Married To The Crippled Billionaire

CHAPTER TWO: THE SECONDHAND BRIDE

My body trembled as I stood in the church, frozen in place, forced to witness the wedding that should have been mine. The scent of fresh roses and burning candles filled the air, thick and suffocating. Every pair of eyes in the room shifted between the altar and me, but no one dared to say a word. The weight of their silent judgment pressed down on my chest, crushing the last remnants of my dignity.

How did this happen?

How had Leah stolen my place so seamlessly, sliding into the life I had spent years building with Matthew?

Yet, despite the sheer absurdity of it, no one protested. No one objected as Matthew took her hands in his, as he spoke the vows I had once imagined him whispering to me.

Then came the final blow.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

The words rang in my ears like a death sentence.

Matthew leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that once belonged to me. A kiss that had once been mine to cherish, mine to believe in.

Something inside me cracked. A deep, irreparable fracture.

This was it. The moment that confirmed what I had been too shattered to accept—I had lost.

I swallowed down the bile rising in my throat, my vision blurring as the world around me turned into a dull, colorless haze. The church erupted in polite applause, a cruel soundtrack to my humiliation.

As the ceremony ended and the newlyweds made their grand exit, I moved on autopilot, drifting toward the doors with slow, lifeless steps. The air outside was thick with summer warmth, but I felt nothing. Not the heat, not the stares, not the low murmurs of gossip buzzing around me.

Then, a hand clamped around my arm, sharp nails digging into my skin.

I barely flinched.

“Layla,” Maria hissed, her tone laced with impatience. “Stop sulking. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Her grip tightened, yanking me out of my daze. I turned to face her, numb to the irritation twisting her features.

I should have known she wouldn’t allow my heartbreak to taint her perfect day. After all, this wasn’t just about Leah winning. This was about control. Maria had orchestrated every moment of this disaster, and now that it had played out exactly how she wanted, she refused to let my grief ruin it.

I said nothing.

There was nothing left to say.

Matthew and Leah’s getaway car pulled up, sleek and black, with a ‘Just Married’ sign taped to the back. They climbed inside, Matthew’s hand resting possessively on Leah’s thigh as she threw her head back in a carefree laugh.

I felt sick.

Maria, however, barely spared them a glance before steering me away, her heels clicking against the pavement with precise, measured steps. She led me toward a man standing beside an expensive luxury car, its polished surface gleaming under the afternoon sun.

My stomach twisted.

He was tall, his light brown suit pressed to perfection, his posture exuding quiet authority. The kind of authority that didn’t need to be announced—it was simply felt. His dark eyes assessed me as I approached, sharp yet unreadable.

Who was he?

Why was he here?

Before I could find my voice, he turned his attention to Maria, offering a polite nod. His voice was deep, calm, and laced with something unreadable.

“You remember the agreement.” It wasn’t a question.

A chill crawled up my spine. Agreement?

Maria’s expression didn’t waver, though a flicker of something—annoyance? hesitation?—flashed in her eyes. Then, as if flipping a switch, she let out a light, practiced laugh, her demeanor shifting into one of exaggerated warmth.

“Ah, of course,” she said smoothly. “No need to be so formal.”

She placed a hand on my back, applying just enough pressure to make me feel trapped.

“This is my daughter, Layla.”

And then, with a casual cruelty that stole the breath from my lungs, she corrected herself.

“My stepdaughter.”

“This is Layla, my stepdaughter—the one destined to marry Mr. Dario.”

Time seemed to freeze.

The word marry slammed into me like a forceful wave, robbing me of breath. My body went rigid, my pulse hammering violently in my ears as I turned sharply to Maria, my mouth parting in shock.

“What?” The question barely escaped, a choked whisper of disbelief.

But she didn’t so much as glance at me. Her attention remained on the man, her expression poised, as if she had just sealed a business deal rather than casually handing over my future.

Marry? Marry?