Captivating The Impostor Bride

Defeated

ASHTON POV:

I shouldn’t have come into this room. I knew that the moment I stepped through the door, however, the fury inside me wouldn’t allow me to stay away. It churned like a storm, violent and untamed, consuming each shred of control I had left. She was somehow in the center of all of it—this woman who had lied, deceived, and tangled herself into every nook of my existence. My palms clenched at my side before I allowed them to do what they had been screaming to do.

But then, they didn’t stop.

My fingers found her face, gripping her cheeks. Her skin was tender, soft, under my calloused hands, and I should sense the delicate bones underneath. A sick thought crossed my mind: how quickly I could break her. Crush the delicate beauty she wore so carelessly, like it could guard her from the hell she’d brought to my door

The anger burned so hot it felt like it would consume me whole, leaving nothing but ash. I wanted her to hurt. I wanted to see her pay for every lie, each betrayal, each ounce of chaos she’d thrown into my life.

But I hesitated.

Not due to the fact I didn’t want to harm her—God, I did—however, due to the fact I couldn’t drown out the voice in my head. His voice. My grandfather’s.

It wasn’t real, of course. It couldn’t be. He was gone, his blood still staining the suit I wore like a painful reminder. But I could hear him so clearly, as though he stood beside me, that sharp, unyielding tone that had defined so much of my life. Control yourself, boy. Don’t let them see you lose your grip.

The irony almost made me snicker. My grandfather, the person who had constantly taught me to command respect through cold calculation, had been stripped from this world in the most brutal, senseless way. And right here I changed into, forsaking the whole thing he’d drilled into me, lost inside the chaos she had dragged into my life.

I tightened my grip on her face, watching her eyes widen just slightly at the pain. “When i’m done with you,” I said, my voice a low growl trembling with barely contained rage, “you won’t even recognize yourself. No one will.”

She didn’t even flinch. I’ll give her that. Even though she trembled all over, she refused to look away. That tiny show of defiance, that spark of strength, made my blood boil. It wasn’t bravery—just a show of stupidity. She had no idea who she was dealing with.

“Talk,” I snapped, leaning in till my face was just inches away from hers. Her breaths became quick and uneven, her chest heaving as she tried to find words.

“Can’t,” she whispered eventually, her voice slightly audible. She darted her eyes right down to where my hand still crushed her face, and I realized what she went.

A sour snort almost escaped me. That’s what’s stopping her? Fine. Let her speak. Let her spill whatever pathetic excuses she’s been holding onto.

Without warning, I released her face and let my hand shift to her throat. Her gasp of surprise was cut off as I gripped her neck and hurled her onto the bed with one sharp motion. She landed hard, her body a tangled heap of limbs, coughing and gasping for air.

I stood over her, breathing fast. My fists clenched, nails biting into my palms as I watched her try and steady herself. She didn’t fight back or scramble to get away. She just lay there, one hand clutching her throat, the other pressed to the bed for support.

I needed the sight of her like this to have satisfied me. It should have quieted the hurricane inside me, but it didn’t. The anger only burned brighter, threatening to take over completely.

“It’s amazing you’re still breathing,” I said, my voice low and cold. I stepped closer, looming over her as she tilted her head up to meet my gaze. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her breaths shallow and uneven. Still, she didn’t beg.

And then the thought came, dark and unbidden, slithering into my mind.

I’m going to lose it, aren’t I?

For the first time, the idea didn’t scare me. Maybe I wanted to lose control. Maybe I wanted to give in, to allow this rage to tear me apart and take her down with me. At least then, perhaps I’d discover peace in the destruction. Or maybe not.

The first brush of my fingers against her ankle felt like a spark striking dry tinder—igniting something raw and unstable inside the room. She jerked away, instinctive and panicked, scrambling to the far side of the bed. Her actions were clumsy, like a bird caught in a net, and the absurdly grand folds of her wedding dress only made things worse.

The material tangled round her legs, binding her, slowing her escape. Her heel caught the delicate hem, and with a sharp, jarring rip, the get dressed gave way. The pristine white gown, the stupid symbol of vows made and promises damaged, lay in torn shreds around her. It was filthy now, smeared with grime, ruined beyond repair—much like the day itself

My jaw clenched as I stared at her. Everything had come undone. My grandfather was dead. The De Luca name—a legacy built on generations of blood and sacrifice—stood on the point of disintegration. All because of her.

She had caused this chaos, torn apart everything we had labored for. It wasn’t simply her lies or the betrayal—it was the way her actions had overturned not only my life but the lives of all of us who had ever depended on the stability of the De Luca own family.

And yet, as I stood there, the burden of my loss pressing against my chest like an iron band, something darker stirred beneath the surface. This wasn’t just responsibility or family honor. There was a private wound right here, one I’d in no way allow myself to take a look at too closely.

I had let her in—just a little. I had let myself believe in the possibility of something more, something genuine. But now I understood why I had always held back, why a part of me had remained cautious, even distant.

She wasn’t worthy.

Not of my trust. Not of my name. Not of anything.

A bitter grin twisted my lips as I reached down and grabbed the torn hem of her dress. The hollow laugh that slipped from me was sharp, almost cruel, cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade.

“Look at you,” I said, my voice low and dripping with venom. “The audacity of wearing white. Purity? Innocence? What a joke.”

She tried to hurry away again, but I was faster. My hand shot out, seizing her ankle once more, dragging her back across the bed. She struggled, her cries mingling with the rustle of the ruined fabric, but I didn’t stop. My hands found the neckline of her dress, and with a savage tug, I tore it apart.

“Please… Ashton…” Her voice cracked, trembling, but I barely heard her.

When I finally paused, my chest heaving, she sat there, her body trembling. The dress hung from her shoulders in pitiful shreds, barely clinging to her. Beneath, she wore a white thong and a matching bra—lingerie supposed for a wedding night that would by no means happen.

For a moment, I stared at her, the sight of her catching me off guard. Her makeup was all messed up, streaking her face with dark lines, and her hair hung in damp, tangled strands around her shoulders. She looked completely broken.

Something inside me twisted—anger and something else I couldn’t quite give a name to. Longing, maybe. Or regret. Whatever it turned into, I crushed it earlier than it is able to take root.

“Ashton, please…” she whispered, her voice a brittle

I didn’t move. I didn’t flinch.

This turned into what she deserved. Broken. Defeated. A mirrored image of the destruction she had caused.

“You had your chances,” I said, my voice low however razor-sharp. “You had your chances,” I said, my voice low but razor-sharp. “Over and over, you could’ve told me the truth. But no, you chose to lie. Again. And again.”

Her voice cracked as she tried to defend herself, each phrase dripping with desperation. “I didn’t have a choice! You think I could’ve told you the truth and lived to see another day? Do you even hear yourself, Ashton? I did what I had to do—to survive!”