THE OTHER BRIDE

CHAPTER FOUR

Arielle

Pity.

Arielle had never shared this story with someone before because she had no one. and for the first time in her life, she did, someone cared, and he felt something. Pity.

Summoning courage she continued “Seraphina… she is from his second wife. The one he gave my mother’s love to.” She let out a breath, staring at the floor. “So, all I know is the basement, like Harry Potter,” she admitted, smiling her voice barely above a whisper. “Reading books. Doing chores. Staying out of sight. No parties. No ceremonies. Just… existing.” The room felt too quiet. Then a tear slipped down her cheek. Before she could wipe it away, Rowan let out a sigh and stepped forward. “s**t,” he muttered.

“Alright, c’mere.” Before she could react, he tapped her head gently with his knuckles. It wasn’t a hug. It wasn’t an embrace. Just a small, awkward gesture of comfort. Arielle sniffled, hating that she felt even a little better. The closest thing to comfort she had ever experienced. Then the door swung open again. This time, it was Lyzander.

Not knocking seemed to be another ‘house rule’ she thought. Rowan immediately took a step back, grinning like he hadn’t just been caught comforting Lyz’s unwanted bride. Lyzander, however, wasn’t amused. His silver eyes locked onto Arielle, then flicked to Rowan, unreadable.

“We need to talk,” Lyzander said simply. Rowan sighed dramatically. “Damn. And we were just getting to the good part.” Arielle flushed. “There was no ‘good part.’” She said. Rowan winked at her before walking past Lyzander, he paused mid-way and said “Harry Potter lived under the staircase, you are way cooler.” Before he disappeared into the hall. The air in the room suddenly felt lighter, and Arielle swallowed hard. “Do you want me to do something for you?” Lyzander studied her, his gaze flickering toward the stained silk robe crumpled on the floor. But if he cared about it, he didn’t say. Always poker.

Instead, he simply turned and gestured for her to follow. “Come,” he said. “To my study.” He only spoke when dishing out commands. And wordlessly, she obeyed.

Lyzander.

Lyzander entered his space, where his thoughts felt like his, not his father’s. a place so personal to him, his study. his steps slow and deliberate, the soft tap of his cane filling the quiet room. He sank into the leather chair behind his desk, exhaling as he leaned back. He watched as Arielle hesitated at the doorway. Her little fingers grabbed her sides, she was wearing a simple cotton button-up dress. Gray. A contrast to what she wore earlier. As she took unsure steps inside, her gaze swept across the massive floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, filled with rare first editions, political history, and criminal law. Her fingers twitched slightly like she wanted to reach out and touch them.

“She must love books,” he thought.

His cold gaze lingered on her face whilst reaching into his desk drawer. He needed to get straight to the business of the day so, he pulled out a bundle of cash, 100-thousand-dollar bills. He dropped it on the table. Arielle flinched slightly at the heavy thud of money against the wood. She looked at the stack, then at him, confusion clear in her wide brown eyes.

“What… is this?” she asked, Lyzander steepled his fingers, without taking his intimidating glance off her. She hasn’t seen money before?

“A deal,” he shrugged.

Lyzander leaned forward slightly. Slow. He made sure he held eye contact, even though her eyes threatened to drown him, he remained afloat. He thought of the ungodly things those beautiful brown eyes wanted to make him do. There was just something uncertain about them. So innocent, yet, dangerous. f**k! Was he thinking of her eyes? He shook those thoughts that crept in.

“Option one,” he said smoothly. “Be my queen.” He said, cooly.

“Stand by me. Three months then you leave. Debt-free.” Her face was ridden with confusion. Even though he hated it, He needed the wedding to happen. His family name was at stake, and the legacy he had waited 10 years to fulfill was on the verge of crumbling. luckily, it’s something a marriage can fix.

“Or,” he continued, voice cold, “you keep doing your chores. Pay off your father’s debt which would take years before you ever see the outside world again.” Silence.

100 grand, and all he got was silence?

Was it too small?

She wasn’t fazed, He let the words settle, watching as her breathing quickened, her little unmanicured fingers curled slightly at her sides. Her wheels turned.

Confused?

Lyzander exhaled, tapping his fingers against the desk. “You don’t trust me.” Arielle lifted her gaze slowly. “I don’t understand you,” she admitted. Lyzander let out a low chuckle. “Good,” he murmured. “That means you’re not stupid.” Arielle swallowed, her gaze flickering back to the cash, then back to him. Lyzander leaned forward, voice dropping slightly. “Your father scammed Rathmore,” he said bluntly. “And I have to wonder is your stepsister sick? Are you a plant?” The air shifted.

Arielle’s expression changed just for a second. A flicker of something uncertain Lyzander caught it. His silver eyes sharpened. Arielle knew something. She quickly masked it, lowering her gaze. “My father wouldn’t lie about something like that.” Lyzander tilted his head slightly. "Wouldn’t he?" Arielle hesitated. She knew something, but for obvious reasons won’t say not even for a hundred grand. All she had to do was play wife. “She’s sick.” Lyzander watched her.

“lie.”

And He would find out the truth.

“You have three days. Enough time to think.” He said, as he stood, he was done with the conversation.

Arielle

Arielle’s fingers curled into the fabric of her dress as Lyzander stood, adjusting his cufflinks like this conversation had been nothing but an inconvenience. He didn’t look at her as he grabbed his cane and moved toward the door. But before he stepped out, he nodded toward the bundle of cash still sitting on the desk.

“See yourself out.” Then he was gone. Arielle stood frozen. The air was suffocating and thick with the weight of his words. Her mind spun a deal. A choice.

Be his queen for three months and walk away debt-free. Or… spend years trapped in this house, paying off something she never owed. It was an easy choice. So why wasn’t it? She let out a shaky breath, forcing her shoulders to relax. Then, her eyes caught the bookshelf. Arielle’s thoughts paused. Rows upon rows of old leather-bound novels and first editions.

Political theory. Criminal law. Ancient texts. She barely realized she was moving until her fingers brushed against the spine of a book. The Art of Strategy. Something inside her clicked. She pulled it from the shelf, flipping through the crisp pages, the familiar scent of old paper and ink grounding her in a way nothing else in this house had. For the first time since she’d arrived something made sense. A small smile tugged at her lips. She closed the book and held it to her chest. Then, quietly, she turned and made her way toward the door.

Arielle stepped out of the study, careful to close the door softly behind her. She exhaled, pressing the book tighter to her chest. Then she turned and walked straight into someone. She let out a small gasp as she stumbled back. Rowan stood there, grinning down at her. “Well, well,” he mused. “what’s that?”

Arielle’s pulse jumped to her throat. She quickly hid the book behind her back, gripping it tightly. Rowan’s gaze flickered to her hands, then back to her face. His grin widened. “Ah,” he hummed, his voice teasing. “A little secret, then?” Arielle swallowed, stepping back. “It’s nothing.” dramatically, he lifted his hand and made a zipping motion across his lips. “See no evil, speak none.” Arielle blinked, then before she could stop herself, she smiled. It was small, barely there. But it was real. Rowan’s grin softened, and he said nothing else.

Arielle turned and ran.

The moment she closed the door behind her, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She pressed her back against the wood, staring at the ceiling, her heart still racing. Then, slowly, she looked down at the book in her hands. Her only piece of certainty in this place. She clutched it to her chest, sinking onto the edge of the bed. She should have been thinking about Lyzander’s deal. About what it meant. About the trap she was walking into. But for now, just for now, she let herself breathe. Let herself have this one thing. Then Lyzander’s voice echoed in her head.

“You have three days. Enough time to think.”

Three days to decide.

A queen for hire. A temporary crown. Lyzander had been specific—he didn’t want a wife. He wanted a queen. A woman to stand at his side, not beside him.

"Lyz doesn’t keep what he doesn’t need."

Celeste’s words slithered through her mind like a whisper of warning.

Arielle exhaled. The thought of growing old here shackled to a debt she never chose, sent an icy shiver down her spine. Three days.

Three days to decide which cage to walk into. Because no matter what she chose, she would never be free.