The Unwanted Bride

CHAPTER 3: The Wrong Bride

Helena’s heart pounded as she held onto her father’s arm, her steps slow and unsure. The veil blurred her vision, but not enough to hide the man standing at the altar. A familiar face. Too familiar.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

Her grip tightened. “I know him,” she whispered, barely moving her lips.

Her father let out a small laugh, unaware of her panic. “Of course you do. He’s your husband-to-be.”

A cold wave of fear crashed over her. “No, you don’t understand,” she said, her voice shaking. “That man… he’s the one from the club. The father of my aborted child.”

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but the truth was crueler. She had erased the past for a fresh start, sacrificed everything to fix her family’s problems. And yet, here he was. The same man who had cast her aside.

Her father stiffened, his smile frozen as guests turned to watch them walk down the aisle. He kept moving, nodding politely to the crowd, trying to hide the storm building between them.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, panic rising.

But the altar was getting closer. And so was he.

“You must be high again! Because there's no way you're serious right now,” he snapped, his voice filled with anger. “Do you want to send me to an early grave? Today is your wedding, and you will get married. Whatever nonsense is going on in your head can wait until after the vows!”

Her chest tightened as she gripped the edge of her dress. “Father, listen to me. I can’t marry him. This is a mistake—some twisted coincidence. The wedding might happen, but this marriage? It won’t last.”

The room was thick with tension, and people glanced nervously between them. She barely had time to process her father’s glare before he leaned in, his voice low and cold.

“You think you’re smart? You think you can ruin my deal and get away with it?” His smile was chilling. “Go ahead, embarrass me today, but I promise you—your next stop won’t be freedom. It’ll be rehab, and you won’t be walking out anytime soon. You want to be a reckless addict? Fine. But I decide how far you fall.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, her throat tightening. The weight of his words pressed down on her like a noose. Forcing a weak smile, she stepped forward—into the storm waiting at the altar.

“I hate that place, but I’ve been clean for weeks now. No drugs, no alcohol, no smoking.”

He let out a short, mocking laugh. “You think that’s enough? What about your outbursts? You nearly stabbed Georgina just for showing us the pregnancy test! That alone is reason enough to send you back to rehab. Don’t you dare pull any of your reckless stunts in your husband's house.”

Her hands curled into fists. “You don’t get it. She keeps poking her nose where it doesn’t belong! I just wanted to scare her. Or do you love her more than me now?”

His gaze softened as he cupped her face. “You’re my daughter, and she’s family too. I love you both.” A gentle kiss landed on her forehead, but the warmth of it did nothing to ease the storm raging inside her.

They reached the altar. Her father turned to the groom, placing her hand in his. The moment their eyes met, something changed. His brows pulled together, and disbelief flashed in his eyes.

With hesitant fingers, he reached forward, lifting the veil.

His breath caught.

It wasn’t Georgina.

It was her.

The light in his eyes faded as reality hit him. This was a mistake. A cruel twist of fate.

He had always wanted Georgina. She was the perfect choice—always by the family's side, helping at Mr. Adams’ company, attending former events with them. She looked like his type, carried herself well, and, most importantly, belonged.

But Helena? He never saw her as part of the Adams family. They had no history before the club encounter. She never attended formal events or worked in her father's company. To him, she was just a random girl from a dark, noisy club—a one-night mistake. He never imagined she was the daughter in this deal. He had always assumed Georgina was the only Adams daughter.

Time and time again, he had chased after Georgina, only to hear the same answer that her heart belonged to someone else. So when Helena’s father made him an offer—his daughter in exchange for saving his business—he agreed without thinking twice.

Now, standing at the altar, the truth hit him like a slap to the face. His chest tightened as their eyes met. She saw it all including the shock, the regret, the quiet pain.

But instead of breaking down, she lifted her chin and gave him a small, knowing smile.

Oh, how she wanted to laugh at him.

Even if it hurt her too.

The truth was, a part of her still liked him, just a little. Maybe, just maybe, if he changed, that feeling could grow. But deep down, fear gripped her. A future with a man who might never love her back? That was a risk she wasn’t sure she could take.

His eyes wandered over the crowd until they landed on her. Georgina. Standing at the back, sipping a glass of champagne, completely unbothered. A sharp ache settled in his chest. Without thinking, he turned, ready to walk away from the altar, from the vows, from Helena.

But before he could take a step, a firm grip stopped him.

His father.

“Where do you think you're going, Thomas?” Bryan Brooks' voice was low, sharp, a quiet warning as he placed a steady hand on his son's back. “Your bride is here, not over there.”

Thomas swallowed hard, trapped between the life he wanted and the one being forced upon him.

“Father, Mr. William Adams tricked me! It was supposed to be Georgina, not her!” His voice was sharp, desperate. “I can't marry this woman.”

Bryan stayed calm. “I know,” he said smoothly. “But a deal is a deal. Think about the bride, the arrangement, Adam's company at risk, the guests, the effort put into all this. This was what you wanted.”

The groom’s eyes widened in disbelief.

He knew?

“You knew about this?” His voice dropped, shaking with anger. “This is unbelievable.”

Bryan didn’t even react, but his grip on his son’s back tightened.

The groom pulled himself free. Without another word, he turned and walked away.

Past the altar.

Past the stunned bride.

Past the murmuring guests.

His steps were firm, determined, heading straight toward the woman at the back of the room.

Georgina.

She saw him coming. So did Helena.

So did everyone.

But no one understood.

Not yet.

And as the whispers rose, the bride still stood there, waiting, humiliated.

Would he turn back?

Or was this wedding about to end before it even began?