Substitute With His Nightmare

Chapter 2

Antonella

“Alex,” she answered, her voice suddenly soft and syrupy.

I glanced at her, noting the sharp contrast between the venom she’d spat at me and the sweetness she reserved for Alex Pritchard.

“Relax, Alex. The bride will be there in a few minutes,” she cooed. “Listen, Dani will tear that place down if he realizes Jenna isn’t the bride. Antonella is the best choice, trust me.”

Her words sent a chill through me. She didn’t care about the chaos this would unleash or how it would affect me. To her, I wasn’t a person—I was a pawn.

The call ended abruptly, and Sasha’s sugary tone evaporated. She barked at the driver, “Drive faster!”

The car surged forward, and I gripped the edge of my seat, trying to steady myself.

The church loomed ahead, grand and imposing, its towering spires piercing the sky. The parking lot was packed with luxury cars, and a sea of elegantly dressed guests milled around the entrance. My stomach twisted into knots as I realized just how many eyes would be on me.

Sasha pulled me out of the car and gave me a once-over, adjusting my veil with brisk efficiency. “Stay here,” she ordered.

I obeyed, standing stiffly near the entrance while she marched inside to organize the guests. My hands trembled, and I clasped them tightly to keep them still.

A few moments later, my father appeared, stepping out of the church in a crisp navy suit that fit him like a glove. His face was split into a wide grin, the kind of expression reserved for proud moments—or moments of self-satisfaction.

“Antonella,” he said warmly, lifting my veil with a practiced flourish. “You look beautiful.”

I stared back at him, my lips pressed into a tight line. There was no warmth in his words for me, no genuine pride. He wasn’t celebrating me—he was celebrating the deal Sasha had brokered.

My gaze shifted past him, toward the church doors. Inside, the chatter of the crowd swelled, the anticipation almost palpable.

He extended his arm, and I took it reluctantly.

As we walked into the church, the chatter died down, replaced by the soft strains of the wedding march. My heart pounded with every step, my heels clicking against the tiled floor in rhythm with the music.

The guests turned to watch me, their expressions a mix of curiosity and admiration. I didn’t meet their eyes. Instead, I focused on the altar, where my supposed future stood waiting.

And there he was.

Bruce Pritchard stood tall and broad-shouldered, his presence commanding even from a distance. But as we approached, I noticed the details I’d missed before.

The sunglasses. The blind stick in his hand.

My breath caught in my throat, and the pieces fell into place.

That’s why Sasha switched the bride.

Bruce is blind.

I barely registered my father handing me over, his smile unwavering as if this were a normal wedding and not a twisted charade. My hand trembled as Bruce took it, his grip firm and steady despite his blindness.

The realization hit me like a blow to the chest. This wasn’t a marriage—it was a transaction. And Sasha had decided I was the price to be paid.

Thrusted like an auctioned cow, I exchanged my vows with blind Bruce. Just like that. Like a strange, surreal dream, I became his wife.

He didn’t say a word to me throughout the ceremony, not even when the officiant pronounced us husband and wife. His silence wasn’t just awkward—it was oppressive, weighing down the room like a heavy fog.

Frustration etched itself into his sharp features, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed. He looked tired—tired of life, tired of me, tired of this whole charade. Honestly, who could blame him? I’d be exhausted too if I were blind, even with all the money in the world.

I could easily list a thousand reasons why being married to Bruce the Blind was a disaster waiting to happen. But my mother had always taught me to look for the silver lining, no matter how bleak things seemed. I decided, then and there, that I wouldn’t contribute to his frustration. If nothing else, I would pay my dues as his wife, keep my head down, and remain blameless. He didn’t strike me as someone interested in the marriage anyway.

The ride to his home was silent, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of tires rolling over uneven pavement. I was lost in my thoughts, staring out the window, when his voice cut through the quiet like a knife.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his deep baritone reverberating through the car.

I startled slightly, turning toward him. His tone was calm, but there was something commanding about it.

“Antonella,” I replied, my voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach.

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “What do you look like?”

I blinked, caught off guard. It wasn’t the kind of question I’d expected. How does one describe themselves to someone who can’t see?

Clearing my throat, I hesitated before answering. “Brunette. Slim build. I... look like a typical twenty-five-year-old, I guess.” My words felt inadequate, but I wasn’t sure what else to say.

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Hmm,” he murmured, a noncommittal sound that didn’t betray what he was thinking.

The rest of the ride passed in tense silence. I leaned back in my seat, letting my eyes wander to the city lights outside the window.