THE OTHER BRIDE

The Replacement Arielle June didn’t believe in fairy tales or luck, but one thing for sure is her bad luck. You could say she was a strong believer. And tonight, bad luck had her standing at the entrance of the rooftop ballroom inside The Lucian Grand Hotel, dressed in her stepsister’s designer wedding gown. She’d never imagined the very first time she’d put on a Nisha dress from Aire Barcelona would be in her step-sister’s size, and surrounded by billionaires and criminals on the best day of her life. “I can’t be here,” she muttered under her breath, bound in that lacey dress watching Seraphina snicker behind her mother. This wedding wasn’t hers. It was Seraphina’s. Her sister had been engaged to Lyzander “Lyz” Luke Rathmore, the heir to the most feared crime syndicates in the country. Until Seraphina found out about his scarred face and limp. she faked a medical emergency to back out, leaving Arielle to take her place like some substitute. She gripped the edge of the dress, breathing hard, trying to push down the nausea twisting in her stomach. the dress felt suffocating, the diamond earrings heavy, like shackles. "I can’t believe they bought it,” Seraphina giggled. "Like I’d marry that freak." Those thoughts stayed fresh in Arielle’s mind. "You should be grateful," her mother, Madeline Calloway, replied in a low hiss. "If your father hadn’t convinced them to take Arielle instead, we’d all be dead." Seraphina scoffed. "Well, whatever. She’s disposable anyway. "Something inside Arielle snapped. Her fingers tightened around the dress knuckles white. She could see herself in the glass windows her soft brown eyes burning with betrayal, dark curls spilling over her bare shoulders. Disposable? Her heart pounded. Her pulse rumbled. And before she could think twice, she slammed through those large doors. Arielle burst into the ballroom, her heels clicking against the marble, the weight of her decision overflowing through into her chest like a cargo train. The room was magnificent, the city skyline visible through the glass walls, chandeliers dripping gold. The guests’ powerful men in tailored suits and women draped in diamonds turned to watch as she stormed toward the altar. At the far end of the room, stood Lyzander Luke Rathmore waiting. He was a tall, Broad-shouldered silver-eyed man. His presence commanded attention, with the scar that cut across his sharp jawline making him more dangerous. His dark hair was styled, but slightly dishevelled, like he couldn’t be bothered to fix it. His black-on-black perfectly ironed Armani suit was crafted solely for perfection, his body. His eyes, a piercing silver. Cold. Watching her like he already knew what she was about to do. Arielle’s chest tightened, but she kept walking. She turned to Hadrian Rathmore, Lyzander’s father the CEO of Luc’corp, a multibillion-dollar empire with a criminal backbone. “I’m not marrying him,” she announced, voice steady, even as her stomach twisted. “I refuse this wedding.” The room fell silent. Hadrian exhaled slowly, leaning back in his seat, the slightest smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, little dove,” he murmured, voice smooth. “You seem to think you have a choice.” A chill crawled down Arielle’s spine. “You see,” Hadrian continued, adjusting his cufflinks, as if she were boring him, “your family owes me a debt, a debt that this marriage was meant to settle.” He tilted his head. "No wedding? Fine. Take her!” Arielle’s breath caught. Two men in black stepped forward. Bodyguards. Before she could react, a strong hand wrapped around her wrist. She turned, it was Lyzander. His touch wasn’t rough. It wasn’t forceful. But it was final. His silver eyes flickered—calm, controlled, and lethal. His voice was smooth yet firm. “Don't make this difficult. Be still.” While the city blurred past the tinted windows of the black Rolls-Royce as it sped down the highway. Arielle sat stiffly in the leather seat, her heart still racing, why did she fall mute all of a sudden? She hated that she didn’t fight back, his grip wasn’t even that tight… or was it his eyes? that calm yet commanding gaze as if casting a spell over her. With just one word, the fire-breathing dragon she used to be melted into butter. It was so unfair being dragged into something she never wanted; her eyes stung was she about to cry? “No. Arielle, you can't do that.” she mentally chided herself. Shifting her focus to the low hum of the engine of the Rolls-Royce carrying her to her new home. her wedding dress pooling around her like a bad joke. Which brought back memories she had tried to forget. She remembered the big living room in her house—plush couches, marbled floors. Which felt far from home. Home was supposed to be warm, but in that house, warmth gravitated only towards Saraphina, her stepsister. Arielle was six when she got yelled at for playing there. She had been on the floor with an old doll, making up a story, when her stepmother, Madeline, walked in. “What are you doing?” Madeline’s voice was sharp. Arielle clutched her doll. “just—” “This isn’t a playground!” Madeline snapped, heels clicking on the floor. “You don’t belong here… go to your room! This instance before someone sees you…...” Her room. the basement. Arielle swallowed her tears. She just wanted to play, to feel like she belonged. But she learned that day this wasn’t her home. She was just there. existing. Saraphina stood on the stairs in her pink dress, golden curls bouncing as she smirked. “Mommy, can we go now?” Madeline’s coldness melted into a smile. “Of course, darling. We’ll get you that new dress.” Arielle watched them leave, tears clouding her little brown eyes, her small hands in fists. Seraphina got everything—new clothes, expensive toys, love. Arielle got nothing but the basement, a section in her father's mansion. She was the homeschooled daughter who only knew books and pain. Seraphina always had everything she envied—friends, toys, and a fiancé. And like all her old toys, Saraphina tossed the mafia prince because he had a limp and a scar. “Get ready for your wedding to Lyzander Luke.” Her father had ordered on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. And the wedding was on Friday. Her father. Keiran Calloway. The supreme judge of the state, he was very influential and very distant towards his first-born daughter. The closest conversation they ever had was twice in her life. The first time was when she got her first period. He had told her to shower and that she was now a woman. The second was when he told her she was getting married to Lyz. She had always felt small and trampled on her whole life. And somehow, she was glad she had left that house. a place that she always felt misplaced. But under these conditions? Being an afterthought? Marrying a stranger, A mafia prince. This was the height of it. Her eyes strolled to him sitting before her, glued to his phone, thoughts of how cold his silver eyes were, and how his grip still burnt her flesh as if he had marked her. He checked his watch. And back to scrolling through his phone. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t just watched her try to escape their marriage. “You don’t even care that I refused, do you?” He glanced up lazily, arching a brow. “Should I?” Arielle sucked in a breath. “I don’t belong in your world.” “No,” he said smoothly. “But you’re in it now.” She swallowed hard, staring out the window as the city skyline disappeared, replaced by high walls, security gates, and sprawling private property.The Rathmore Estate. A fortress and A prison. The Rolls-Royce pulled through the towering iron gates, past security checkpoints with armed guards who barely glanced at the car before letting it through. Arielle pressed herself against the cool leather seat, staring out at the Rathmore Estate if you could even call it that. It wasn’t a mansion. It was a compound. Dark, sprawling, and built like a fortress. Armed men patrolled the perimeter. A prison. Arielle’s grip tightened on the fabric of her cursed wedding dress. She glanced at Lyzander. who hadn’t said one word since “you are in it now.” He sat with one leg crossed over the other, completely at ease, like capturing an innocent girl was business as usual for him. The car slowed to a stop in front of the main entrance. A man in a suit immediately stepped forward and opened Lyzander’s door. Arielle didn’t wait. She shoved her door open and stepped out she already had enough body contact and yelling for the day. The moment her heels hit the pavement; she bit her lip, a grim realization settling in. “Is this my new life now?” The cold hit her skin like a slap. The evening breeze whipped through her hair, the night sky stretching above her like it would eat her up. She turned toward the massive house taking the gazes behind her along. Their look made Arielle stiffen, but she kept her chin high. She was putting up a great act into not going to be intimidated.