Glamour And Sass: A Rejected Bride's Revenge Novels & Stories

a guest toasted, prompting cheers. Scarlett’s stomach churned. She stormed forward, the sound of her heels lost beneath the music. Gasps rippled through the crowd as she grabbed a champagne flute off a passing tray, and hurled it at Liam’s face, but she missed and it instead landed on his foot. The glass shattered, a sharp, satisfying crack against the polished floor. The hall was covered with a deafening silence, then Liam slowly smirked, his smirk widening by the second. “Ah. And here she is.”

My mind was made up. People whispered as I passed. I knew they were talking about how tattered I looked, my hair was messy. I had an oversized gown on, with flip-flops. It was an outfit the old me wouldn't dare to wear outside but right now I didn't care. I didn't stop walking till I got to the bridge ,I placed my hands on the rail. A large billboard caught my attention. It was Ethan and Lila’s pre-wedding photo, shining brightly over the city.

The morning of the wedding broke with a soft golden glow bathing the pack lands. The air buzzed with excitement, as though even the trees were whispering about what the day would bring. Flowers bloomed brighter. The birds chirped louder. Everything felt more alive. Inside the bridal chambers, Reva stood silently before the full-length mirror, the soft swish of silk brushing her ankles. Her gown was unlike anything ever seen—moon-white, embroidered with ancient runes that shimmered faintly in the light, whispering secrets only witches knew. It hugged her delicate frame in elegance, her long dark hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders, adorned with silver vines and soft gardenias.

“Kayden Gravano’s bride. The whole city will whisper your name.” I didn’t tell her it would be whispered in fear. Or pity. She shoved the roses into my hands. Black, velvet-soft. A Gravano bride didn’t wear white. She wore shadow. She wore power. She wore the kind of beauty that turned every head in the room but warned every soul not to touch. And I was about to step into that skin. The stylists came next, arms laden with silks and lace. They were chatter and perfume, laughter and squeals — not hardened soldiers, but women who didn’t know the danger in this house. Every brushstroke of lipstick felt like a ritual, every clasp of a jewel a chain.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, but my heart burned with quiet humiliation though I don't want to care about it anymore. The salesgirl’s words filled in my ears, but before I could react, Pearl checked the price tag on the so-called bride’s dress, Jessica had picked for me. Then she checked the tag on the original gown I've chosen earlier. Her eyes darkened almost immediately. "So let me get this straight…" Pearl sighed, lifting her gaze to Jessica with a small smirk, "The bride wears a trash dress, while the mistress gets a designer gown? That’s fascinating!" Jacob’s expression twisted in anger. "What do you mean by, mistress? How dare you call Jessie a mistress?"

Staring at my reflection, I vowed, “I’ll survive. I’ll live. I’ll destroy them all.” At the bridal boutique I slipped on a dress that fit my curves perfectly. "Ma'am, you look so stunning," one of the attendant said as I stepped out of the dressing room. "Sir, look at your bride," another said, motioning to Alessandro. He glanced up briefly, his face indifferent. "Uhmmm.... she's beautiful," he said, his eyes already back on his phone. Clenching my fists, anger surged through me. Moving closer I caught a glimpse of his phone-Cassandra’s photos.

“But the gown changes.” Silence. Thick as the truffle foam. Julian sputtered. “The what? Cass, the trust—” “The trust,” Cassian interrupted, “is my concern.” He pushed back from the table, chair scraping like a death knell. “She’ll wear black.” Black? My breath caught. Blondes don’t wear black. Grandma’s monocle shattered in her grip. “Absurd! The Drevane bride wears ivory!” Cassian didn’t flinch. “Then find another blonde.” He turned to me, his voice held something raw. “This one wears black.”

The air in the Parisian haute couture salon smelled like money and fear. I’d waited six months for my wedding dress. Now, it was draped over the shoulders of Sofia Ross—the trending influencer, and my mafia fiancé Vincent Cassio’s god-sister. The salon manager was sweating bullets, his eyes darting between me and the man lounging on the velvet sofa.

It was a strapless, pure white, floor-length gown that exuded both sensuality and elegance. Most striking, William had also gotten her a fox-fur shawl. Dressed like this, she'd be more dazzling than a movie star. "I want you to be the most beautiful woman in Gleaston. That way nobody will think Susan is Ariana. At worst, they'll say they look a bit alike." William smiled and continued, "But this gown has a production cost. It's two million dollars. I'm sure Ms. Torrey can afford it." Ariana gritted her teeth. "You really are a shameless businessman!"

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I saw me. Not the broken bride. Not the pitied ex. But Clarissa. The woman. The fire. The damn storm. My dress was warpaint. A deep wine red satin that hugged every curve like it had been stitched to wreck havoc. Slit up to the thigh, neckline plunging like it was daring gravity to hold it in place. My heels screamed “Temptress”, and my matching lingerie? The lacy black set I had secretly splurged on for my wedding night that never happened, tags still on, untouched, unworn.