Bride Of The Living Dummy の小説・ストーリー

"You don't need to join the game. Stay here in my room and watch the live stream. When the time comes, the instance will resolve on its own." I felt a surge of relief and excitement—I couldn't have asked for anything better. … The Slit-Mouthed Woman wasn't the only bride in The Devil's Bride, but with no makeup artist available, the others were left to their own devices. The other brides' makeup was dated. The darker the eyeshadow, the more violent they were supposed to appear, but it only made them look battered and tired, stripping away any hint of sinister elegance. In stark contrast, the Slit-Mouthed Woman's makeup balanced innocence with an eerie, captivating allure. Next to her, the ot

She giggled. “Excuse me!” A voice came from the tall object. “WoW!” Lily wondered and closed her mouth. “A talking tall doll! You even got buttons on your dress. Very nice. Let me count the number of buttons you have!” “Who is she? What is she doing in a bride’s costume?” Lily suddenly looked at the doll’s face with a frown. “You know what? I am the bride, but they betrayed me.” “Mr. Cooper, she is Liliya Meyers. Today’s actual bride!” A person beside the tall doll confirmed.

My gaze was sharp as a blade, forcing her to keep shrinking backward. "Chloe, I'm genuinely curious. Can you teach me how a bride who never left the camera frame for even one second, in front of one hundred and fifty thousand people...managed to project her soul out of her body, teleport to the second-floor lounge, and pin you against the wall?" On screen, the comments were scrolling like a blizzard. [CALL THE POLICE. Arrest this lying fake-ass bitch.] [The bride was interacting with us the whole time. She didn't even go to the bathroom. Are you saying she assaulted her using telepathy?]

" Veronica was left speechless, her face twisted with resentment as she glared at me. … Three days later, Veronica's wedding and mine were held at the same hotel. In the dressing room, she glanced at my wedding dress with a mocking smile. "Even if you dress beautifully, what's the point? You're still marrying a cripple who can't stand. "Oh right, a cripple can only sit in a wheelchair. He probably won't be able to satisfy you in bed either. How pitiful. You'll have to take the initiative, won't you? "I also heard he doesn't have much time left. Once you marry him, you might end up a widow for life. Unlike me—I have Lex's love, and we even have a child together."

"It was a sham, a mix-up. It was dark, and I couldn't see clearly. That's why I carried off the wrong bride." "The wrong bride?" Brad raised an eyebrow, his gaze settling on Nicholas' face. He said in a measured tone, "Mr. Tanner, our custom of bride heist isn't some brute forcing a woman. "It's an unspoken agreement between two villages and two families. If a woman isn't willing, do you really think she'd let herself be carried off?" Nicholas froze. "If she truly wasn't willing…" Brad paused, his voice softening. "She'd beat the guy so badly that his own mother wouldn't even recognize him."

Inside the limousine sat a bride. She was dressed in an elegant white wedding gown, her head resting against the window, and her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wasn't sleeping. She was dead. Lorrie slowly walked closer despite Lorenzo's warning. The moment she saw the woman's face, she gasped. The bride looked almost her age—beautiful, peaceful, as though she had simply fallen asleep. Around her neck hung a silver placard. Three words had been engraved into it: > **Contract Brides Die.**>

I couldn't even breathe. "What?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. I turned slowly. Lucia stood in the center of the room, her arms crossed, a look of pure, satisfied triumph on her face. She looked as if she enjoyed watching my world crumble. "I said," Lucia repeated, her voice very clear, "that your loving husband has been fucking another woman." She took a slow step toward me, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. "Do you want to see the proof, or are you too naive to handle the truth?"

Smiled. “Instead,” he said, stepping back, “I’ve asked someone else to be my bride.” My knees nearly gave way but I stood still, every cell in my body screaming. Out of the crowd, she stepped forward. Clarissa. My sister. Wearing my dress. "Liam," I breathed. "What are you doing?" He didn’t answer me. He extended his hand, to her. “Clarissa, love, come here.” And just like a rehearsed pageantry, she strode down the red carpet, a smile carved on her lips as she walked towards him, confident, calm and cruel.

News of my marriage to Charlie spread quickly, and soon the entire upper circle was buzzing. Everyone was waiting for the drama to unfold. On the day of the wedding, the Quirrel and Gillan families had booked the same hotel. Both our ballrooms were located at opposite ends, separated only by the central courtyard. "Look at her. She's marrying a man on his deathbed. It's obvious she's just after his money," someone said. I turned and saw Adrian leaning heavily on a cane. His complexion was sallow, and his eyes were sunken deep into their sockets. He looked like a walking skeleton.