s not who you think. The wedding isn’t for love…” I stumbled to the wardrobe. It creaked open without touch. Inside… another wedding dress. Identical to mine. Stained with blood.