CHAPTER 6: THE WRONG BRIDE
1219 Words
CASSIUS
I watched as she froze in shock, fear gripping her whole. My gaze narrowed dangerously, “My suspicions had been right all along.” I clinched my jaws in rage, balling my fist as I threw her a cold stone glare. She had begun trembling as her pupils dilated in fear.
How dare she?
Ever since the day she walked down the aisle with Daisy's father, I sensed something was definitely not right. “How…dare…you?” I growled, calling out my words slowly but dangerously as she gasped out once more, her face turning pale and horrific.
Her lips quivered in fright as I tightened my knuckles, my rage reaching its peak as it dawned on me that I had been decieved all along. I glared down at her as I let my mind drift to the day I met the real Daisy at a club.
After having a quarrel with God father Marcus, regarding my parent's assets, I angrily drove to a club house to clear my head since I was peeved to the core. I could vividly recall how I watched the activities going on in the club with a blank look. I wasn't here to enjoy the fun of it instead I came by to have one or two drinks and to watch the wild scene performed on the stage which shown colorful lights, casting a wild glow on the strippers.
I watched on blankly, not moved by the seductive gazes thrown in my direction when a feminine shadow suddenly blocked my view, a bright smile on her face. She took a seat beside me, dropping her handbag gently on the table. With a slow, practiced flick, she loosened the band in her hair, letting it tumble down her shoulders as her head tilted back–just enough to expose a dark tattoo etched above her left boobs.
“Alone?” she whispered, her voice laced with mischief as she signaled to the bartender with the faintest flick of her wrist.
I only shrugged, nodding once. I wasn’t interested.
She poured herself a glass of wine, her lips curling around the rim as she took a slow sip. Her gaze never left me.
“I’ve been watching you,” she said smoothly, leaning back, gaze drifting lazily toward the writhing bodies on the dance floor. “You've got that storm brewing look. Care to share?”
“It’s nothing,” I muttered, tone flat, eyes on the counter.
She smirked, crossing her legs so that the hem of her dress slid just enough to reveal smooth skin. “Come on. I can feel it. Men don’t sit in shadows with that much silence unless something’s clawing at them. Maybe I can help.”
I studied her briefly. Calculating. She wanted to play, but I wasn’t here for games.
For a moment, I weighed my silence. Her persistence gnawed at me. Could voicing it change anything?
“Just spill it,” she pressed,leaning forward now, the scent of her perfume thick, intoxicating—meant to distract.
I let the silence drag before finally speaking. “Are you sure I can trust you?”
“Yes,” she purred, leaning in, her perfume thick in the air, her eyes alive with curiosity.
“My parents’ assets,” I said coolly. “Marcus won’t release it unless I get married. The problem is—I don’t plan on marrying anyone.”
Her brows arched. “So you’re the type who doesn’t believe in love.”
I gave a short nod.
“Why?” she asked, eyes glinting as she tilted her glass, red liquid swirling.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She smiled knowingly. “Fair enough. But tell me this—why not beat Marcus at his own game? Get married… without really being married. Find someone to play the role. A fake bride.”
The words lingered. My jaw tightened. It was reckless… but clever. Why hadn't I thought of that?
“That… could work,” I admitted.
“Do you have someone in mind?” she asked, tracing her fingertip around the rim of her glass.
“No.”
“I can be her,” she whispered, leaning close enough that her breath fanned against my cheek, though my eyes stayed cold. “I already told you—I can help. But it comes with a price.”
“Name it,” I said, tone unflinching.
“Monetary terms,” she said smoothly, and downed the last of her wine with a tilt of her throat.
“That won’t be a problem.”
Her laughter was soft, satisfied. “Then your problem is solved.”
She extended her hand across the table, fingers delicate, painted, expecting me to be charmed.
I looked at it for a moment before clasping it firmly, my grip controlled, detached. “Deal.” I muttered flatly.
“I’m Daisy,” she added, almost playfully.
“I’m C—”
“Please,” she cut in, a knowing smirk tugging her lips. “Who doesn’t know Cassius King?”
I leaned back in silence, unbothered. She glowed with triumph, but I felt nothing.
No spark. No interest. Just business.
I scoffed, snapping back to the present.
My rage had peaked, boiling over as I slammed her back hard against the wall, not minding her injuries. She whimpered, her face twisted in pain as tears slid down her cheeks.
Instinctively, I yanked down the left chest side of her floral gown but there was no tattoo in sight.
Then I realised the truth. I had been deceived.
“Have you gone dumb?!” I roared, my voice echoing through the room. “Who the hell are you? And where is the real Daisy?”
She shook, hands trembling violently, pupils dilating. “I'm Daphne–Daisy's sister.”
It finally clicked. Two sisters conniving to deceive me.
“This was all a setup? wasn’t it?” I began, my voice low and lethal. “To trick me, to deceive me– all because of money!!” My voice cracked through the air like a whip, my eyes darkening with each word.
Her teary gaze lifted, trembling lips parting. “No… I didn’t do this willingly,” she whispered, broken.
But her tears didn’t move me. They never did.
“Then who forced you?” I growled, teeth clenched. I would drag the truth from her even if it shattered her.
Her teeth sank into her lip, holding back words.
“Answer me!!”
She flinched at my roar, collapsing to her knees, hands clasped together in a desperate plea.
My fury simmered, but then—something in her eyes shifted.
“Daisy disappeared the morning of the wedding,” she sobbed. “Our parents had no choice… they forced me to wear her dress, to stand in her place. I swear, I never wanted to deceive you.”
Her voice broke, fragile, yet steady enough to pierce me.
She lifted her tear-stained face, eyes shimmering with truth.
“Please… hate me if you must. But know this—I would rather bleed in your hands than let you believe I chose to betray you.”
The room fell silent.
For the first time in ages…
something stirred within me.
- Writer
