The Diary Of The Runaway Bride: Bound To The Billionaire

PAYTON’s POV. “If only you had some discipline, Payton. A fat girl like you should have starved herself before today.” Those were Claire's first words when she saw me in the gown. She didn't compliment me or anything, not that I expected it from her. In front of the mirror, I froze, the Ivory lace clinging to me like a vice, suffocating and heavy. The dress didn't feel like a gown, no. It wasn't a gown, it was a punishment. Claire clicked her tongue and circled me like a vulture, her eyes dragging across my body with disgust. “This dress cost a fortune. A masterpiece made for elegance. And here it is, wasted. Look at it straining across your stomach, look at your arms, bulging out like raw dough. God, Payton, you look like a stuffed pig forced into lace.” My throat tightened, but I said nothing. My hands trembled as I smoothed over the bodice, as if pressing harder could erase the evidence of my body. Ashley let out a cruel laugh. “A pig? That's being nice, Mother. She looks like a cow dressed for slaughter.” She stood tall and sleek in her bridesmaid gown, her ice-blue eyes cutting through me like blades. “No matter how much you try, Payton, you'll never be like us. You've always been the fat one, the pathetic one. You can barely squeeze into this gown—God, I can hear the seams crying. One wrong move and it'll burst open like an overstuffed balloon.” Heat burned behind my eyes, but I blinked hard, swallowing the tears like I'd been trained to do my whole life. Claire leaned close, her perfume sharp and suffocating. “Do you think Anthony would still want you after tonight? Do you think he hasn't noticed how your double chin shows when you turn your head? The way your thighs rub together like sandpaper? Men don't want girls like you, Payton. They only tolerate you.” Ashley giggled, cruel and sharp. “Honestly, I don't know what's worse—your fat rolls or your delusion. Imagine believing you could ever look like a bride. Look at you, you're nothing but a fat joke wrapped in lace. A walking humiliation.” Their words pressed down on me, heavier than the dress itself. I've learnt better than to try to defend myself; the last time I tried to, I was beaten and thrown around like a sack. A sharp knock at the door made me flinch. “It's time, Miss Edwards. Mr Forbes is waiting.” It's time. The words sounded like a death sentence. Claire and Ashley quickly smoothed the look on their faces into masks of elegance, but their hands on my arms were claws, dragging me out. At the entrance of the ballroom, Father waited. Bill Edwards. His gaze swept over me once, probably looking for something to complain about, like always. He continued scanning me, and I knew he didn't see his daughter. He saw a murderer who killed his wife—a day mistake he’d never forgive for existing. “Straighten your back,” he muttered as I took his hands. “And try not to waddle.” The aisle stretched before me, endless and suffocating. Eyes bored into me from every corner, whispers slithering under the chandeliers. I could feel them counting my flaws, weighing every inch of me. Anthony Forbes stood waiting, a predator in a perfect suit, his black eyes glimmering with hunger. His smile wasn't kind; it was ownership. My stomach twisted. The priest’s voice blurred, words of love and forever slid past my ears. My chest squeezed, my breath shallow—the lilies’ stench clogging my throat. Then came the question. “Payton Edwards, do you take Anthony Forbes as….” My stomach lurched, and before I could keep it down, I bent forward and vomited my guts out, right onto Anthony’s polished shoes. Gasps filled the room. Anthony’s face darkened, fury comforting his features. His hand jerked upward, fist fight. He stopped himself after realising we were in the presence of people, but the look in his eyes promised punishment. “Payton!” Claire’s voice cracked like a whip as she stormed forward. “What have you done? You fat disgrace, you've humiliated us all.” They yanked me off the altar and forced me into a restroom. Ashley thrust paper towels into my chest, hard enough to sting. “Clean yourself up, cow. You look like something dragged out of the gutter.” Clairr’s voice was ice. “You'll fix your face, go back out there, and marry him because no one else would ever want you, no one. You should be grateful Amthiny even pretends you're worth the trouble. This is the only change you'll ever get.” And with that, my dearest stepmother and stepsister slammed the door shut in my face. I stared at my reflection. Mascara streaked, skin pale, and dress ruined—a fat, broken bride. My chest heaved, and my throat closed. If I went back out there, it was over. They would crush me. Anthony would own me and tighten the leash until I couldn't breathe. Images of what my future would look like suddenly spilled into my mind, and panic gripped me. I'll be a housewife, used as a punching bag, s*x slave, and maybe even maid. I didn't want that. I was only twenty, and my life would be ruined if I did this. Run The thought spilled into my mind briefly: where would I go? But it would be better to be on the streets than treated this way. The thought lit fire in my blood. I grabbed the skirt with shaking hands and bunched it to my knees, my satin slippers flashing beneath. For the first time, my hazel eyes burned, not with shame, but with something else. Defiance. I shoved the door open and ran. I ignored all the shouts and screams of my stepmother and sister. I ran. Down the corridor, pass the shocked staff through the gleaming doors and into the chaos of New York City. The night hit me hard. Horns blared, lights flashed, and voices shouted. My gown streamed behind me like a flag of rebellion. My lungs burned, my legs screamed, but I didn't stop. For the first time, I wasn't obeying; I wasn't surviving. I was alive. I ran faster, my heart pounding, my chest aching. The city blurred around me; freedom was just across the street. I darted forward, the world roaring in my ears— And then blinding lights filled my vision. A horn. A screech. Screams. And impact. Pain exploded through me, and then— Black.