The Bride No One Wanted

Chapter Five

Linda’s POV

Two years later, the city welcomed me back like I had never left.

The same noise greeted me the moment I stepped off the bus. Horns blared. People rushed past without slowing down.

Conversations blended into one endless hum. No one looked twice. They never cared who I was or where I had been.

I preferred it that way.

My parents never called me. Not once. Sometimes I wondered if they even knew I had been gone for almost three years. Knowing them, they probably didn’t notice. In a city like this, silence wasn’t lonely. It was protective.

I didn’t go home.

Home was a house where my absence would barely register. A place where my twin’s laughter filled every corner while my name came up only when blame was needed. She is back from abroad where she studied, and I knew they would have thrown her a large party without her twin.

I stayed far from home, renting a small room close to the campus I had fought so hard to enter.

It wasn’t much. One narrow bed. A desk with a single chair. A window facing a brick wall. But it was mine. I slept better there than I ever had in my parents’ house.

Registering for school felt unreal.

I stood in line with other students, documents clutched tightly to my chest, half-expecting someone to say there had been a mistake. My hands shook as I passed my papers across the desk. The woman barely glanced at them before stamping the form.

That was it.

Just like that, I became a student. Something my parents had denied me without hesitation. Something my twin enjoyed as a given. I had scraped, saved, and suffered for it.

I walked out of the office in a daze, my chest tight with something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Classes were difficult. Not because I lacked intelligence, but because healing was slow, and my thoughts often drifted where I didn’t want them to go. Sitting in lecture halls reminded me of everything I had been told I didn’t deserve. Every lesson carried the quiet reminder that someone once decided I wasn’t worth the effort.

I sat at the back, listened, and took notes.

I didn’t make friends. I wasn’t there to build a social life. Distractions were a luxury I couldn’t afford.

My days followed a strict rhythm.

Mornings belonged to lectures. Afternoons were for studying in the library until my eyes burned. Nights were for work. I took whatever job didn’t ask questions—café shifts that left my feet aching, cleaning offices long after closing time, and stocking shelves in stores that shut well past midnight.

I learned how to stretch meals, survive exhaustion, and how to smile when my body protested. I learned how to live with longing for someone I couldn’t be with, my baby, Ethan, whose absence sat quietly in my chest.

Tanya called me every day.

“How are you holding up?” she asked, her voice steady and grounding.

“I’m fine,” I always replied. I needed to believe it.

She never pushed. Never pitied me. She was older and tougher, the kind of woman who had lived enough to know when words only made things heavier. She noticed everything, the tired eyes, the hunger I masked, and the anger I swallowed.

She stayed with me.

Money was always tight, but I managed. I sent what I could to help with diapers and hospital bills. I skipped meals without complaint. I reminded myself why I was doing this whenever my body begged me to rest.

Then my mother called.

Not to ask how I was or where I had been.

“You need to come home,” she said sharply, as if speaking to hired help.

“I’m busy,” I replied.

“Busy doing what?” she scoffed. “You’ve always been useless.”

I closed my eyes and counted my breaths.

“We’re having dinner tomorrow,” she continued. “Be there.”

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone for a long moment, already knowing what awaited me. In that family, nothing came without a price. And trouble never announced itself gently.

The house looked exactly the same when I arrived.

Polished floors gleamed under warm lights. Expensive furniture sat untouched, decorative rather than lived in. Everything was perfect, controlled, and cold.

My twin sat on the couch, scrolling through her phone, dressed in something that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

She glanced up and frowned.

“You look… different,” she said.

“You are not better or worse. Just different.”

I didn’t reply.

Dinner was awfully quiet.

Too quiet.

There were no insults or sharp remarks. My twin barely acknowledged me, which was unusual. My parents exchanged looks over their wine glasses, the kind that meant decisions had already been finalized without my input.

I pushed food around my plate. My appetite had vanished.

My father cleared his throat. “The company isn’t doing well.”

I said nothing. Their financial problems had never involved me unless they needed a solution.

“We’re close to losing everything,” my mother added, placing her napkin down with care.

My twin looked up. “What are you saying?”

“There’s an opportunity,” my father said. “A partnership.”

“With who?” she asked, already tense.

They didn’t answer her.

They turned to me.

My chest tightened.

“A family like ours can’t rely on pride,” my mother said calmly. “Sometimes sacrifices are necessary.”

I swallowed. “What kind of sacrifice?”

Silence filled the room.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second stretching thin. My father leaned back in his chair, his expression composed.

“There’s a man willing to save us.”

My twin stiffened. “You don’t mean…”

“Yes,” my mother interrupted. “But not you.”

Relief crossed my twin’s face instantly.

Cold settled into my bones.

“This is business,” my father said. “A legal arrangement.”

I pushed my chair back slightly. “I’m not part of your business.”

My mother laughed softly. “You’ve always been ungrateful.”

I stood. “If this is another scheme…”

“Sit,” my father snapped.

I froze.

For the first time that evening, he looked directly at me. Not like a parent. Like someone examining a problem.

“The decision is made,” he said.

My heart pounded. “About what?”

My mother smiled.

“You will marry CRAIG WEST.”

The name echoed in my head.

Everyone knew it.

Cold. Ruthless. Untouchable. The richest man in New York. A man whispered with fear and awe in equal measure.

“I won’t,” I said quietly.

“You will,” my mother replied. “Your sister won’t be wasted on a monster.”

And just like that, I understood.

They weren’t saving the family.

They were sacrificing me.

Again.