THE BRIDE HE NEVER CHOSE

A DESPERATE BARGAIN

The guests rose to their feet as the music swelled. The drums beat louder, the talking drum echoing like a heartbeat through the compound. All eyes turned toward the bride as she made her slow walk down the aisle.

Blessing’s legs felt like sticks of wood. Each step was heavy, forced, like someone dragging her forward against her will. The veil over her face blurred her vision, but she could see the blur of colors from the aso-ebi, the shimmer of gold lace and head ties, and the countless faces watching her closely.

Some of the guests were smiling, clapping softly, whispering words like “Beautiful bride… May God bless this marriage.” But others were squinting, frowning, whispering things that made Blessing’s heart beat even faster.

“Does she look… smaller than Hannah?” one woman asked her friend in a low voice.

“She does,” the friend replied, tilting her head. “Even her steps are different. Hannah normally carries herself like a queen. This one is walking like she is afraid.”

Blessing’s hand shook so much that the bouquet nearly slipped from her fingers. She held on tighter, forcing her feet to keep moving.

And then her eyes landed on him.

Senator Rakeem Price.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a spotless white agbada with embroidery so sharp it glittered under the lights. His cap sat perfectly on his head, his wristwatch shining gold. His presence commanded the whole hall, even without a word.

But his face… his face was like ice.

His sharp eyes narrowed as he watched her walk closer. His jaw was clenched, his lips pressed tight. He was not smiling. He was not moved. He looked angry already, as if something in his spirit had caught the lie even before the veil would reveal it.

Blessing’s knees almost gave way. She wanted to stop walking. She wanted to turn back. But her father’s words rang in her ears: “This wedding must hold.”

By the time she reached the altar, her chest was heaving. She kept her head down, hoping the veil would shield her long enough for the vows to pass.

The priest began the ceremony, his voice deep and steady, but Blessing could barely hear him. Her ears were full of the rushing of her own blood. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought the whole congregation could hear it.

“Do you, Senator Rakeem Price, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” he said, his voice low, commanding, final.

Blessing’s whole body shook. She wanted to faint.

“And do you, Hannah Adeyemi” the priest began, but the name pierced her heart like a knife.

Blessing’s lips trembled. She opened her mouth, but no sound came. For a second, she almost said her real name. She almost screamed, I’m not Hannah! I’m Blessing! This is a mistake!

But then her father’s eyes met hers across the hall. His stare was sharp, warning, pleading. Her mother’s hands were clasped tightly in prayer. Auntie Dupe was wiping sweat from her face.

Blessing’s throat burned. “I do,” she whispered.

The hall erupted in cheers. The drums roared. The choir began to sing. Everyone stood clapping, celebrating the union of the senator and his new bride.

Only Blessing felt the weight of the chains tightening around her heart.

The ring slipped onto her finger like a lock closing forever.

“Now, you may kiss the bride,” the priest announced.

Blessing’s breath caught. Her whole body stiffened. She knew this was the moment.

Senator Rakeem reached forward slowly. His fingers brushed the veil. His sharp eyes bore into her face as he lifted the fabric away.

The world seemed to pause.

The veil slipped back, revealing her trembling face. The hall gasped. Murmurs spread like fire.

“That’s not Hannah…” someone whispered.

Rakeem’s eyes froze on her. His jaw tightened. His gaze hardened like steel. For a long moment, he said nothing. But the storm in his eyes was enough to make Blessing’s stomach twist with fear.

She lowered her head, tears burning her eyes. She had taken the vow. She was now the wife of a man who never chose her.

The music kept playing, the crowd kept cheering, but she knew the truth , this marriage had started with a lie.

And Senator Rakeem Price would not forgive it.

The priest’s words faded into the background. The choir sang louder, the drums beat harder, but Blessing could not hear anything clearly. Her whole body was trembling. She could feel Senator Rakeem’s eyes boring into her like arrows.

He had pulled off the veil, and the hall had fallen into uneasy whispers. Some people still clapped to cover the tension, others laughed awkwardly, but most were staring, confused. Everyone knew something was wrong, but no one dared to say it too loudly in front of the senator.

Blessing’s lips quivered. She kept her eyes down, praying silently for the ground to open and swallow her whole. She had never felt so exposed in her life.

Then she felt it,Rakeem’s hand on her wrist. His grip was firm, almost painful, but he kept a smile plastered on his face for the crowd.

“Smile,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cold and sharp, “or I will drag you out of here.”

Blessing’s heart stopped. She forced her lips into a weak smile, tears burning her eyes, as he led her down the aisle like a man leading a stranger into captivity. The cameras flashed, the guests cheered, and everyone shouted blessings over their marriage.

But inside, her soul screamed.

As they reached the end of the aisle, the senator leaned closer to her ear. His voice was low, but every word was heavy, carrying the weight of a storm.

“You are not Hannah.”

Blessing froze.

“I don’t know what game your family is playing,” he continued, his jaw tight, his smile fixed for the crowd. “But mark my words, little girl. You will regret this.”

His grip on her wrist tightened, and she winced.

“You think you can trick me into marrying you? You think I will forgive this?” he whispered, his tone like thunder waiting to strike. “Never. You will pay for this lie every single day you breathe in my house.”

Blessing’s breath caught. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She wanted to defend herself, to explain that she had not wanted this, that she had been pushed, that she was only here because of her family’s desperation. But her tongue was heavy. Her voice was trapped in her throat.

Around them, the music grew louder, dancers spun in colorful lace and glittering head ties, money rained in the air as friends of the senator sprayed naira notes in excitement. Everyone saw joy, celebration, a dream wedding.

Only Blessing felt the truth. She was standing at the edge of a fire.

And as the senator’s dark eyes stayed fixed on her, she knew her nightmare had only just begun.