Falling For My Beautiful Lair: The Abandoned Bride

CHAPTER ONE — THE NO “Do you, George Taylor, take Bethany Oakwood to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health?” The priest’s voice booms gently across the church, soft and steady, a tone made for forever promises. My heart thrums inside my chest, every beat syncing with the slow rise and fall of George’s hands wrapped around mine. He looks so calm. So certain. My perfect man. My soon-to-be husband. I’m getting married, yayy! “No,” George says. “I don’t.” The word lands like a gunshot. At first, I think maybe I imagined it. Maybe he stuttered or the mic crackled or someone sneezed at the wrong time. My brain fumbles, grasping for logic, but there’s only static. My fiancé, the man who rehearsed our vows three nights ago, who told me he loved me this morning over breakfast , stands before me, voice steady, eyes unflinching. No tremor. No hesitation. Just… no. “George?” I whisper, so softly it sounds like a prayer. “What?” The world shatters around me. Gasps ripple through the pews. Someone shouts. The priest blinks in confusion. The music halts mid-note. The air turns heavy, and my lungs forget how to function. I can’t see faces anymore, just a blur of movement, of color and noise colliding into chaos. My hands start shaking. I can feel them tremble against his, but George doesn’t flinch. He just looks at me like he’s already said goodbye. There’s a ringing in my ears, high and constant, drowning out everything else. Maybe if I stay still, this will all go away. Maybe if I close my eyes, I’ll wake up in my room, sunlight streaming in, George beside me, smiling that sleepy smile I love. But I don’t wake up. “George?” I try again, my voice barely holding together. “You’re joking, right?” Nothing. I pinch my thigh, hard, maybe I'm dreaming. The pain laces through my whole body reminding me of how real this is. Instead, my mind jerks me backward, six hours earlier. We were tangled in bed, skin against skin, hearts syncing in a quiet rhythm. The room still smelled like lavender and last night’s champagne. He brushed my hair off my face, kissed my forehead, and whispered, “I can’t wait to fall asleep with you like this every night.” Maybe my sister was right about bad luck. Maybe I shouldn’t have seen him before the wedding. “We don’t believe in superstitions,” I’d told her, laughing as I slipped into his arms again. I almost laugh now, because apparently, fate believes enough for both of us. When I blink back to the present, George’s fingers are slipping out of mine. I didn’t even realize he was still holding them. “I’m in love with someone else, Beth.” The sound of my nickname; Beth from his mouth burns like acid. It’s soft, familiar, but now twisted with something ugly. My chest tightens. The room sways. He keeps talking, voice calm and detached, like we’re discussing dinner plans, not demolishing five years of love. “I’m sorry,” he adds. But his eyes don’t match his words. They’re cold. Empty. I can’t speak. I can’t even cry. My mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Then he turns — actually turns — to the priest. “I’ll need you to excuse us. I’m getting married to the love of my life.” Hope sparks inside me, pathetic and desperate. He’s talking about me, right? He must be. But then I see her. A woman glides down the aisle. Beautiful. Ethereal. Wearing white. My white. Her gown sparkles beneath the chandelier light, princess cut, tulle cascading like a dream. The exact dress I wanted. The one George said was “too predictable.” I look down at myself, lilac silk brushing against my trembling knees. The color he chose for my wedding gown. The dress he insisted on. The rings he picked that I had no say in. Every detail of this day, mine, or so I thought, was always his. And now, standing here in front of everyone, he’s giving my life to someone else. The church falls silent. People stare but say nothing. No one moves to stop him. No one moves for me. I’m invisible. I feel like a prop in someone else’s love story. Right before my eyes, George Taylor, the man whom I loved for five years kisses another woman at the altar that was supposed to be mine. It feels like dying with my eyes open. The priest clears his throat, uncomfortable. My sister Miranda is crying quietly in the back. Chloe, my best friend, has disappeared into the crowd. Everyone else looks away like I don't matter. Like my pain doesn't matter. I drop the bouquet. Flowers scatter across the floor like fallen promises. And just like that, my fairytale ends. I walk out of the church, heart pounding in my throat, remnants of the bouquet crushed in my fist. No one follows. No one calls after me. I notice with a tightness in my chest that no matter how hard breathe it seems I can't get enough breath. The wedding continues without me. The abandoned bride. The newest laughing stock in town. Outside, the sun glares too bright. My dress feels too tight. The veil sticks to my sweaty neck. I wander aimlessly, dazed, past cars, past faces I don’t recognize. I unbuckle my heels, flinging them across the street. People stare but I don't care. My wedding was supposed to be the one good thing my sister and I had since we lost Mom and Dad in that plane crash two years ago. The one thing that made it all worth it. Now I’m walking barefoot on hot pavement, the lilac fabric dragging behind me, dark with dust. My makeup streaks down my cheeks. My chest aches, like my heart’s trying to crawl out. That’s when I hear it — a car horn, sharp and frantic. “Ma’am! Please move out of the way!” I look up. Headlights. Too close. Too bright. For a second, I think: What if I don’t move? What if I just… stop fighting? The car screeches, tires screaming against the asphalt. I step aside too late. My heel catches on the hem of my dress. I stumble forward , right into the highway. Time slows. The world blurs. The horn fades. My hair whips across my face, the wind slices through the fabric. All I feel is peace. When the impact hits, it’s like floating. Then flying. Then falling. The pain comes after, a white-hot shock that rips through me. But it’s still nothing compared to the pain already living in my chest. Why live when I have nothing else to live for? I think of my sister, she'll survive without me. I'm alone, utterly alone. As everything dims, I think of home. Of Mom’s laughter. Dad’s hands. And I whisper, through blood and tears and quiet relief, “Mummy… Daddy… I’m coming.”