Captivating The Impostor Bride

Gaze

Her words clawed at the rims of my control, however my cruel cut through her excuses, sharp and without any real humor. “Survive?” I echoed, shaking my head. “You wasted your time. Your whole existence isn’t worth saving.”

She flinched, her tear-soaked eyes locking onto mine. Somewhere in their depths, a flicker of hope somehow still burned—a hope that perhaps, I didn’t mean what I said. That flicker infuriated me greater than her lies ever could.

“I know you don’t mean that,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The sheer audacity of her belief that she still knew me, after everything, sent a cold fire through my veins. My gaze dropped to the scraps of fabric in my hand—the remnants of the wedding dress she’d worn earlier that day. White, pristine, perfect. Now dirtied and torn, stained with blood and dust.

It felt heavier than it had to, this ruined cloth. Heavier than the lies, heavier than the anger. Because it wasn’t just a dress—it was a symbol of everything that was destroyed. My grandfather’s life. My family’s name. My future.

Her anguished sobs echoed in the room, clawing at my resolve, but I refused to let them in. She had no right to my compassion, not after what she’d done. My voice dropped, low and venomous, each word carried with it my firm finality.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I do or don’t mean,” I growled, stepping closer. “The next time you try will be the last time you breathe. Mark my words.”

Her shoulders shook as she shrank back. I loomed over her, watching the hope in her eyes flicker and fade. “You mean nothing to me,” I continued, my voice like steel. “Nothing. When I look at you, I feel nothing. You’re no one. Do you understand? No one.”

She regarded me, her voice slightly above a whisper. “Rosella.”

The name was like an afterthought, a desperate try to ring a bell in me of her humanity. But it meant nothing now. Just every other lie.

“I don’t care what your name is,” I said, throwing the stupid shredded dress at her feet. “You’re nobody. And as far as I’m concerned, you can rot in this room.”

I grew to become far from her then, her sobs vibrating through the room from the back of me as I walked toward the door. And locked it without hesitation, trapping her inside.

Outside, the air turned cooler, calmer, but the storm in my chest didn’t relent. Her muffled cries still very audible —it was a pitiful sound that needed to have stirred some pity, however all it brought me was an arching satisfaction.

Cause her pain was nothing compared to mine.

The sight of my grandfather’s lifeless frame burned in my mind. The man who has been larger than life, who had built our own family’s empire with his sweat, now reduced to a hollow shell. The sharpness of his gaze, the power in his presence— All gone.

And for what? Lies. Betrayal. Weakness.

My fists clenched tightly, the thought of Josef Alvarez burning like acid in my mind. He had planned all of this. He had taken my grandfather, stolen our stability, and shattered our legacy. I swore then and there that he would pay for it. Pay for every single damn scar.

One step at a time. That was what my grandfather would’ve told me. Focus. Plan. Execute.

I walked downstairs, the house was completely silent except for the faint sound of Rosella’s sobs. The kitchen, a graveyard of broken dreams—half-eaten dishes, champagne glasses left untouched, the remnants of what was supposed to be a celebration.

I paused by the table, a scowl appearing on my face at the sight of the wedding cake. White, elegant, and untouched, just like her dress had been. How fitting that neither had survived the day intact.

I couldn’t stand to look at it any longer. There were more important things to deal with. I turned my back on the mockery of the wedding preparation that never was and stepped into the stillness of the house.

Where the hell was everyone?

The question lingered in my mind, feeding my anger. The silence around me was too loud, too heavy. I needed answers, and I needed them now.

I walked inside the backyard, the place where the ceremony should have happened. What I saw rather was chaos. The flower-covered arch had collapsed, its petals scattered throughout the grass like some cruel parody of romance. Tables lay overturned, chairs have been deserted, and in the center of all of it, a darkish stain on the ground cut my eye. My stomach turned. My grandfather’s blood.

The image burned into my mind, the sight of him lying there, lifeless. The guys had carried his body away in advance, their faces blank, their steps unsteady. I knew he was somewhere inside the house now, bloodless and silent, however I couldn’t carry myself to see him but. Not like that.

Grief tightened my chest, but I pressured it down. There was no time to have weak point, not now. My grandfather deserved better than tears. He’d given me the whole lot—an existence, a name, a second chance. When my very own father had tried to take me out before I could even discover my footing, my grandfather had stepped in. He’d shaped me, molded me, made me into the man I was these days.

And now he was long gone, stolen from me.

I clenched my fists and moved forward. The house was weirdly quiet, the kind of quiet that mocks on you, makes you hyper-aware of every creak, every shift in the air. I searched the sitting room, the dining hall, even the library. Nothing. Finally, my path led me to the garage.

I cracked the door open, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke hit me strongly, burning down my nostrils. I pushed the door open slowly, the hinges creaking all the way. Inside, the air turned thick with smoke and tension.

They were all there—the guys who had sworn to protect my family, my legacy. Big, battle-hardened guys who had faced death on limitless instances. But now? Now they wouldn’t even meet my eyes. Their heads have been bowed, their bodies stiff with shame. The stink of worry and guilt clung to them, sharp and bitter.

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me with a soft click. The sound seemed to echo within the garage. They looked at me then, very short glances before their gazes dropped to the floor. Cowards.

I didn’t say a word. I couldn't. Instead, I took off my jacket, folding it smartly before draping it over the back of a chair. The man sitting there—a mountain of muscle who have been with my own family for years—rushed to his feet as if the chair itself had betrayed him. He pressed himself towards the wall, his eyes fixed on something far away.

With slow, delibrate movements, I unbuttoned the collar of my shirt, the metallic click on of my cuff links, adding to the tension in the air. I slid them into my jacket pocket slowly. Every movement became measured, precise. I needed them to experience it—the weight of my anger, the inevitability of what was coming.

I rolled up my sleeves, the soft rustle of fabric making the men pensive. Then, did I let my gaze sweep over them. Each one flinched as my eyes met theirs, like they thought I should see the guilt etched into their skin.

When I finally spoke, my voice was low but sharp enough to cut through the haze of smoke. “So,” I said, my tone calm, deliberate, “who’s going to explain to me how my grandfather was killed on your watch?”