Chapter 3
1301 Words
Two days later…
Nadira sat at the dressing table with an empty expression, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Bridal makeup had begun to settle onto her skin, and a simple yet luxurious ivory-white gown wrapped perfectly around her body. But her heart? Still tight and suffocated.
Everything felt too fast.
Too sudden.
It felt like a nightmare forced into reality.
If only she could run away. Escape all of this. But Nayla’s words from two nights ago kept echoing in her mind—about living comfortably, not worrying about tomorrow’s meals, not stressing over electricity bills, and being able to exercise like a socialite every morning.
Nadira let out a long breath. Her hand reached for the phone on the table. Her fingers opened the gallery, then stopped at the photo of a man named Alven Mahendra—the man who would become her husband today.
His face was handsome, upper-class. His lifestyle could be guessed from the branded shirt and the luxury watch around his wrist. But what made Nadira frown wasn’t him—it was the woman standing beside him in one of the i********: posts.
That face…
She knew it well.
Juminten.
Or now, as written in her i********: bio: Minthea V.
The woman who had once been the nightmare of her high school days. The gang leader, the show-off, the bully. And yes, Nadira had once been her target. The difference was that Nadira was not the type to stay silent. She fought back. She had even slapped Juminten in front of the class once when the girl tore up her notebook.
And now? That woman was dating her future husband?
Life was truly ironic.
“Ready?”
The cheerful voice of Laura, Nadira’s best friend, shattered her thoughts. The tall girl with a short bob haircut walked in without knocking, bringing her usual burst of energy.
“Wow… you look gorgeous, my friend,” she said, scanning Nadira from head to toe. “Seriously, a face can be completely transformed once the makeup artist works their magic.”
Nadira smirked and pointed at her phone. “Look at your friend. Juminten is Minthea now. Impressive, getting a rich boyfriend.”
Laura immediately grabbed the phone from Nadira’s hand and looked at the photo. “Whoa, that guy’s handsome. Must be loaded. Not free, babe. Girls like that definitely sell themselves.”
Nadira chuckled softly. “You said that, not me.”
Laura grinned and returned the phone. “I used to sell, hehe.”
Nadira turned quickly, half shocked, half laughing. “Crazy. Were you really a pimp back then?”
“Yup. High school days were wild. Lots of girls wanted quick money, I helped market them to rich older men. Big commissions, easy money.”
Nadira leaned back in the chair. “Why didn’t you sell me too, La? I was your friend.”
Laura scoffed. “Why would I? You were different. Too straight-laced, too fierce. Besides, now someone’s already ‘bought’ you—future billionaire husband and all. Come on, let’s go out. Don’t overthink. Chin up, elegant smile.”
Nadira let out a long breath and stood. Laura quickly straightened the lower part of her gown, making sure nothing was wrinkled.
Not long after, Nayla entered hurriedly. Her face was bright, though there was anxiety in her eyes. “Sis,” she said while catching her breath, “let’s go. The ceremony will start soon. Your future husband is already waiting in the ballroom.”
Thump.
Nadira’s heart pounded hard.
This was it.
She walked slowly, guided by the two women who knew her best. Wrapped in the white gown, she looked calm. But inside, her thoughts spun in a hundred directions.
What kind of man would he be?
Was he truly serious, or simply obeying family pressure?
Did he know that his girlfriend was the bully from her past?
Nadira didn’t know the answers. But one thing was certain: she would not become a weak woman.
Not the kind of wife who cried silently because of a man she never even chose.
No.
Nadira Halim would keep standing—even if she had to stand alone.
Alven stood at one side of the lavishly decorated ballroom. A neatly tailored ivory suit wrapped his tall frame. A black peci rested on his head, adding a solemn impression he might have been feeling for the first time.
His breathing was heavy. Not because of the tight shirt, but because the air suddenly felt cold, piercing his bones.
Soon, the woman he had only seen in photographs would sit beside him.
And he would have to recite the marriage vows—binding his life to someone who had never touched his heart.
His eyes swept across the room. Guests were beginning to sit neatly, mostly colleagues and extended family. Some whispered to each other, others admired the decorations and dishes.
But Alven’s gaze stopped at one point.
A woman sat in the middle row.
Her red dress stood out among the mostly pastel-colored guests. Her black hair was half pinned up, her makeup neat, but there was no smile.
Minthea.
Alven took a long breath. His heart pounded—not from joy, but from discomfort. Their eyes met briefly. There was no anger, no smile. Only a quiet sadness hanging in the woman’s gaze.
They did not greet each other.
Alven did not step closer.
Only his left hand clenched beneath his suit, holding back something he could not explain.
Minthea kept staring at him from afar, saying nothing, but her eyes spoke.
And Alven could read them clearly:
“I’m still here. But today, you belong to someone else.”
A wedding staff member approached, signaling Alven to sit in the ceremony seat. With heavy steps, he moved forward. The recitation of sacred verses began to echo, adding pressure to the weight already suffocating his chest.
Soon, the woman would arrive.
The woman he would call his wife.
And Minthea would remain seated there—watching everything.
The ballroom doors opened slowly.
All heads turned. Guests stood, forming a long aisle leading toward the ceremony stage.
And at the end of that aisle—Nadira Halim stepped in.
Her long white gown swept across the floor, shimmering softly under the crystal lights. Her flawless makeup emphasized her firm yet elegant features. Her steps were light but controlled. Not hesitant. Not shaken. Like a queen who knew her own power.
Nadira’s gaze scanned the entire room.
Silence.
Until her eyes stopped at one point.
Minthea.
The woman stood in the middle row, her face turning pale. Their eyes met—and within a fraction of a second, Nadira could clearly see the shock, fear, and embarrassment piling up on the face of the former senior who once loved humiliating others.
Nadira did not look away.
Instead, she lifted one eyebrow and gave a faint smile.
Brief—but enough to deliver the message:
“You thought you won? Now look at me.”
Minthea couldn’t respond. Her eyes widened, her body stiff.
Calmly, Nadira straightened her gaze forward.
There, seated, was a man dressed in an ivory suit and black peci.
His back straight. Imposing. His aura of authority could be felt even from afar.
Alven.
Her future husband.
Nadira took a slow breath. Her hands trembled slightly, but her steps remained steady.
This was not about love. Not about a dream wedding.
This was about dignity, about courage, about standing on the stage of a life chosen by others—and still appearing as the winner.
Step by step brought them closer.
Step by step tied together two destinies that had never known each other.
And one more step… before their names would be legally bound in the marriage vow.
- Writer
