The Bride He Never Chose - The Quadruplet Mom

She had always known her father would pass away the way he did—helplessly, in a vegetative state. She wasn’t a seer, but she had long seen it coming. And when it finally happened, she no longer had it in her to cry. It was almost as though she had already cried all her tears long before it came to pass, and that was her greatest regret. She shouldn’t have mourned him before he left. And as she stood at the graveyard, dry-eyed and hollow, the way everyone looked at her made it clear what they thought. They were certain she must have wished him dead. If only they knew—she was dead inside too. Peach Shenaya’s father hadn’t been the best father towards her, but at least he was all she had—and now he was gone. Her stepmother, on the other hand, wasn’t someone to be left alone with. And now, that woman had driven her away into the cold night, not even allowing her to linger in her father’s house or pick up a single thing. The night was as cold as her stepmother’s heart—and perhaps as cold as her father’s body six feet under. Only when a sudden light pierced through her swollen eyelids, momentarily blinking her awake, did Peach hear the aggressive blare of a horn, followed by a screech so loud and close that it felt like the car had driven straight into her. It almost had. The cold air and the drops of rain drenching her outstretched arm—raised in a desperate shield—down to her knees reminded her that the driver had made a perfect stop. She was alive. Peach unshielded herself, barely grateful to still be standing in this miserable world. “Are you out of your mind?” she shrieked, her voice cutting sharply through the rain as the driver flung open his car door and stormed out, slamming it shut with a ferocity that made her flinch. “Are you blind, young lady?” he barked. He was mere inches from her now, and the overwhelming stench of alcohol hit her like a second wave of assault. Instinctively, Peach pinched her nose, recoiling from the toxic fumes emanating from his mouth. “Have you been drinking?” she snapped. “Seriously? Drunk driving in the middle of the night?” “I asked you a question!” he shot back, his voice slurring with anger. “Are you blind? Do you have any idea how much damages you could’ve caused to my car if I hadn’t hit the brakes? And now—” he gestured dramatically at his car, his words dripping with indignation, “—I think my brakes are broken!” "That's quite the absurdity coming from someone drunk driving and almost killing me," Peach choked out, her words clogged with so much fury she could barely catch her breath. “Who are you to tell me when to drive or not? My father?” Shane scoffed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Since you’re such an expert on sobriety and driving, why don’t you take the wheel?” Before Peach could respond, Shane grabbed her wrist with alarming ease. He dragged her to the driver’s side, yanked the door open, and shoved her into the seat. Peach, drenched and still struggling to process the situation, sat frozen, her mouth slightly ajar. She could hardly believe the audacity of this stranger. Shane, utterly serious, circled the car, slid into the passenger seat, and fastened his seatbelt. “Go on, then. Drive,” he said nonchalantly, gesturing toward the wheel as though this were the most natural request in the world. With his seatbelt securely fastened, Shane Downey leaned back against the headrest, settling in comfortably as if they were embarking on a leisurely drive. He appeared completely unbothered, oblivious to how bizarre and unsettling his actions were to Peach. “Come on, Miss Expert, drive!” Shane barked, his voice grating and insistent. It took twenty exhausting minutes of relentless back-and-forth before Peach finally gave in to the miserable task of driving him home. He was clearly wasted, yet his rudeness and entitled demeanor made her skin crawl. After slurring out his address and pulling up the map for her, Shane hissed in irritation before sinking deeper into the passenger seat. He shut his eyes as if the world—and Peach—no longer existed. She couldn’t help but curse under her breath before reluctantly igniting the engine. “Entitled brat,” Peach muttered through clenched teeth, her gaze flickering toward him. If there was one thing she could still get right in her miserable life, it would be getting this arrogant stranger home safely. After that, she could return to dealing with her own wretched fate or perhaps bringing it all to an unfortunate end. The drive to Shane’s home was surprisingly short, and when Peach skillfully pulled up to his fancy driveway, parking the car perfectly, she realized Shane was fast asleep. His snores grated on her nerves, each one oozing a mix of irritation and stale alcohol. For a brief moment, Peach entertained the idea of abandoning the stranger in his car and walking away. But where would she even go on this stormy night that had just begun? And what if this miserable man wasn’t so miserable after all? Could he be some kind of cosmic intervention? With a resigned sigh, Peach unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over to wake him. She shook him aggressively, but Shane Downey didn’t budge. Instead, he inhaled deeply and adjusted himself further into his seat, completely undisturbed. Frustration boiling over, Peach stomped out into the downpour. The heavy rain clung to her, each drop reminding her of the things she so desperately wanted to forget. Determined, she yanked open the passenger door and grabbed Shane by the arm, dragging him out of the car with vigor until he tumbled onto the wet, hard concrete. The jolt startled him awake. “You ingrate!” Shane spat, glaring at her through bleary, bloodshot eyes. Peach opened her mouth, ready to snap back and remind him exactly who the ungrateful one was—until the sudden, horrifying gush of liquid erupted from Shane’s mouth. It splattered onto her chest, warm and revolting. Disgusting. She froze in shock as Shane emptied the rest of his stomach onto the ground, swaying unsteadily. He gripped her shoulders for support, the weight of his drunken state pressing down on her like a cruel joke. Peach stood speechless, her heart racing in the aftermath of the chaos. Shane, for the first time, dropped his arrogant tone, his voice soft and pleading. “Help me inside, will you?” She hesitated, scanning the dark, rain-soaked street. The distant houses and his disheveled state made her choice obvious. If she left him here, guilt would haunt her for whatever time she had left in her own miserable existence. With a reluctant sigh, Peach grabbed Shane’s arm, slinging it over her shoulder as she guided him inside. The trek to his bedroom’s en-suite bathroom was slow and awkward, but she managed to get him there. Once inside, Shane steadied himself and gestured that he could take it from there. Peach left him to clean up, heading downstairs to rid herself of the night’s mess. At the kitchen sink, she scrubbed her hands and arms, her mind swirling. Spotting a dry white shirt casually draped over the sofa, she slipped into it, grateful for the relief from her damp clothes. Grabbing a glass of room-temperature water, she made her way back to Shane’s room. When she entered, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his face pale and weary. “A glass of water will do,” she said quietly, handing it to him. She guided the glass to his lips as he took a slow, deliberate sip. “Thank you,” he muttered in between gulps, his voice surprisingly genuine. Peach blinked, caught off guard. Maybe he wasn’t entirely heartless. As silence stretched between them, she stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. Shane, however, wasn’t as uncertain. His gaze traveled from her damp hair to the neckline of his oversized shirt, lingering briefly before sweeping down to her slender legs. His lips curled into a faint, amused smile. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself, before locking eyes with her. “Can I kiss you?” Peach froze, her breath catching. Her mind screamed at the absurdity of the question—wasn’t he the same man who had been vomiting moments ago? And now, this? Before she could fully process it, her lips betrayed her. “Sure.” The word hadn’t even settled in the air before Shane surged forward. His movements were rough, urgent, as though he'd been starved for her touch. His lips crashed into hers, demanding and insistent. Peach tensed at first, but as the heat of the kiss deepened, she found herself melting into it. The aggression softened into a rhythm, their bodies naturally syncing. Clothing fell away in a trail of chaos, leaving their bare skin exposed to the cool air. Tangled together on the bed, their movements grew fervent, their breaths mingling as pants and cries of pleasure echoed around the room. Shane hovered on the edge of control, but Peach's soft, breathless plea tipped him over. "Please don't stop, don't c*m yet. Faster!” Her words pushed him beyond restraint. He shuddered as his release claimed him, unable to stop himself from spilling into her. The storm outside raged on, but inside, the room was heavy and hot.