Novel & Cerita Glamour And Sass: A Rejected Bride's Revenge

Luckily, I'm very skilled with makeup, so I was able to do my own, and Tamara had helped me to style my hair in a sexy updo a few hours ago. Once I am done applying my red lipstick, I close the tube and admire how the color accents my skin. Now all that's left is to put on the dress. Rebecca had helped me lay it out on my bed earlier. She and Tamara are also coming to the party, so they'll have a front row seat for what I have in store for Jacob. I smile as I look at the dress. Jacob is absolutely going to hate it. It's a sleeveless, nude tulle gown with black flowers, sequins, applique, and a deep V-neck. The back is also open in the same style as the front, with a slit on the side exposing

"Fuck you, Angelo! Fuck you and your accusations! You have no right to question me! Not after what you did! At least you didn’t catch me in our matrimonial bed fucking your uncle” His face darkened. "So this is your revenge? Fucking my family to get back at me?" A cold smile twisted my lips. "This?" I gestured to my wedding dress. "This is just the beginning. You and Bella will pay for what you did to me. I'll ruin you both." Angelo's expression changed his anger fading away, replaced by something else something like...fear. Good. Let him be afraid. Let him suffer like I suffered, he’d taste something even more bitter and painful than I did.

“What exactly do you want, Fidelia? Just tell us.” That voice and tone sounded like desperation laced with defeat. Fidelia smiled, sweet and slow. “What I want is already happening. You’re going to attend the wedding. You’re going to smile, nod, and hand over your fake blessings. Then, when the cameras are off and the guests are gone, you’ll stay quiet. No stunts. No sabotages. Nothing.” Bridget scoffed. “You can’t control us forever.” “I don’t need to,” Fidelia replied, turning toward her room with quiet, fierce satisfaction. ‘Watch me rise while you rot.’

The day of the wedding came too quickly, as if time itself conspired to rush Sasha toward her fate. She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the delicate lace of her dress. It clung to her body like a second skin, emphasizing every curve she would rather hide. Her dark hair was swept back into an elegant updo, and the makeup, done by an artist Dominic had hired, made her look more like a stranger than herself. Everything about this day felt wrong, like she was playing a part in someone else’s life. But this was her reality now—a contract bride to Dominic Knight.

He offered his arm. “Ready to make them choke?” A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Born ready.” The gala was held at The Glass Tower—a twenty-story monument of mirrors and money. Cameras flashed the second we stepped out of the car, a thousand voices shouting our names. “Dante! Over here—who’s the new Mrs. Russo?” “Gianna, any comment about Luca Romano’s disappearance?” “Is this love or business?” Dante didn’t flinch. He simply slid an arm around my waist, drawing me close, his hand resting low enough on my hip to silence speculation but high enough to remain respectable. Every step we took was measured, deliberate.

“When I walk down that aisle, Marcus, it’s not just a wedding. It’s checkmate.” He laughed, low and dark. “Always liked that ruthless streak of yours.” The call ended, and I let the phone fall to the bed. I stood. The designer gasped and scrambled with the gown, helping me step into it. Silk pooled at my feet like liquid moonlight. Pearls stitched into the bodice caught the morning sun, glittering against my skin. Diamonds lined the veil. I turned toward the mirror, barely breathing as I took myself in. “I am the bride,” I whispered. “I am the story. I am the power.”

I wasn’t afraid of his anger; I was afraid of what would happen to me if I kept letting him pull me deeper into this glittering prison he called marriage. The gown fittings were the worst. Silk, lace, pearls—every fragile detail sewn carefully by trembling hands. I stood on the pedestal, staring into the mirror at the stranger who looked back. She was elegant, flawless, her body shaped by satin and boning. She was not Isabella Reyes. She was a doll, a bride-for-display, a promise wrapped in silk to appease a billionaire’s pride. Alexander made sure to attend each fitting. He would arrive without warning, the click of his shoes echoing through the studio like a drumbeat of doom.

But now standing in front of the wardrobe four days later in a gown that probably cost more than three months of my old rent I was having a quieter version of the same feeling I always had before these events. Am I ready to do this again? The answer was always yes because the contract said yes. But the question kept arriving anyway. Clara knocked at six forty five to tell me the car was ready. I looked at myself in the mirror one last time. The gown was deep green. Floor length. The kind of cut that did not need accessories to make its point. The stylist had done my hair differently tonight. Softer. Down instead of up. I barely recognized myself. Good, I thought. That might help.

The Luke family stood frozen under the weight of countless scrutinizing gazes, their expressions pale with shock, unsure of how to respond. Ivy looked at the images, her eyes devoid of fear or excuses—just an eerie emptiness. This was happening again. She was used to being humiliated. But she refused to drag Luke into this mess. Stepping forward, her voice was calm yet resounded throughout the hall with unwavering clarity: “This wedding… I am calling it off.” A deafening silence followed. Gasps of disbelief filled the air. No one could fathom that the bride herself would be the one to cancel her own wedding.

"Sandra, what do you want, I have given you the ground wedding, what else do you want from me?" My attacker observed my pitiful and struggling state, as blood poured from me quickly. He's aware that I'm going to die and could not pose any threat whatsoever. Unwilling to surrender just yet, I clung to the faintest glimmer of hope. My white wedding gown, drenched now in blood, summoning my last strength, I cried out, "mich, save me!" I saw the city illuminated by fireworks that were supposed to celebrate my marriage to my husband but were instead used by him in wooing another lady.