The BRIDE HE WASN'T MEANT TO WANT

Breakfast in the Valez house was always the same. Perfect. Polished. Predictable. And completely centered around Annalise. “Anna, you barely touched your food,” Mrs. Valez said, her voice soft with concern as she reached across the table. “Are you not feeling well?” Annalise smiled, that effortless, practiced smile that seemed to put everyone at ease. “I’m fine, Mom. Just not that hungry.” “That won’t do,” their father added without looking up from his tablet. “You have a long day ahead. Eat something.” “I will,” she said gently. Isabella watched the exchange from across the table, her fingers loosely wrapped around her fork. Her plate was still half full, but no one had commented on it. No one ever did. It wasn’t new. It had never been. “Anna,” Daniel leaned back in his chair, studying his twin with a grin, “are you still going to that event tonight?” “Of course,” she replied. “Why wouldn’t I?” “Just making sure,” he said. “You know everyone’s going to be there. Wouldn’t want you missing the chance to outshine them.” Marco laughed. “Like that’s even possible. She always does.” Their mother nodded in agreement. “Naturally.” The word slipped into the conversation so easily, as if it belonged there. As if Annalise being admired was simply a fact of life. Isabella lowered her gaze to her plate, pushing a piece of toast slightly to the side. The butter had already melted into it, leaving the surface uneven and soft. No one noticed she hadn’t taken a bite. No one asked. “You should wear something elegant tonight,” Mrs. Valez continued, her attention still fully on Annalise. “Nothing too loud. You don’t need to try too hard.” “I know,” Annalise said lightly. “I was thinking something simple.” “Simple for you is still better than everyone else,” Daniel added. Another round of soft laughter followed. Isabella’s grip tightened slightly around her fork before she forced her hand to relax. It wasn’t anger—not exactly. It was something quieter. Something heavier. Something she had gotten used to carrying. She glanced up briefly, her eyes flicking toward her father. If she spoke now—if she said anything at all—would he even notice? Would anyone? “Bella.” The sound of her name almost startled her. She looked up. Marco was frowning slightly, not out of concern, but mild impatience. “Pass the juice.” “Oh.” Isabella blinked once, then reached for the jug beside her. “Here.” “Thanks.” That was it. No eye contact. No pause. She placed it down carefully, her movements precise, controlled. It was easier that way. Easier to exist in small, quiet actions than in words that didn’t matter. “You’re coming tonight, right?” Daniel asked suddenly. For a moment, Isabella thought he was speaking to her. But his eyes were still on Annalise. “Obviously,” Annalise said. “You act like I’d miss something important.” Daniel shrugged. “Just checking.” “I’ll be there,” she repeated. Their mother smiled, satisfied. “Good. You should be. It’s the kind of event where impressions matter.” Impressions. Appearances. Value. Isabella let out a slow breath through her nose, barely noticeable. Her gaze drifted toward the large windows lining the dining room. Sunlight poured in, bright and warm, reflecting off the glass table and making everything look almost… perfect. From the outside, anyone would think this family had everything. Maybe they did. Just not equally. She picked up her glass of water this time, taking a small sip to give her hands something to do. The silence around her wasn’t loud—it never was—but it lingered in a way that made her presence feel optional. Replaceable. “Bella.” This time, it was her mother. Isabella looked up again, her expression neutral. “Yes?” Mrs. Valez’s eyes moved over her briefly, assessing. Not warmly. Not critically either. Just… measuring. “You’ll attend tonight as well.” It wasn’t a question. Isabella nodded once. “Okay.” “Wear something appropriate,” her mother added. “Nothing too noticeable.” A pause. Then, almost as an afterthought— “And make sure you don’t embarrass the family.” The words landed softly. But they stayed. Isabella held her mother’s gaze for a second longer than usual, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before it disappeared just as quickly. “I won’t,” she said quietly. Her father didn’t look up. Daniel had already gone back to his phone. Marco was asking Annalise another question. And just like that, the moment passed. Gone. As if it had never mattered. Isabella lowered her gaze once more, staring at the untouched food in front of her. Slowly, she set her fork down. She wasn’t hungry anymore. Across the table, Annalise laughed softly at something Daniel said, the sound light and effortless, filling the space with ease. Isabella listened to it for a moment. Because some things never changed. And in this house— She wasn’t the daughter they worried about. She wasn’t the one they noticed. She wasn’t the one they chose. She was simply… There.