Bride To Be Read Online Novels & Stories

“What?” Vincent’s eyes widened sharply. Inside the evidence bag was a phone, its screen already shattered. A police officer helped unlock it and pulled up the last recorded video. Christine’s face appeared on the screen. She was wearing a white dress, faded from too many washes, with light makeup on her face. The background was the rooftop of the Empire State Building, and the strong wind lifted her hair. “Vincent, congratulations to you and Elena on your wedding today. I’m sorry I can’t attend. It’s because I’ve decided to leave this world.”

(Sienna) My phone had forty-seven notifications. Then fifty-two. Then sixty, in the time it took me to process that number. The first thing I saw was a headline. SWIFT SCANDAL: Billionaire dumps bride at altar for her SISTER — and we have the receipts. Below it, grainy but unmistakable: a hotel corridor. A man pressing a woman against a wall. His hand in her hair. Her hands at his shirt. Me. Six weeks ago. Heathrow.

It was bizarre, to say the least. The old me would've thought his gesture meant that I mattered to him, at least in some way. Now, I wouldn't even hire him to be the opening act for a cheap circus with abused animals. Zachary strode back to me and clamped a hand around my chin. He held up his phone with his other hand and pointed its camera at my face. "Look into the camera and repeat after me. Tell her you welcome the baby and will step away as my wife. Tell her you wish us happiness."

I want to cherish her. However, I did not want to take any advantage of her until she was at the right age. When I saw her for the second time in church on our wedding day, my breath got hitched looking at her smooth skin and flawless beauty. She was the epitome of God’s angel. But again, she was an innocent kid. When the priest asked me to kiss my bride, I could see the nervousness on her face and her body. So, I controlled my desire and avoided kissing her, but that made me irritated and annoyed. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to kiss those panels once.

I love Mister handsome and find it surreal that I'm marrying him, whom I detested from the moment I laid eyes on him. Currently! The priest turned to face me and nodded, instructing me to read the book he had given over to me. I summon the strength to speak by licking my lower lips. "In the name of God, I Cornelia Jamarreon, take you Arthur Alanson to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, until death separates us." I read aloud, and tears that I had been keeping back battled their way as they rolled down from my eyes.

I was one of Sunnydale's wealthiest young heirs, but I had been abandoned by my childhood sweetheart on my own wedding day. How could anyone forget such humiliation?

Before I can react, before I can demand what she means, her body melts into smoke, dissolving into the shadows, leaving nothing but the echo of her words. I collapse to my knees, clutching the blank note still tight in my hand. The scent lingers. The word bride echoes in my mind, pounding in rhythm with my frantic heartbeat. I wasn't married to anyone! I was betrothed to Alpha Aldric! How am I a runaway bride?

“Ride me, bride.” I ride him. Slow at first – rolling my hips, feeling his cock shift inside me, my clit grinding against his pelvis. The leather couch creaks. The bass pulses through the walls. And in the mirror to my left I watch myself – tiara askew, tits out, white lace shoved beneath my breasts, riding a stranger’s cock in a strip club two days before my wedding. “Faster,” he says. His hands grip my ass, spreading my cheeks, pulling me down harder onto his cock with each stroke. “Show me how the bride rides.”

Tiffany said, her voice filled with concern. Camille hesitated, unsure how much to share. "It's just...complicated," Camille began, taking a deep breath. Tiffany shrugged with a smile, "You can share it with me." Camille sipped her latte, "It's actually about a friend of mine." Camille paused and looked at Tiffany who urged her to continue. "So, my friend is in this contract marriage, and she's not sure if her husband loves her. When he looks at her, she feels this flutter, but she's afraid of getting hurt again."

My fiancé, Everett Prescott, spent five whole years designing my wedding dress, and it finally arrived today. Except I couldn't zip it up. It stayed wide open until my best friend, Sienna Hart, slipped into the dress perfectly. The fabric hugged her curves like a second skin. She turned to my fiancé with an exasperated sigh. "Everett, are you serious? You got Leah’s size wrong. Again." My blood ran cold. Over the five years Everett and I had been together, this wasn't the first time he'd conveniently forgotten my measurements. When he bought me pajamas that were a size too small, he just blinked, flashing that easy grin of his. "Oh, wait. I think this is Sienna's size, right? Let's j